by Cassie Reed
Trayce suppressed a grin. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But, I am single, you know.”
“Oh,” Olivia uttered, her face frozen in surprise. “I mean, yeah. That’s cool. So maybe you should have asked for her number or something. I bet she would have given it to you in a heartbeat.”
“I wasn’t interested. In her,” he found himself adding.
What was he doing?
“Oh,” Olivia said again. “Well I’m single too, so I know better than anybody that there’s plenty of fish in the sea and you don’t necessarily have to reel in the first one that jumps out at you.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, watching her face light with a smile again.
Single, he thought.
Well, that was very interesting.
Her face turned serious once again as a cloud of thought washed over her. “You’re. . .not going to say you’re in stunt work, are you?”
“Should I not?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Won’t it look. . .fishy?”
“Fishy how?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. You shouldn’t have to lie. There were people from all walks of life at that ribbon-cutting. Why wouldn’t a stuntman be the likely person to step in and save me?”
Trayce eyed her. “Are you talking to me, or is this more of an inner-monologue thing?”
She glanced up at him again. “Honestly, maybe a little of both. But really, feel free to say whatever you want. You don’t have to lie. Just don’t divulge every detail,” she murmured. “Obviously.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be as vague as possible. Plus, remember our agreement?”
She nodded. “I do most of the talking.”
“Exactly,” he said, focusing his gaze on her once again. “So milk this show for everything it’s got.”
“Oh, I will,” she said determinedly. “I’m gonna talk my butt off.”
Trayce bit his lip. With curves like hers, that’d be a crying shame.
She grinned at him, as though reading his mind. “Not literally, of course.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think. . .” He felt a smile of his own forming. The woman was infectious.
The assistant from earlier gave a sharp knock before opening the door again. “Just wanted to let you guys know we’ve got about five minutes to show time.”
“Great,” Olivia told her, sounding genuinely glad. “We’re ready when you are.”
The assistant nodded, disappearing again.
Olivia turned toward him again. “Are you ready?”
Trayce dropped his voice an octave lower. “I was born ready.”
She laughed. “I think I heard a little Captain Patriot there.”
“Well,” he said, running a hand over his hair. “I’m his stunt double, you know.”
She nodded, her eyes lingering over his face. “I’m starting to see it now.”
9
Olivia took a deep breath as she stood just off set, watching Chelsea Kane, the perky host of Good Morning Hollywood, wrap up her first segment, a brief and sometimes catty look at the recent headlines taking the town by storm.
“Alright, all you early birds, well I’ve got a real treat coming,” Chelsea announced. “An exclusive interview with LA’s very own damsel in distress, Olivia Warner. We’ll get the low down on that heart-stopping video that’s breaking the internet, when we come back.”
A camera panned to a waiting Olivia, who did her best to clear the nerves from her face as she smiled and waved at the camera. Why was she so nervous, she couldn’t help but wonder. She had done more interviews than she could count, and this show alone at least a half dozen times. What had changed? Was she just feeling rusty, or had she genuinely developed a phobia for the media?
“And cut!” a voice announced, just as Olivia heard the green room door open and close behind her. Trayce emerged, coming to a stop at her side.
She glanced back at him. “Were you hiding back there?”
“I didn’t want to get in your shot,” he replied. “I figured you’re the real draw here.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she told him.
There was a reason Good Morning Hollywood had wanted Trayce there, and it wasn’t to simply get both sides of the story. The echo chamber that was social media had spoken, and viewers were intrigued with the mysterious hero with the rugged good looks who had rushed in to save the day. If Olivia were honest with herself, she was too.
Chelsea appeared before them suddenly, a formidable presence with her six-foot frame stacked on towering heels. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, bending forward to embrace Olivia in a light hold and phantom kisses on both cheeks. When she was done, she held out a demure hand to Trayce, who took it. “Charmed,” she told him, her eyelashes batting flirtatiously.
Olivia felt a familiar feeling surge through her, the same feeling she had felt when she had watched Cindy the makeup artist come on to Trayce in the green room.
Jealousy.
She felt a shiver rush through her as she batted the feelings away. He may have been her hero, but he wasn’t hers. Right now her number one priority was getting through this show. Not just getting through it, but killing it. She knew she could, if she could only just concentrate more on what she needed to say than whatever mind games her head was playing with her about Trayce.
“You both look great,” Chelsea said, winking as she edged back toward the stage. “This is going to be fun.”
Olivia smiled warmly, even as her brain went into overdrive.
Fun?
What did that even mean?
She took another deep breath, attempting to fill herself with confidence. This was a light-hearted talk show. Of course it was going to be fun.
“Welcome back to Good Morning Hollywood!” Chelsea said, once again perched in her spot on the long white couch that made up a good portion of the show’s set. “My next guests just had a real close call with a train. Every time I see this video I get nervous, but let’s take a look at it again.” Chelsea paused, her head bowing to review the cue cards in her hand as the video from the train station played on a large screen overhead. While Olivia had already seen it, it still made her stomach flip every time she did, but she could never manage to look away. A second before it was over, Chelsea raised her head again to address the camera. “Just wow,” she declared, her face pantomiming shock. “Please welcome to the show, Oscar-winning actress Olivia Warner, and her real life superhero, Trayce Bradford.”
As the funky beat of a walk-out song filled the studio, Olivia reached back and grabbed Trayce’s hand. Their eyes met briefly before she told herself to let go. Putting her hands on her hips, she puffed out her chest the way Jamie had told her to do before stepping out onto the red carpet. “It’s a power pose,” Jamie had said. “Do you feel it?”
Dropping her hands back to her sides, Olivia felt it. She felt powerful. She was powerful. She walked out toward the stage boldly, a wide smile plastered to her face as she greeted Chelsea again the same way they had only minutes before, their cheeks fluttering to either side of each other as they embraced lightly. Taking a seat on the couch, Olivia watched as Chelsea enveloped Trayce is a brief, but full hug, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as though she was the one he had saved. She felt another jolt of possessiveness move through her, but did her best to push it away.
Chelsea came to a seat beside her, fanning her face with her cue cards. “Okay,” she said, a tongue-in-cheek smile forming on her face. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, thank you so much for being here.” She focused on Olivia. “First things first though, how are you doing? That must have been a heart-stopping moment for you.”
“It really was,” Olivia agreed, her eyes widening with emphasis. “But I’m actually doing great. I feel so lucky to be here, honestly.”
“I bet,” Chelsea replied. “Tell me what was going through your head at that moment. No, actually, tell me why you chose to stand so close to the edge of the platform. I’m f
rom New York and seeing that just made me cringe.” She shook her head in disbelief.
Olivia nodded. “Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn’t it? I didn’t even realize how close I was standing to the edge until I saw the video. But that’s where the ribbon was, and once I cut it, I guess I must have lost my place a little bit.”
“Mm-hmm, looks like you had some trouble with that ribbon. But you’re an actress, you have experience standing on a mark.”
“If only there was a director there to tell me,” Olivia laughed.
“So bring me back to that moment,” Chelsea continued. “You’re standing near the train tracks, the train is coming by the way, and you realize you’re starting to lose your balance.”
“Right.”
“And Trayce, I should get to you, you’re just an innocent bystander in all of this?”
“Yep,” Trayce said in that deep but aloof baritone of his, a voice that drove Olivia crazy more than she liked to admit. “Just there to check out the new train.”
“And good thing you were,” Chelsea said. “It looks like most people froze in that moment. It’s unfortunate, really, but that’s usually people’s first response. What gave you the peace of mind to rush forward the way that you did?”
Trayce shook his head, his palms spreading in his lap. “She looked like she was gonna fall.”
Chelsea nodded. “Were you there with anyone? A girlfriend, maybe?”
“Nope,” Trayce said. “Just me.”
“Trayce, the viewers at home are gonna be out with pitchforks if I don’t ask you this, so just remember it’s not me, it’s Twitter. Are you single?”
“Uh,” he began, his eyes lifting to Olivia’s for a moment. His expression was a mixture of questioning, annoyance, and is she serious?
She’s serious, Olivia attempted to convey with her eyes, even as guilt began to eat away at the corners of consciousness for dragging him there.
“I am single,” Trayce confirmed.
“Oooh,” Chelsea cooed. “Olivia, did you know that?”
“I—well,” she stammered to respond, her cheeks filling with heat. “Maybe you won’t be for long, after this.”
Their eyes met before falling away, back to Chelsea who laughed. “Good point. You heard it here first, Twittersphere. Trayce, are you on Twitter?”
“No.” It was his quickest answer of the morning.
Olivia could tell the attention on him, not to mention the personal line of questioning, was becoming uncomfortable, so she did her best to sway the interview back in her direction. “I am,” she offered.
Chelsea looked at her. “Oh, I thought you quit all social media?”
“I had,” Olivia said. “Everyone needs a break now and then. But I’m back now.”
“Well, I’ll have to follow you then,” Chelsea told her. “Okay, so back to this harrowing moment we all can’t stop watching. You feel yourself start to tilt backward, you’ve just dropped your scissors onto the tracks and you feel like you might be next. What’s going through your head?”
Olivia nodded. “Right,” she said. “It was terrifying, actually. I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I think I was in a state of shock, but I sort of feel like when they say your life flashes before your eyes, that it really does. And I just couldn’t help but think, am I going to make it out of here today? Am I going to make it home?”
Beside her, Trayce shifted uneasily.
“It was the closest I’ve ever come to something that dangerous,” Olivia continued, ensuring she played up the drama as best she could as she noticed the producer signaling there were just minutes left in the segment. “I never thought an ordinary ribbon-cutting would wind up with me being forced into such a precarious situation.” She glanced at Trayce. “It was so fortunate Trayce was there to help.”
“Tell me about it,” Chelsea mused. “Well, all of us here at Good Morning Hollywood are so glad everything worked out. Now before we go, tell us what we can expect from you next, Olivia.”
Olivia froze. She hadn’t been expecting that question, but now that she had heard it, she could have nearly kicked herself with one of her stiletto heels. Of course she was going to be asked what she was working on, but it was both a blessing and a curse. Much more the ladder when she had nothing going on. This interview was it, but there was no way she was admitting to that. Critics and fans were both tuning in, and in a place as fickle as Hollywood, she knew those groups tended to overlap.
“Well,” she said. “I’ve got some interesting projects coming down the pipeline, and they’ve been keeping me plenty busy. So needless to say, I’m really excited for what’s to come.”
There.
Perfect.
Perfectly vague.
Chelsea nodded, even as her eyebrows dipped down quizzically. “Wonderful to hear. Thank you so much for being here today. Both of you.”
“Thank you for having us,” Olivia replied graciously.
Beside her, Trayce was quiet.
“Alright, when we come back, we’ve got the latest winner of Next Top Chef. Stay tuned!”
They waited patiently as music played them out before getting to their feet. “Thanks, guys, that was great,” Chelsea told them distantly as she walked off set toward an assistant with a waiting cup and straw.
“Thanks,” Olivia murmured, but she was only talking to herself. She suddenly became patently aware that she was standing on-stage alone. Ahead of her, Trayce was already making his way backstage. She followed him, her heels clicking against the floor like an impatient metronome. “Trayce?” she called. “Trayce, wait.”
But he wouldn’t stop walking, disappearing into the green room where she found him pulling on his jacket. Had the interview really bothered him that much?
“Is something wrong?” she asked tentatively.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Trayce, please—”
He met eyes with her briefly before turning away, his hand gripping the edge of the door before he exited completely. “Take care of yourself, Olivia.”
10
After the show aired, Trayce had more phone calls and texts than he was prepared to acknowledge. With each break he took between filming and practicing the moves for the next stunt, the number of notifications he returned to grew, but there was only one that pricked him with irritation.
A single text from Olivia.
Trayce, please call me.
The woman was insatiable. Did she think he would bow to her every whim now? His thumb hovered over the screen as his mind searched for a reply, but he quickly gave up. Instead, he fielded an incoming call from Layton.
“So this is how I have to find out?” his brother said.
Trayce frowned. “What are you talking about?” he said stubbornly, even though he knew.
“I find out you’ve been cavorting with Olivia Warner from Good Morning Hollywood? My own brother can’t even tell me to my face? Not cool, man, not cool,” Layton said. “So, what’s she like?”
“Who?”
“Who?” Layton repeated. “You know who.”
“She’s. . .complicated.”
Her, or his feelings about her? The thought ate away at him, slowly, like a worm munching on a leaf.
“The gorgeous ones always are,” his brother lamented. “What were you doing at that ribbon-cutting anyway? You didn’t tell me you wanted to check that out.”
“Split decision.” He didn’t like lying to Layton, but the rules of the agreement he had made with Olivia made it a necessary evil. “I was already stuck downtown and I had some time to kill.”
“Okay,” Layton replied dubiously.
“What?”
“Nothing. Interesting choice, is all.”
“I needed to get out for a bit, I’ve been splitting my time between work and your place for the past month and I needed to break the routine,” Trayce continued.
“Yeah and the old Trayce I knew would have rode his bike down Pacific Coast Hig
hway for a while, but I’m not judging you,” Layton said. “You just never told me about your crush on Olivia Warner.”
“That’s not why I was there,” Trayce found himself saying all too quickly. “And I don’t have a crush on her.”
“Hey, it’s okay if you do. In fact, it’d be more weird if you didn’t—”
“Well, I don’t,” Trayce defended himself. “She’s pushy, and impractical, and hardheaded.”
Layton was quiet for a beat. “Jeez,” he said finally. “How much time have you spent with her actually?”
“None,” Trayce sputtered. “Just at the interview. And at the train station.”
“Okay,” Layton said. “Well congratulations. You saved a real national treasure. Those legs alone—”
“Layton,” he found himself warning. Somehow he didn’t want anyone noticing Olivia’s deliciously shapely legs but him.
“Right, sorry,” Layton murmured. “I know. She’s a person, too.” He took a breath. “Well, head’s up, someone from the charity said they’d come by tonight and drop off some dinner so you’re off the hook. I guess.”
Trayce nodded, feeling a rush of relief wash over him. The charity division of the Film and Media Enterprise, or FAME, a union-type organization for screen performers that Layton had been signed under when he had been in the accident, had so far tried to be as helpful as they could. The charity division worked with a fraction of the FAME’s real budget, which seemed to cater to those A-list actors at the top first, but already they had managed to stop by with a couple meals a week, offer financial advice, and even a small award toward Layton’s medical bills. They were a reminder that even in a cutthroat business, there were portions of it that were still good.
“Alright,” Trayce said. “Well, I still might stop in and check on you later tonight. Make sure you haven’t fell and peed yourself.”
“What a stand-up guy,” Layton ribbed him. “Some would even say. . . a hero.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve gotta get back to work,” Trayce said. “See you later.”
Ending the call, he glanced up to see Dean Evers striding his way, the actor’s eyes straight on him. “Wow,” he said as he came to a stop in front of Trayce, a grin spreading across his face. “I never thought I’d see the day.”