by Cara Dee
"I just got off the phone with Noah, and we're gonna keep an eye on the weather. If it's the same as today, you'll reshoot your scene with Kelly tomorrow."
Sophie's heart sank and her face fell. "It wasn’t good enough," she said quietly. "I get it."
Of course it wasn’t good enough. This was her.
There was a pause before Tennyson replied. "It was good up until the end," he told her, slightly gentler now. "But I need more defeat when you stare out at nothing. Your sister's given up, and she was your last hope. This is where you realize you're on your own."
Sophie nodded numbly, even though he couldn’t see it. Defeat, she could do. It was all she felt at the moment. "Defeat. Copy that."
She ended the call and stared unseeingly, ironically how she'd be looking all vacant in her scene. Then there was a knock on her door, and it was Daniel. Sophie kept staring. Another round of tears welled up, but she felt completely empty. Empty and crushed.
Concern flashed in Daniel's eyes as he crossed the room and sat down next to her. "I'm sorry, darling."
Sophie shrugged and wiped her cheeks. "It's okay. I deserved to see it."
Because I'm only good for spreading my legs and using my dad's credit card.
Now the hurt reappeared. A wall of pain smashed right into her, and she fell apart, not caring Daniel saw her. She had turned into a monster.
"Oh, Sophie…" Daniel scooted close and held her, murmuring into her hair. "We can fix this, you know. It doesn’t have to be like this."
"How?" she sobbed. "I'm fucking useless."
"No." He cupped her cheeks and stared at her. "You're not. You just gotta lay off the diva business. It's not who you really are, and I think it's time you showed everyone that."
She sniffled some more and whimpered. "I don’t know what to do."
"I'll help you."
Chapter 5
The following night, Tennyson wrapped up, feeling satisfied about the day. Exhaustion had set in hours ago, but it didn’t touch him—even at four in the morning.
Claire and Chris's scenes were going tremendously well, and the raw footage Noah had sent of the reshoot in Denver was exceptional. Additionally, thanks to the reshoot, he'd dodged dinner with Sophie.
Although, right this moment, he was awfully pleased with her.
He didn’t know what kind of pep talk Sophie had given herself, but the scene had improved remarkably. Her character exuded defeat and pent-up anger; it had practically radiated off the screen.
When they returned from Denver tomorrow morning, Tennyson would make sure to tell Sophie she'd done a good job and, most importantly, keep it up.
He went to bed in a good mood and slept peacefully.
Until he was woken up way too early the next morning. He blinked sleepily, wondering if he'd imagined Sophie's voice and, in that case, God, why? But he hadn't imagined it. Even though there were trailers between his and hers, it was definitely her he could hear at—he checked his phone. Christ. It was only nine. He'd slept less than five hours.
It wasn’t uncommon, of course, but he wasn’t scheduled to work until eleven today, so he'd been looking forward to some extra sleep.
He tried to fall back to sleep, dragging the covers over his head. His morning erection strained in his boxer briefs, and he reached beneath the fabric and gave his cock a slow stroke. But Sophie was relentless with whatever she was doing, and her voice rang out again, sounding oddly…chirpy. People who'd just gotten off flights weren't usually so upbeat.
"No, I mean it. All of it!"
Tennyson groaned and got out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then he slid on his shades and stepped outside, ready to tell Ms. Pierce to pipe the fuck down.
The second his bare feet hit the pavement, he was met by a sight he was too tired to even try to understand. But it looked like Sophie was now sharing her trailer with wardrobe. A handful of clothing racks stood outside the trailer and countless shopping bags littered the ground.
"What's going on?" he asked gruffly.
Daniel and Noah were standing to the side, looking amused as hell.
"Please don’t stop her," Daniel said. "Sophie's human now. Humor her."
"Fuck you," Sophie told Daniel, though there wasn’t any anger in her tone. Then she smiled politely at one of the assistants from wardrobe, who walked out of her trailer with a giant pile of clothes. "Yes, yes, yes. Throw it all away."
Daniel cleared his throat loudly. "You mean, give it away to charity, right?"
Sophie blanched. "Oh. Yeah. Shit. Good idea, Daniel." She nodded firmly and started going through a pile of what looked like lingerie.
"Uh, not that, darling." Daniel smiled and rubbed the back of his head. "As expensive as all those were, I don’t think any homeless people care about the latest thong from La Perla."
"Not for wearing, anyway," Noah joked.
This was too much to process with so little sleep, so Tennyson merely padded over to the set where he poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a Danish.
He returned to Noah and Daniel, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun shining down on him. As long as he kept his gaze away from the sky, he should be safe from headaches for a little while.
"So is shopping the trick?" he asked, dipping his Danish in his coffee. "I was wondering why Sophie's reshoot went so well." He took a bite of the flaky pastry.
"This is bigger." Daniel kept his eyes on Sophie. "I'm helping her with some stuff, although the shopping is all on her. She disappeared after the shoot yesterday and was gone for hours. Her dad called me and wondered if her credit card had caught on fire. Then this shit was waiting for her when we landed."
Tennyson let out a quiet snort, eyeing Sophie over the rim of his cup. "Must be nice to be Daddy's little princess."
Daniel chuckled darkly. "You've met Peter Pierce, haven't you? He doesn’t keep princesses around. His wife and Sophie are possessions—nothing else. And let it be known that the wife is always replaceable."
Tennyson frowned as he mulled that over. He'd already figured out there was more to Sophie than a dumb party girl, but he hadn't considered she was having problems that went beyond which color her next Porsche should be.
"She doesn’t look like she's complaining, though." He raised a brow at Sophie as she threw garment bags around her and dug through her shopping bags. "If she were miserable, surely she would've gotten away from him by now."
Even though she hadn't made any headlines with her performances in her prior movies, they didn’t just throw out some pocket change. Sophie must've made plenty of money on her own.
Daniel shrugged. "She would have to start over from the beginning with literally no place to go. After she blew all her money on party favors, Peter got the control over her he wanted, and her mom doesn’t wanna see her."
"Jesus." Tennyson was too surprised to say much else.
"She's got a plan, though." Daniel smirked. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing a new Sophie Pierce around here now."
"What makes you think that?" Noah asked.
Daniel grinned and shrugged but didn’t answer verbally.
Tennyson didn’t know why that annoyed him.
*
After lunch and a meeting with his DP, Tennyson returned to the set, and most of the crew was being excused because of the scene's nature. Sex scenes were never comfortable, and dozens of people standing nearby didn’t make it easier.
With a select few remaining, Tennyson called for action with only one camera capturing Claire and Chris in their kitchen.
A bottle was shattered on the floor, the fake glass swimming in alcohol as Chris slid down a wall, Claire straddling him. Their kiss was brutal and angry, much like the way they clawed at each other.
"This changes nothing," Chris gritted out.
Tennyson made a rolling motion to Katie, the camera assistant, vaguely aware of someone standing next to him. Though, he didn’t move his gaze from the screen.
"You still ha
ven't asked me…" Claire breathed heavily and threw her head back, grinding against Chris. "You haven't asked where I got the money from."
Chris chuckled darkly and grazed his teeth along her collarbone. "Maybe your answer would've mattered…if you weren't a lying whore."
Claire cried out, and they picked up the pace.
"Cut," Tennyson declared. "One more time, second mark." The cameraman moved around to reach his other angle, and Tennyson told the script supervisor this shot was ready for print.
"Hey," someone whispered behind him.
Tennyson threw an impatient glance over his shoulder and saw it was Sophie.
"Sorry." She smiled apologetically and held up her hands. "I wanted to ask if it's okay I stay. I asked Claire and Chris at lunch—they're okay with it."
Tennyson didn’t know why Sophie wanted to stay, but he didn’t have time for this right now. He nodded his answer and then refocused on the scene. It took him a few seconds because Sophie had changed her look again. Or rather, she looked like she had during their dinner. Makeup more subtle and light, her clothes modest and comfortable-looking. Shaking his head, he cleared his mind and got back to work.
*
The following few days were much the same. Tennyson worked almost exclusively with Chris and Claire, but Sophie was never far away. She'd started bringing a notebook to the set, too.
She could sit in a chair for hours, completely lost in the production and jotting down notes, and Tennyson had caught himself staring too many times. Sometimes in an attempt to figure her out, sometimes at her bare legs…
Fuck.
He was curious about this new side to her, and he had every intention of asking her when they had dinner together tonight. At least he thought it was tonight. His PA—damn, what was his name?—had mentioned something about Sophie tonight.
"Tennyson!"
Looking up from his call sheet, Tennyson found Noah by the snack table on the set. He grabbed a soda and strolled over to Tennyson.
"Take a break, boss. We're back from lunch soon."
"Are you telling me what to do, punk?" Tennyson's mouth quirked up.
"Would you look at that—I guess I am." Noah grinned. "Seriously, though. You've been working nonstop since five this morning. Go get something to eat."
Eh, he might as well. "Since you asked so nicely. See you soon." Tennyson set down his notes and began walking toward the food tent, but he paused. "Hey, Noah?"
Noah looked back at him. "Yeah?"
"How many directors have you worked with?"
Noah pursed his lips and squinted in thought. "Thirteen or fourteen, I think. Why?"
"All right." Tennyson nodded. "And on a scale from one to thirteen or fourteen, how much of a pain in the ass am I?" Noah's eyebrows shot up, so Tennyson decided to come clean about what the studio publicist had told him. "I've been told I'm not approachable enough. That I'm arrogant and hermit-like."
Noah folded his arms over his chest, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Hermit-like," he repeated. "That’s a good one." He shook his head and chuckled. "I guess it's true to some degree. A lot of your work takes place up here." He tapped his temple. "The people around you just watch it unfold. We follow your lead." He shrugged slightly at that. "And of course you're arrogant. Aren't all directors arrogant?"
Tennyson grimaced. "There's a difference between confidence and arrogance."
"Never claimed there wasn’t, but I've never worked with a director who wasn’t arrogant." He tilted his head. "As for the scale…I'd say you're a twelve."
"Twelve?" Tennyson couldn’t believe it. Was he that bad? Christ.
"It's not necessarily a bad thing," Noah defended. "You're impatient as fuck and you don’t give much feedback, but aside from that… Tennyson, you're the only director I've wanted to work with more than once. You're demanding and yeah, antisocial, but you create amazing films."
Tennyson frowned and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "All right." He couldn’t alter his directing style, but he supposed he could try paying more attention to the people around him when he was off the clock. When he worked, he lived and breathed the production, but he could make an effort to—at the very least—remember names and be polite. And give more feedback.
"Was there anything else?" Noah smirked.
One thing, and Tennyson felt sheepish about it. "What's my PA's name?"
Noah cracked up and turned to leave. "Tyler," he called over his shoulder.
Tyler. Okay. Tyler.
*
After his shower that night, Tennyson found himself hesitating in front of his open closet. Picking out clothes wasn’t a difficulty in general, but he didn’t even know where they were going. Was there a dress code? Would he need his shades?
He swiped up his phone and dialed the number under "Production: Unrecovered, PA."
His PA picked up after the first ring. "What can I do for you, Mr. Wright?"
What the… Had Tennyson not told him to call him by name?
"It's Tennyson. Mr. Wright is my father," he replied. "I was wondering where I'm going with Sophie tonight."
"Oh, let me see." There was some shuffling of papers in the background. "You're going to that art café. I added the details to your phone. You and Ms. Pierce will get your canvas at nine, and they only serve refreshments during the event, so I suggest you eat before."
"Wait, wait—" Tennyson pinched the bridge of his nose, confused. "What event, and what about a canvas?"
There was a long pause before Tyler responded. "Didn’t you read the email I forwarded?"
Perhaps Tennyson had forgotten.
"I'll call you back," he muttered. Then added, "Thanks, Tyler."
He sat down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh and checked his email. Each line he read caused his brows to lift higher and higher. This wasn’t some simple date he and Sophie could fake their way through. The publicists in charge of their showmance had signed them up for a goddamn charity event for animals without shelter and illegal hunting.
In sixty cities across the world, two celebrities in each location would come together and create an art piece that would be auctioned off at some benefit in London this September. Each celebrity couple—romantically involved, friends, or related—would be given a canvas, art supplies, and two hours to make something that would go along with the theme, which was "Wild."
Tennyson clicked on a few links that the studio had put in the email, and it brought him to news articles about the event. Apparently, it had generated a lot of attention in major cities like New York, LA, Rome, Paris, and Sydney, and they were halfway through. Tonight was Vancouver, and the celebrities who had been on the list originally had backed out.
Tennyson cursed and scratched his jaw, following another couple links. Despite that the whole idea was for him and Sophie to show themselves in public, he was glad when he deduced the media barely covered cities that weren't on Hollywood's radar. Only fifty-something visitors had shown up when the charity event had reached Berlin last week, and Tennyson could handle fifty.
Standing up, he called Tyler again as he picked out a new shirt.
"Yes, sir?" Tyler answered.
Tennyson pretended he didn’t hear the "sir" and said, "This sounds big." He placed his phone between his shoulder and cheek and drew one of his ties between his fingers. Too fancy? He preferred casual, but when it came to art, he could never be sure. "What the hell are the publicists thinking? It's not some damn art piece we're donating. It's fraud. We're not really together, for chrissakes."
"I'm afraid I'm only the messenger," Tyler said apologetically.
Tennyson grunted and ignored the tie. "Did Sophie really confirm?" He pulled on a pair of gray pants and went with a black button-down. It was as fancy as he would go unless it was a blasted red-carpet event.
"She did, yes."
Glorious. Tennyson was already wishing the day could be over.
Chapter 6
"What about this?" Sophie bit her lip
and faced Daniel, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by fashion magazines he had no interest in.
He was probably incredibly bored, but he was being a good sport. "Not slutty."
"Oh, okay. Good." Sophie spun around to face the mirror again. Another good purchase. The simple, dark purple wraparound dress with three-quarter sleeves would go into the "keep" pile.
"You could wear it tonight, you know." Daniel tapped his watch. "The car will be here in twenty."
Sophie tilted her head at her reflection and figured Daniel knew best. She used to consider herself knowledgeable when it came to fashion, but that was before she learned what the world thought of her.
Tacky cunt. Spoiled bitch. Slut. Ungrateful. Naïve. Stupid. Worthless.
It hurt. Even after Daniel had spent two hours comforting her, giving her advice, and assuring her she could fix her reputation, it hurt. But she put a smile on her face instead because that was more beautiful than sadness. It wasn’t like she had any shoulder to cry on, anyway.
It was dawning on her that her friends back home weren't what one might call true friends. Perhaps she'd always known on some level, but it left her fucking lost now. Lost and questioning everything.
She'd never been a stranger to "modest," either. Hell, she'd made sure to dress down rather than up when she went to dinner with Tennyson that first time. Yet, it didn’t stop her from starting from scratch. Every single piece of old clothing she'd owned was now gone.
"Do you remember where I put my new makeup?" She eyed the floor, which wasn’t remotely visible for all the magazines and new clothes she'd bought.
"Brooklyn couldn’t stand the mess, so she organized it and placed it in your bathroom while you were on set earlier."
Oh. That was nice of her. She would have to thank Brooklyn later.
Heading into her bathroom, she went with simple—her motto now. Mascara, lip balm, some shimmer for her cheekbones, and she was done. It was weird. It usually took her at least an hour to get ready.
She felt a little naked, but Daniel assured her she was on the right track.
"Did you come up with any terms I could Google?" she asked, slipping into a pair of matching ballet flats. "For when I need to find outfits, I mean."