by E V Darcy
‘Let’s pack it up, people,’ the floor manager shouted and a whirlwind of people began to move around, what had been a quiet set suddenly bursting to life in a ruckus of noise as cameras were moved, wires gathered, microphones collected, and anything else people did that Paige didn’t have a clue about.
She stood up and let the sound technician take off her mic as she idly chatted to Sampson about how his show was going to develop that season when the star nodded to something behind her.
‘I’m glad you’re still friends after what happened,’ he said. ‘He could do with all the friends he can get, at the moment.’ Paige frowned as as she turned to see who the man was talking about, but her lowered brows quickly shot up; as her gaze landed on Casey McManaman standing in the shadowy wings of the set. He leaned against a wall, as if he belonged there, hands in the pockets of his trousers. After his disappearing act earlier, she thought she’d never see him again until it was his turn to sit on the couch of her little show. What the hell was he doing here now?
‘Or perhaps, you’re more than friends?’ Sampson murmured into her ear.
‘Excuse me,’ she said absently to the TV star. She didn’t hear the other man’s reply and was already walking towards Casey, like a moth to a flame. She shouldn’t, she should stay away from him. She knew that. She was too vulnerable, too emotional, she was going to get burnt—
‘Hi,’ she said, taking him in. He was dressed in a grey suit, sans tie once again, an unfastened waistcoat making him look as if he had just been ravished. Paige sucked in a deep breath to try and calm the rage that filled her at the thought. No one should be touching Casey but her.
‘Hey,’ he replied, taking one hand from his pocket and reaching out towards her. Her breath hitched as the backs of his fingers skimmed her cheek. He plucked a stray strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
‘I thought you were filming,’ she said, leaning into his touch.
‘We finished early,’ he shrugged, hand dropping back to his side. ‘Thought I’d see what you were up to. Get an idea for the show for when it’s my turn to sit next to you.’
She didn’t want him sitting next to her. She wanted him above her, below her, behind her, but most of all inside her, making her his completely.
‘I don’t think so, Kitten,’ he told her with a tsk, as if he sensing what she was thinking. He smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You did good today,’ he said with a nod in the direction of the set.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to reply. He looked at her one last time. His eyes dipping to the soft swell of her stomach once again, before he turned and walked away.
16
Tristan Swift was late.
Not simply five or ten minutes late. No, the guy was supposed to have been seated on the sofa next to her chair an hour ago, and there was still no sign of him, no call to say what time he was going to arrive, or if he was going to turn up at all. Her director was going nuts, the producers were on their phones to whoever they could get hold of—his people was a phrase that kept being used—and the floor staff tried to look busy so they didn’t get caught up in the drama—or more likely screamed at for no apparent reason.
Paige sighed from her big, squishy chair. The first two weeks of recordings had gone so well—minus her rush on day one. The casts of the various Network shows had been lovely, consummate professionals. They had also all arrived on time—or earlier.
‘Why don’t you just get Casey McManaman to replace him?’ she suggested to a producer whose name she couldn’t remember the name of—there were so many of them. They all walked past shouting into their phones. ‘He’s the co-lead on the show, shouldn’t he be here anyway?’ The woman looked at her as if she’d just suggested they should all begin worshipping Satan and sacrifice a live goat to their new dark master on live television. The producer turned and continued shouting at whoever the poor plebe was on the other end of the line, as she walked away from Paige.
A floor assistant snorted when the producer was out of sight. ‘Don’t mention his name to that lot,’ the guy said with a shake of his head as he pretended to fuss with something on the back of the sofa.
‘Why?’ Paige asked, switching off the game she’d been playing on her phone.
‘Seriously?’ the guy said, putting down the cushion he was holding, and staring at her as if she had three heads. ‘You were trapped with him for a week and you ask why?’ The man shook his head. ‘What the hell did the two of you do while—’ his words stopped as he gazed at her stomach. She cleared her throat, directing his attention back to what he’d been talking about.
‘Um, anyway, the guy’s a nightmare for the Network. He’s cost them millions in payouts over the years to stop scandals getting out—’
‘What? What type of scandals?’ She leaned forward, eager to learn something Casey hadn’t shared, and something that had been kept out of the papers. If there was one thing Casey was known for it was his shameless lifestyle, so what the hell had been so bad that it had cost the Network to suppress it?
‘Well, there was last year at the convention, when—’
‘I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!’ All heads turned in the direction of a deep voice, interrupting her gossiping friend. Tristan Swift had finally arrived; he brushed his hand through his long dark hair as he hurried towards the set. Paige’s mouth fell open as she set eyes on the star. He was far more handsome in person than on the TV—how was that even possible? He was tall, broad shouldered, with a square jaw and strong nose. She imagined he was more than strong enough to pick her up, fling her over his shoulder and carry her away to do—
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Damned hormones!
‘Have you been to make up?’ the director snapped, and Paige raised her brows at the tone. Surely you didn’t speak to a star such as Tristan Swift like that?’
‘I did my own in the car on the way,’ Tristan reassured him. Stars did their own makeup? She wondered if Casey had ever done his own? Could he apply it? Did he wear it often? If things had worked out between them, would they have been fighting over the bathroom mirror?
Paige shook herself free of that thought as her own makeup girl hurried back over, dusting brush in hand to top up what she had done hours ago. She hated when she drifted off into What-if Land, something she was doing more often. The pair of them might not have been in love, but Paige had been so close to it, she still felt the loss of her star, and what might have been, acutely.
‘Is this where I sit?’ Paige jumped out of her thoughts of Casey, not expecting Tristan to approach her so soon. Jeanine tsk’d at the movement and forced Paige’s head backwards as she danced the brush across the other girl’s face.
Paige waved her hand towards the couch, unable to nod or answer—she’d learnt fast that Jeanine didn’t like it when she moved even a fraction of an inch while under her scrutiny.
‘You’re good,’ the woman finally told her and Paige was able to tip her head forward again.
‘We’re going straight in,’ the director said in her ear. ‘No time for niceties today, Paige.’ She nodded her head and posed herself ready to begin the moment Tristan was settled. When the star finally took his seat, she began her introductions to the segment he was joining her for.
‘Phew, and what a reveal that was by Titans star Yasmin Reynolds! And now we have a sneak peek into the Network’s latest show, Legacy, starring Tristan Swift and Casey McManaman—’
‘That’s not on the auto-cue’ the director muttered into her ear. He was right, but it irked her that Casey wasn’t mentioned when he was just as much part of the show as Tristan was.
‘—as FBI agents on the hunt of a serial killer who’s been murdering and leaving bodies across the country for decades. Sounds like intense stuff!’ Paige said, turning to Tristan who gave her his famous knee-weakening smile.
The interview was lively, fun, and tidy. They had barely any breaks, only stopping for things outside the control of
the pair who chatted easily back and forth. Paige felt she was getting to know Tristan; the man was so easy to talk to. If it wasn’t for the cameras—and the fifty or so people it took to make the show—she could have been on a date with the guy. He was charming, witty, and attentive. His eyes never left her, and he smiled so openly and easily. Paige had caught herself a couple of times with her hand on his arm, leaning towards him.
The producers had loved it. By the end of the recording, they were eating out of the palms of Tristan’s hands, his tardiness forgotten in the magic of wrapping the show up early.
‘That was fabulous,’ Tristan said as he came back over. The sound guy was helping her out of her wiring. ‘You sure you’ve only been doing this for two weeks?’
Paige laughed and batted his arm playfully. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ she said with a wink.
‘I hope so,’ he replied leaning towards her, his million-watt smile aimed at her. Paige felt her breath catch as his chocolate-brown eyes held hers and told her of the truth of his words. She shuddered in anticipation at the thought of what he might want from her—damned hormones!
‘Perhaps we could go and get a drink? Maybe some food?’
‘I’d—’ She stopped herself just in time before she said yes and walked out of the studio on his arm—probably straight to his bed if he asked. No matter what her body kept telling her—with her ramped up hormones—she wasn’t footloose and fancy-free, she was fourteen weeks pregnant and going to be a mom within the next few months. She had to be sensible and not get carried away by a handsome face, sexy body, strong arms—
Fucking hell!
She mentally shook herself before smiling up at him, regretfully. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘Me neither. I think it would be a great one,’ he said, taking another step towards her, his voice dropped slightly so only she could hear. ‘I know this quiet little place, they keep a booth for me so I can dine in privacy. We’d be left alone, no one to interrupt us…’ He raised a brow at his suggestion.
A number of images flooded her mind, of what they could get up to alone. They’d be seated in the booth, able to sit next to one another, and his hand could slide under the table, up her leg, and beneath her skirt. She’d raise her eyes to his icy blue gaze heated by lust and—
She snapped herself out of her daydream and refocused on Tristan’s brown eyes that were alight with mirth. A sexy grin spread over his lips and Paige wanted to cringe at allowing him—practically a stranger—to see her in such a state of arousal. She was going to have to ask the doctor for something to dampen her libido during the next few months, or she was going to start humping everything in sight!
‘I’m sorry, but still no.’ She gave another sad smile and began to turn away.
‘Aww, c’mon, I promise not to be late this time.’ Paige laughed at his comment but still shook her head. There was only going to be one way to shake him off, she realised.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she finally told him with a sigh, placing her hand on the small amount of padding she’d started developing.
‘So,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders, surprising her. She’d been asked out twice since moving to the city and, like Tristan, neither had taken no for an answer until she’d played the pregnancy card. She’d thought it would work with the man in front of her too.
‘Unless you’re still with the father?’ She shook her head. ‘Then it doesn’t bother me. I just want to get to know you.’
It would be so nice to go out, to get to know someone in the city. She’d spent the last five weeks by herself, three of them returning to a small, bare apartment, cooking for herself, and going to bed early. While her body thanked her for all the TLC she was giving it, her mind was demanding more. She could just go for a meal with him, right? They could be friends; perhaps he’d be able to introduce her to some other people she’d get along with.
She opened her mouth to say yes when a shadow behind the star caught her eye. She peered into the wings, just in time to see the back of Casey as he walked away. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d come to see her again. He’d been watching. Had he been there the whole time? Had he heard Tristan asking her out?
Her heart sank at the thought.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I really can’t.’
‘Shame,’ Tristan said, and she saw the genuine disappointment in his eyes. ‘I was really hoping to get to know you. Perhaps, some other time?’
‘Maybe,’ she said with a small smile. ‘I’ll catch you later.’
‘Later,’ he agreed before turning and walking away. He got to the door before he turned around and looked back at her. It looked like he was going to say something for a moment before he merely gave her a small wave and finally left.
She turned to where Casey had been, hoping to be able to catch him, but he was gone. Paige sank back into her squishy chair with a groan.
‘Blueberry, I just turned down a date with Tristan-freaking-Swift,’ she mumbled with a hand on her stomach. ‘You’d better be worth it.’
‘Just a minute, hold on,’ Paige said through gritted teeth as she unlocked the door to her apartment. Her phone was ringing in her bag and her hands were full of groceries she’d picked up on the way home. The door swung open to the small but tidy home she’d created in just a few short weeks, and she dumped the two bags on the table at the side of the door. She grabbed the phone triumphantly but frowned at the unknown number.
‘Hello?’ she answered.
‘Paige?’ It was Tristan’s voice! How the hell had he got her number?
‘Tristan?’
‘Yeah, sorry to just call you unannounced,’ he said. ‘But I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.’
‘And that doesn’t sound stalker-y,’ she said, unsure if she should be worried or amused. The man chuffed a laugh down the phone, a bashful murmur of agreement following it.
‘Look, I know I’m coming on strong,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But the moment I saw you, I just felt I had to get to know you.’ Paige found herself smiling goofily at his words. ‘And I just have to give it one more shot. Have lunch with me tomorrow. I’m not filming, and—I checked your schedule with the producers before I left—neither are you.’ Okay that was totally stalkerish. ‘So I was thinking that lunch, somewhere very public if you don’t want somewhere quiet…’
He was rambling, and Paige felt herself soften a little as she realised he was nervous. It was slightly endearing that a man so sought-after as he was could be nervous trying to talk a woman into a date with him. While she wasn’t sure she was up for anything romantic, as he seemed to be, she did like the possibility of a friendship with him—they had got along so well during the show.
‘There’s a bistro I like…’ she finally said, giving him a break.
‘Yeah?’ he asked, and she could hear the smile within that single word.
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘Does the guy even own a watch?’ Casey mumbled as he looked at the clock on the wall behind the writers. They were supposed to have started the read through fifteen minutes earlier, but were still waiting for his co-star. Every day the guy was late; it was winding almost everyone up. And to think the producers hadn’t wanted him. Casey snorted at the thought, as the very people who’d called him unprofessional, a hack, a has-been-saved-by-circumstance—and those were just what they’d said to his face—continued tapping their pens and looking at the clock. So far, he’d been the perfect cast member; always on time, knowing his lines, and hadn’t fucked around creating problems that required retakes over and over and over… Well except for the first couple of scenes, but that had been for understandable reasons, not like Tristan Swift.
The prick.
The number of times that guy fluffed his lines, Casey had begun to wonder if he could even read. The crew members had started calling him Tristan Slow because he never arrived on time. If this was how Swift had worked on his other p
rojects, Casey found it mind-boggling he was as loved as he was by the Network. Granted, Swift was no Luc Truman, that was for sure—although perhaps Luc wasn’t the best comparison right now—but the shit the guy was getting away with was unbelievable. He wondered who the hell the man had slept with to get the leeway and adoration he was receiving?
‘Sorry, sorry, I know, I know,’ Tristan said as he came crashing through the door. The room jumped as one, everyone sitting to attention in their chairs—assistants putting their phones down, guest stars smiling at him sweetly, while the writers merely shuffled their papers together and glanced towards the now-frowning producers.
Casey only rolled his eyes and held up his script before his face. He didn’t need it really, he’d already gone through it a dozen times the night before and three more that morning for his cues.
‘Late night, Tris?’ one of the assistant directors asked sarcastically, but the other man didn’t seem to pick up on the sentiment and turned his dazzling smile on the AD.
‘No, it was a lunch date; I was worn out by early evening.’ Tristan threw the man a wink for good measure. The AD shook his head and turned back to his script, clearly unimpressed, but Tristan was oblivious to it.
‘You’re worn out the day after an afternoon bedroom session? You’re getting old, dude,’ said one of the desperate guest stars who had still to make it in the industry—Casey recognised him from the shows he’d appeared on as minor characters.
Casey shook his head. Bloody macho bullshit. He may have told his friends tales of some of his conquests, but it wasn’t in a public forum, and especially not to people he barely knew. He had some standards—even if women he’d slept with had chosen the opposite.