I go over all my video prep stuff again and again. I head to the gym, I shower, I watch my second favorite Billy Wilder film.
I text Carrie nonstop. I nearly break and tell her my boy toy is Mal, but I stop myself.
Still, my cell mocks me.
My need to pry his head open mocks me.
No strings attached means no strings attached.
I have to live with it or I have to demand something else.
My early morning exhaustion fades as soon as I step out of my car.
This is a real shoot, not some guerrilla student film. There's a real camera on the beach, a real camera operator behind it, a big setup of lights, PAs running around with reflectors.
There's a fucking makeup tent.
Usually, I'd be one of the people running around taking orders. But not today. Not anymore.
Friday is my last day with Danielle. Friday is the last day I have to take orders for a long time.
Well, from anyone but Mal.
Not that I can complain…
Ahem. I'm here to work, not to swoon over my definitively-not-a-boyfriend. He wants to be alone. I agreed to the either of us can say when at any point terms.
He's fucked on the alone front. There are a dozen people here, besides the band, but hey—that's the glamorous life of a rock star.
He's not ruining this for me.
No one is ruining this moment for me.
Least of all my demanding heart.
I double-check that my car is locked and I take the concrete steps down to the beach. We have about an hour until the light is right, then we have about six hours until we have to bail for the first wedding.
PAs are setting up the wedding gear right now. The altar is in place. This time, it has hot pink ribbons and lush red roses. For a second, my eyelids flutter closed. I never could see myself marrying Adam, but I can see myself walking down the aisle.
I can see Mal there in that suit, a mega-smile plastered on his usually stoic face.
Snap out of it, Lacey. Even if you and Mal find a way to actually be together, you're a long ways off from marrying the man. This is crazy fangirl talk.
He's there, not standing at the altar with a few dozen of our friends and family watching with rapt attention. He's outside the makeup tent.
He turns from the ocean. His eyes brighten as they meet mine. Something in his posture changes, but from here I can't tell if he's softening or stiffening.
I move closer. I can't help myself. We have an hour until we shoot. I only need half that time to make sure I have my shots aligned. That leaves thirty minutes with Mal.
He looks so good in his suit. The entire band is in suits. Ethan and Joel are just outside the tent, sparring about something. The hair and makeup girl is trying to do something to Kit's mass of wavy hair. He doesn't look happy about it, but he isn't complaining.
Mal meets me halfway. His blue eyes fix on mine. His lips curl into the world's smallest smile.
His fingers brush the backs of my hands.
The sights and sounds of the beach and the setup blur together. Mal is the only thing in focus.
"Hey." He slides one arm around me. His palm rests on my lower back. "You're early."
I nod. "Are you okay?"
"I'm here."
It's a fair enough answer. I stare into his beautiful blue eyes. He's staring back like he needs me.
Then he's leaning down to brush his lips against mine.
He tastes good, like green tea and honey.
His kiss sets me on fire. I want to help him through this. I want to be his friend. I want to be his everything.
I pull back with a sigh. I try to find meaning in his eyes, but all I see is affection. He wants to be alone. He's kissing me hello like he wants me to be his everything.
Something is missing.
I force myself to take a step backwards. Then another. It's enough that the rest of the world comes into focus. The air smells of salt, not of Mal's laundry detergent.
"Hey!" Joel's bouncy voice floats over the sound of the waves lapping at the beach and into my ears. "Not fair. I don't get to do that without Bella here." He takes a few steps towards us and hugs me hello. "How's it going, Lacey? You work well with a raging—what should I call it? It's not a hard-on?"
Ethan laughs. "You haven't solved this one during one of your long phone sex sessions?"
"Usually I say, angel, tell me you want to come more than you've ever wanted anything." Joel's smile widens. "Answer is always yes."
"'Cause you don't deliver enough?" Ethan teases.
"Those are fighting words, Strong. I don't give a flying fuck if a black eye ruins the aesthetic. I will kick your ass." Joel winks at me. He's teasing. They're all teasing.
Ethan flips Joel off. He turns to me. "Hey, Lacey. Sorry about Joel—"
"You started it," I say.
Joel laughs. "I like you, Waltz."
"Really, insulting his sexual prowess. That's a low blow. Even if it's clearly not true from the way his wife was looking at him," I say.
"Damn, she's with the his wife thing too?" Ethan shakes his head. "It never ends."
"You have a fiancée now," I say.
Ethan beams. "I do."
Mal's expression gives nothing away. Is he still upset about his brother moving on or has that been eclipsed by his mom's condition? I don't know. I want to ask. I'm dying to ask.
Hell, I'm still dying to pry his head open and pick apart every one of his thoughts.
But that's not happening today. Or tomorrow.
I'm here to work.
Period.
Ethan hugs me hello. He leans in to whisper, "You okay?"
I whisper back, "Yeah."
"Is Mal?"
"I don't know."
He pulls back with a smile. It's a real smile. It gets wider as his gaze moves around the set. Ethan really is a beacon of enthusiasm.
Oh. "Bella isn't here?"
Joel actually frowns.
"Who are our bride and groom?" I ask.
"Waltz, you're the artist. Go sit in your little chair and put on one of those newsboy caps and ignore everything but your vision," Joel says.
"What if my vision involves knowing who our bride and groom are?" I ask.
Joel shakes his head you'll never learn. "You're the artist. Repeat after me—"
"Really?" I ask.
He nods, really. "I am the artist. I have a vision. Fuck practicalities."
Ethan cuts me off. "Yeah, Joel, you're really a fucking artist."
Joel is already air drumming. He flips Ethan off then air drums with his middle fingers.
Mal motions to the makeup tent. "Piper sent friends from school. A couple. They're psyched to do it."
And they're in makeup. Perfect.
"Shouldn't we be using SAG actors?" I ask.
Joel shakes his head. "What did I say, Waltz?"
"I can't get away with it. I'm not as beautiful as you are," I say.
He smiles. "You better watch out for this one. She's smooth."
"Yeah, it's tough appealing to your massive ego," Ethan says.
"Takes one to know one," Joel says.
"Fuck, you're both going to be married men soon." Mal shakes his head. "And you still argue like fourteen-year-olds."
"Takes one to know one." Joel laughs. He looks to me and shakes his head. "Nah, Mal's never been fourteen. He's always got his shit down, right?"
Mal nods, but there's no joy in it.
Something in Joel's eyes shifts. He can see that Mal isn't here. But then, it's not exactly subtle.
That urge to soothe him rises up in my throat. But now isn't the time. The sun is rising quickly. Except for a few streaks of pink, the sky is pale blue.
"I appreciate the banter, but I have to get started. You guys want me to go over everything again?" I ask.
They nod.
It takes me half an hour to get through my explanation. By the time I'm done, I'm in work mode. I talk wit
h our producer. I talk to the PAs. I talk with all the other actors. Then we're actually ready to go and I'm actually ordering people into their places.
I actually call action.
It takes all morning to finish our first set of shots. It takes all the afternoon time we have left to finish the next set.
I'm so fixated on my task that I barely absorb my goodbye with Mal. I don't linger in thoughts of him. I'm too busy processing footage and making sure we have everything.
Even as I fall asleep, I'm so fixated on the shoot that I don't get mixed up thinking of Mal.
And all day the next day, even with Mal in a Speedo and green makeup, seaweed covering his perfect torso. Even with Joel teasing the way he always does and Ethan teasing back the way he always does, and Kit and Mal shaking their heads I'm too old for this shit as they smile but I totally love it.
The world is always in focus when I'm in filmmaking mode, but it's in a different way. Little sections of it are sharp and everything else is muted, but they never quite go away. Reality intrudes all the time—the light is wrong, or the tide is too high, or passersby keep walking into the shot, or the actor's throat is too sore for him to read his lines without sounding like he's dying.
As soon as we call wrap, I lose that hyperfocus. The muted parts of the world return to full color. I can smell the salty air, feel the soft breeze against my skin, see the houses on the cliffs behind us as beautiful mansions rather than shadow-casting banes of my existence.
And there's Mal, covered in green paint, looking off into the distance. With every second, my need to capture shots is fading into fuck yes, we nailed it satisfaction, and it's making room for I need into Mal's head.
Joel's bouncy voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Waltz." He motions come here. "You gotta go in with us." He turns to the beach and digs his heels into the sand in that ready to race stance.
"Us?" Kit chuckles. "Who's this us?"
"Me and Strong." Joel nods to Ethan. "And Mal."
"How come I'm not Strong?" Mal asks.
"You're like Cher or Madonna. Just Mal." Joel turns to me to motion come on. "Alright, these assholes don't want to, that's fine. Just me and you, Waltz. Let's go. Embrace the ocean."
"I'm not in green paint," I say. "And that stuff is waterproof. You need heavy-duty soap. You should let Karen hose you off."
"I'm a married man." Joel mimes offense.
"Will you shut up if we say yes?" Ethan asks.
"Only one time I shut up," Joel says.
Mal chuckles as he shakes his head. "That's not what I hear."
That only makes Joel beam with pride. He motions come on to me again. "Last chance, Lacey. Let's do this."
He wants me to run into the ocean with him. People do this kind of thing all the time—close the shoot with a fun group activity.
It's sweet my actors are inviting me into this.
And it's more than that.
They're Mal's friends.
They accept me.
They want me in their lives.
I swallow hard. This is still the second best day of my life. Or maybe the first. I'm not letting anything ruin it. I'm a fucking video director today. A real one for a real band, a fucking successful band.
And now I'm closing it with a gesture.
My feelings for Mal are not going to push that aside.
"Let's do it." I take my place next to Joel.
My heart thuds as Mal takes his place next to me. Then he takes my hand and I swear my fucking heart is going to burst out of my chest.
Everything else fades away.
Joel counts to three.
We run into the ocean.
It's fucking freezing, but then Mal's arms are around me. He's getting that ridiculous green paint on me.
I pull him under the water with me.
He pulls me back up with him.
His lips curl into a half-smile and I melt.
Then he kisses me and everything else in the world clicks into place.
He pulls back to whisper in my ear, "I want to get you out of those wet clothes." He palms my ass, over my jeans. "But I have to go before traffic hits."
I nod, even though my body and heart are screaming you have to stay.
31
Lacey
My Monday morning drive takes far too long. Or I couldn't sleep all night because I kept thinking about Mal–induced grumpiness is affecting my ability to observe time.
He's taking up too much space in my head.
Today is going to be a busy day. It's one of five busy days I have to get through before I'm done working for Danielle. This is the home stretch. It's not the time to slack off.
After I park, I linger in my car, taking deep breaths. They bring oxygen into my body but they don't do much to clear my mind. That's no good. We have a huge shoot this afternoon, one where we're going to try to cram a five-piece band into this tiny studio.
I don't have space for irritation or exhaustion, much less this boy-induced scatterbrain.
After one more deep breath, I get out of my car. It's early, but it's nice. The sun is shining. The air is temperate rather than the usual even Satan turns on the air conditioner at this temperature heat of the Valley in August.
I slide my key into the lock but it doesn't turn.
Huh?
This is the right key.
I try again. The key slides in but the handle won't turn. The door isn't stuck. I try the bottom lock. This time, my key won't get halfway through the lock.
Am I so in the clouds that I'm at the wrong place? No, this is our address, that's my parking space, the door is still labeled Danielle Kubbie.
I'm about to find my cell and call Danielle when the door pulls open.
Danielle stares at me, fire in her dark eyes. "You have some fucking nerve."
"What?" I take a step backwards. There's fury in her eyes. The locks are changed. She's pissed at me. She has legitimate reasons. Maybe even for this much rage.
"You play sweet, Lacey. And I fucking bought it. I should know better. I've seen how it goes."
"I don't know—"
"Bullshit. You might as well spit in my face. Poaching my client is one thing, but the cowardice?" She holds out her cell, the screen pointed to me. It's already playing the Hurt Me, Baby video. The one I cut together. It's on the band's YouTube channel. "This isn't my cut. Not even close."
I swallow hard.
"I thought maybe it was a mistake. I know you have that passion. Maybe you cut the video together for fun. To see what it would be like if you were special enough to be the pretty girl in the rock star's bed."
"I didn't—"
"No, you didn't need a video, did you?" Danielle shakes her head. "You really think you can fuck your way into a career?"
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that. You cut my video. You fuck the lead singer. And then you're shooting their next video. You think I'm stupid?"
"It's not."
Danielle takes a step backwards. "You stole my client."
"You didn't listen to what he wanted."
"You didn't give me a chance."
"You wouldn't have." I stare back at her. Maybe I was wrong to take Danielle's client without her permission, but we both know she would have taken her vision to her grave.
Her eyes narrow. She looks to the cell, watches Mal pin my arms above my head. She shakes her head and hurls the phone to the ground.
The screen shatters with a crack.
She glares at me. "I can torch your career with a few phone calls. You're young and pretty, but you're not going to be able to fuck your way into every job for long."
"It's not like that."
"Right. You love him. You need him. You'd do anything for him." She rolls her eyes. "Please, sweetie. I've heard it all before."
I don't know why I feel so compelled to explain it to her. Danielle can think I'm a client-stealing bitch, but I can't stand her thinking I slept with Mal for the opportunit
y.
"Get out of my face, you stupid whore." She steps backwards and slams the door shut.
I stare at it for a moment. I should have known this would happen. I should have quit earlier. I should have done something to protect my heart instead of letting it beat for Mal.
Muscle memory takes over. I get into my car. I drive to the nearest place that makes sense, the Starbucks on Ventura, the one with the tiny parking lot.
I get in line.
The barista rings up my usual order—an iced green tea for me and a latte with two pumps of caramel and three of vanilla for Danielle.
"No, just the tea. Sorry." I hand over my credit card.
She smiles at me. "Boss isn't in today? Nice." She swipes my card and hands it back over.
Slowly, I slide it into my wallet and place that into my purse. The whole thing is vibrating. No, that's my phone.
The barista drops off my tea. "Enjoy."
I nod a thank you. The drink is cold against my fingers. It's already wet with condensation. I sit at the table in the corner. I pull the paper off my straw and stab the plastic lid. I suck the freezing cold drink into my lips.
My teeth chatter.
Slowly, I come back to my senses. I'm done with my job a few days early. That's okay. With the payment for the edit, I have enough for the next month or two. The payment for the video is coming. That's enough for the rest of the year if I cut back on takeout.
I'll be okay, financially.
But there's all this dread in the pit of my stomach. Danielle is vengeful. She's out for blood.
Can she do something to torch my career?
With her reputation as a diva, it seems unlikely that anyone will take her side.
I steady enough to pull out my phone. It's flush with texts from friends, old and new. Even Carrie has seen the video.
And Adam.
I reply to a few of the wow, Lacey, you look great, congratulations texts. I ignore the ones asking for money or connections. I ignore the ones seething with jealousy.
I text Carrie back, asking about her summer program, but I don't get a response. She must be in class.
My drink is still freezing, but now I can taste it.
Adam's text bores into me.
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 23