by J. A. Huss
Who? But I just smile as I pry her hands off me. “Of course they did. That was the first thing they said.” I smile warmly at her and give her a little push to get her walking as I contemplate how thick I have to lay it on to keep her happy.
This is the game in showbusiness. Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone has a huge ego that needs to be stroked. Everyone requires personal attention.
I figure it’s no skin off my back to give people these things. And that’s why I’m so successful. I’m a compliment whore.
“Oh, please, Vaughn. I know better.” She leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my cheek. “But thank you.”
And then she grabs onto my hand and follows me into my trailer, talking a mile a minute. I barely have time to throw my keys down before my set assistant is thrusting a cup of coffee at my face and insisting I head to makeup.
“Valencia,” I say again. “Gotta run, hun. Catch you later.”
Probably not. We’re not scheduled to even be on set together until tomorrow. But what does it hurt to be polite and excited to see her? Nothing. Why save it up for another day? That’s stupid. And goes against the first lesson in Hollywood.
Attitude is everything.
I check my watch as I walk over to the set and enter a tan metal door that leads to makeup. I wonder what time Grace will get out of bed. She spends entire days there sometimes. She has therapists but I don’t think they are doing her much good. They’re not really allowed to discuss her care, but one did say Grace mostly sits in silence when she goes. A few words muttered about her day are considered progress. I don’t know what more I need to do to help her recover.
As soon as the door closes behind me, the sights and sounds of work fill my years. Work invades my worries about my wife and it’s a relief.
I’m not the Invisible Man for these opening scenes. I’m just Griffin. We’ve deviated from the original story considerably after the first movie. And so far the Invisible Man hasn’t had much luck in the love department. But I have a feeling that will change in this movie. Valencia only does sexy these days, so I’m sure they added some scenes to show off her amazing body.
She looks great, I will give her that. At twenty-nine, she’s more beautiful now than she was at sixteen when we dated.
But beauty was never her downfall. She’s just too bossy for my tastes.
I endure the hour-plus of makeup time and then wander over to the set, reading my script before we start. It doesn’t take much to get into this character. Movie three should be ridiculously easy in that regard.
I spend the next seven hours waiting, acting, waiting, waiting, acting, and eating. In that order.
But every minute that passes is one that I’m not spending with Grace. Every minute that passes I miss her more. While I’m waiting, when most of the others in this scene with me are looking over their scripts, I think of Grace.
I think of her lips. And the way her pillow smells like her shampoo. And the way her eyes turn this amazing blue when we’re in the pool at night. It’s surreal. Sometimes I make her swim with me at night just so I can see her eyes turn that color.
I picture babies. Baby girls, mostly. Little tow-headed princesses with those same turquoise eyes. I picture holidays together. And buying a new home. Soon. I want that to happen soon. I picture all these things whenever I have a free moment.
When lunchtime approaches, I can’t stop looking at the door. This will be the first time she’s ever been here to see me at work. I might be nervous.
A flash of light as the doors open, letting in the outside world. And there she is.
I want to be on this set when she comes in to find me for lunch. I want to be here, in front of all my co-workers, when she enters this life with me. I want to introduce her and show her off and be proud and happy that she is mine. And I want everyone here to see that.
“Grace!” I call out as she looks around, uncertain.
The whole place goes quiet.
Daisy Bryndle seems like a phantom. She disappeared after Grace was airlifted off that dreary Nebraska farm and never came back. I know Grace still struggles. She accepted Bebe’s advice about physical therapy. She’s done a good job putting it behind her.
I wave at her as I get up off my chair and walk over with long strides. I take her in my arms and kiss her on the lips. “God, I missed you,” I say into her mouth.
“It’s only been a few hours.”
“Too many. Now come on, I’ll introduce you to the crew.” I take her around and give her dozens of names she will never in a million years remember. And then I call the lunch break and lead her outside towards my trailer.
“Slow down,” she laughs as I pull her along. “What’s the hurry?”
I open the door to the trailer and wave her in. “You’re the hurry, Kinsella. Now up.” She climbs the stairs and I smack her ass as we enter the trailer.
“Don’t be a caveman, Asher,” she throws back.
That Asher shit used to bother me. But ever since she called me that back in the hospital, I take it as a term of endearment.
I scoop her up in my arms and walk her back to the bedroom. I look down at her face before I do it. I want to see the thrill in her eyes, the smile on her face. “Don’t do it,” she warns me.
I throw her down and turn her over so fast the idea of struggle never enters her mind. “I owe you so many spankings, Mrs. Asher.”
“No!” she protests, laughing.
“Oh, yes.” I pull down her shorts and my dick gets hard just looking at her bare ass. Fuck. I smack it good and hard and she yelps out as her cheek turns pink.
“You can’t spank me here.”
I smack her again and this time I let my fingers slip between her ass cheeks so I can find her slick pussy. “Goddamn, Grace. I must not be fucking you enough at home if you’re this turned on with two spankings in my trailer.”
She’s pressed into the thick comforter on the bed, so she turns her head and gives me a wink. “I’ve been waiting for these spankings for months, but you look like someone else right now. It’s weirdly erotic.”
Mmmm. Fuck. I forgot about the makeup. “It’s too weird to let me fuck you?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No, Master.”
Oh, fucking hell. I yank her shorts all the way down to her ankles and unbuckle my belt as fast as I can. She moans, still watching me with her head turned to the side, when my cock is finally in my hands.
I lean over her back and bite her shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you.”
“Please,” she begs. “Do it hard. Fuck me hard.”
We haven’t had rough sex since before. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been craving it. I was gonna fuck her hard anyway, but her invitation takes away all my doubts. My hand slides back between her ass cheeks and I stick my fingers inside her pussy. She groans and wiggles enough to make me feel like she’s resisting. Like she wants me to take her, whether she wants it or not. This makes me crazy with desire.
I position the tip of my dick until it’s pressing against her warm, soft folds and then I stop.
“Tell me what you want, Grace.”
“You,” she whispers immediately. “Just you.”
I ease into her slowly. Not pushing hard enough for her, because her pussy clenches around my dick and she rams her ass backwards until I fill her up.
“Harder,” she begs. “Fuck me harder.”
I don’t, of course. “Don’t boss me, woman,” I tell her instead. “I decide how hard you need to be fucked.”
I decide she needs to be fucked very hard right now. But I’d rather save that for tonight. So I ease back out of her, just as slowly.
She moans with disapproval, but before she even has a chance to whine about it, I ram back into her, my thighs smacking against the back of her legs.
“Like that, you filthy bird?”
“Yessss,” she whispers. “Yessss.”
Her voice alone is enough to make my cock throb with want. I
thrust a little harder this time and another. “Yes, please, more,” is whispered into the blankets on the bed.
“I think you should come to work with me every day. Let me make you my trailer whore. Keep you tied up on this bed, your legs spread open for me, your pussy dripping wet as you think of all the ways I will fuck you wild when I come for lunch.”
Goddamn, I might come from my own dirty talking.
“Do it, Master. I’m yours to use as you please.”
I pound her for that remark and she starts to moan a little too loud for a back lot trailer. So I pull out, flip her over, and place my hand over her mouth as my cock slides back inside her pussy. “Shhh, you wild thing.” She breathes hard through her nose as I continue to pump. Her legs wrap around my waist, her thighs pressed against my hips, squeezing as she tries to keep me close when I pull too far away.
I thrust one more time, pushing as deep as I can get. She stiffens a little with the force, her pussy gripping my cock so tight it can only mean one thing. Her reaction fuels my desire to have her. To spill my come inside her. My head falls back automatically and I feel the release and it’s over.
I growl out my satisfaction as her legs, weak and trembling, unwind from my hips. I fall on top of her, my pants still mostly on, her shorts still around her knees. And I pull her over so her face is resting on my chest. She breathes hard and heavy, panting as she tries to calm her racing heart. And then things slow… the rhythm, the pulse in her neck as I kiss it tenderly, my own heart… slows.
“I love you,” she says quietly.
“I love you back.”
Someone pounds on my trailer door and breaks the moment. “Yeah,” I call out.
“Five minutes, Mr. Asher,” they yell back.
“I’m bored at home,” Grace says.
“I’m sorry, sweets. You can come here every day if you want. You can come all day. I’d love for you to be here. But it’s boring here too.”
“Maybe it’s better to be bored together?”
“It is,” I say, kissing her neck once more time. She’s calm now, the wild ride behind us. “It is. Stay here in my trailer and rest if you want. Or go for a walk on the lot. I can get someone to take you around?”
“No,” she sighs. “I’m gonna go home and cook, I think.”
“Yeah?” I’m surprised. She’s never cooked for me before. In fact, she doesn’t do much of anything for me. So this is a good sign. I smile and play with her hair. “What will you make?”
“What do you like that I can make at home?” She turns a little so she can look me in the eye.
“Steaks?” I don’t give a fuck what she makes. She can serve me peanut butter and jelly for all I care. I just want her to be happy.
I don’t think she’s happy.
I’m not enough to make her happy.
“I can do steaks.”
“Good.” I get up and shove my dick back in my pants. then reach for her hand and bring her to her feet and then pull her shorts back up. “I can’t wait to come home.”
“What time will you be?” She looks up at me and her eyes have that lost look in them I’ve become used to.
God, she’s so vulnerable right now. Her request is almost a plea. I hate leaving her home alone. “Eight? Maybe?”
“Oh.” She’s disappointed. I can tell. But we work long hours when we’re filming. It costs money to pack things up and quit for the day. “OK. I’ll see you at eight.”
I hold her hand as we walk outside and then she gives me a little wave as she heads in the direction of the attendant responsible for her while she’s on the lot. She gets in the golf cart and pulls a pair of sunglasses on. But I catch it.
A fingertip slides up under her glasses to wipe her eye. Like she’s crying.
The golf cart takes off and I’m just about to go after her when I hear them calling for me.
She just needs time. That’s what everyone keeps telling me. Time heals things.
I guess that’s true. Time healed her after the first incident. But it’s different now. She was a child. Children are resilient. That’s what they say, anyway. Children bounce back.
“Mr. Asher?”
My assistant is right up next to me now. “Yeah, coming.”
I know Grace is still sad about how things ended back in Nebraska and it makes me feel helpless. Because there’s no dollar amount that can fix this for her. There’s no gift, no vacation, no promise that can fix this.
It’s up to her now. All I can do is make sure no one else interferes with her recovery. And so far, that’s going great. Buzz backed off. No other new sources have turned up.
So why do I feel so sure that something’s coming?
“Mr. Asher?” my assistant asks again as I stare at the disappearing golf cart.
“Right.” I turn away and follow him back inside.
Chapter Six
#NotGoodEnoughToBeAStupidWhore
“GRACE?” he whispers in my ear. “You awake, sweets?”
This must be our new thing.
“Grace? You want to come have lunch with me again today? Only this time we’ll really eat?”
“No,” I mumble from under the covers.
“Are you sure? I’d love it if you came to the set today.”
“No,” I say again with more conviction.
“OK. Well, dinner last night was delicious. Will you cook tonight? Or should I bring something home?”
“God, I don’t know. It’s not even time for breakfast yet.”
He’s silent for a few moments. I’m being a bitch, I know this. I want him to call me on it. To tell me to stop my moping. But they didn’t do that back when I was a teen and no one is going to do that now.
They tiptoe around me. Even Vaughn. No one knows what to do with me, so they figure I should be allowed to do whatever I want, I guess.
Well, I want to be a bitch. Because I’m angry about something. I’m not even sure what it is. I’m just angry.
Asher is still talking but I tune him out.
I’m trying to figure out what’s got me so pissed off and I just can’t seem to get a hold of it. I get another kiss and I make an effort and throw the covers back. “Sorry,” I say as he walks away. “I’m grumpy.”
He stops and takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t turn back. “I’ll see you tonight, OK?”
I nod but say nothing.
And he leaves.
Good going, Grace. I guess you got what you wanted. I throw the covers back over my head and try to go back to sleep. I lie there for thirty minutes until I give up and reach under my pillow for my phone to find Bebe’s face. I press it and wait for it to ring.
“Hola, bitch,” she says in her chirpy Bebe tone. “What’s shakin’ bacon?”
This makes me smile immediately. She’s so stupid. “Your tits, as usual. Those giant knockers are gonna take your eye out one of these days.”
“Totally. But I got them strapped in at the moment.”
“You at work?”
“Yup. Did you know that sweaty guys in a gym, who beat each other up for a living in a ring they call a cage, are hot as fucking hell?”
I smile wider. “So, Steve’s two-hour parking limit is up, I take it?”
“So up. Dude, he was talking about kids. Do you believe that shit? I am not mother material. I mean, seriously. Anyone who knows me knows I am not mother material. I’m fun party material. I want no ties for at least ten more years. I’m all about enjoying your youth while you have it.”
“Did he cry?” I laugh. Bebe has been known to make men cry. Hell, Vaughn is even afraid of her.
“Almost. Pffft. Wimp. So what’s up with you, chica? Living la vida loca?”
Fucking Bebe. I miss her so damn much. “Eh. I’m at home in bed. Vaughn is working. So… eh. I’m at home in bed.”
“What’s wrong?”
I hesitate. Because even though a few minutes ago I was trying to pretend that I didn’t know what was wrong, I know what’s wrong. �
�I feel like… going home.”
“You are home.”
I take a deep breath. “No. My home.”
The silence hurts. It really does. But I suppose my words hurt Bebe even more.
“Why?” she finally asks. “I mean, after all these years. Why now?”
“I don’t know. It’s a bad idea?”
“Such a bad idea.”
I knew it.
“But,” she adds after a few seconds, “if you need to go, Grace, then you should go.”
“I have a private jet. Well, I mean, I have one available to me. As Mrs. Asher. I’m coming right now.”
“Now? But I’m at work.”
God, I love my adopted sister. She just naturally assumes we’d do this together. “That’s OK, Bebe. I can go alone. Really. It’s not a big deal. In fact, I want to go alone.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. How about I call you later and maybe we can have dinner?”
“OK.”
She sounds hesitant, so I say goodbye and quickly hang up before she can ask any more questions. I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want her to feel obligated.
I stare at my phone for a few seconds to get up my nerve. When Vaughn gave me this phone the day after we came home from the hospital, it had all his contacts in it already. His agent. Big Hollywood producers and movie stars. Restaurants he frequents. And the flight coordinator.
I press that tab now and tell them I want to go to Denver. It’s a three-hour drive up to the town I grew up in from Denver, but I can use the thinking time. Plus, I don’t want those people to know I’m coming. I don’t know why, but I don’t want them to know I’m coming. And if I take a jet up to that little airstrip, they will know.
Once the arrangements are made, I get up and take a shower and get dressed. I skip breakfast—they always serve food on the jet—and then I climb into the Audi Vaughn says is mine, and drive out to the airport.
By the time I get there, it’s fueled, the captain is on board, and the only thing missing is me. Vaughn didn’t call and ask me what the hell I’m doing, so I can only assume they didn’t inform him of my plans.