Текст книги "Unforgettable"
Автор книги: Nelle L'Amour
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“You’ve got it,” he shouts out while I concentrate on my movements. He’s right. It’s a lot like riding a bike. And I’m good at that with my strong arms and legs.
We continue to tread water for another five minutes until I grow a little short of breath. He resumes a horizontal position, but this time on his back.
“Baby, hold on to my legs and just kick. I’m going to give you a ride back to the shallow end.”
For a brief moment, I’m stunned and my heart skips a beat. Did he just call me baby? It probably just slipped out of his mouth and is what he calls a lot of chicks he knows. Very Hollywood, though this is a first. I let it go and grab his ankles. As I kick behind him, he hauls me across the pool with a powerful backstroke—me loving every minute—until we’re both standing in the three-foot deep shallow end at the edge of the pool. He rises from the water like a god. Water drips from every part of him and his sculpted muscles glisten in the sun.
“Turn around,” he commands. His voice is authoritative.
Again, I do as asked. In a heartbeat, I feel his hard body pressing against mine. He captures both my wrists in his hands and begins to circle my arms, one after the other.
“Keep your fingers together and cut the water with them.”
I follow his directions, but he reprimands me. “No, Zoey. Don’t slap the water. Slice it and keep the splashes small.”
“Okay,” I murmur, a little crestfallen that I’m not quite getting it. Finally, after about thirty muscle-exhausting rotations, I have it down. My arms are killing me.
“I’m a little tired,” I plead, craning my neck. “Maybe we can pick up where we’ve left off tomorrow.”
He looks at me sternly. “No. You’re not leaving this pool until you know how to swim. End of discussion.”
I hate when he says “end of discussion.” There’s no twisting the egomaniac’s arm. He wants what he wants and always gets his way.
We move on to the next part of the lesson. He makes me hold on to the edge of the pool along side him and mimic the way he’s kicking. It’s all in the ankles—a small flutter kick. Again, he tells me it’s not a splash party. I do well. So, we move on to the final part of the lesson. I’m going to combine breathing with stroking and kicking. Do what’s known as a crawl. He demonstrates first, swimming to the other end of the pool and back. I watch in awe as his powerful body cuts through the water with the elegance and speed of a dolphin. In no time, he’s back in the shallow end.
“Okay, your turn. You’re going to do one lap to the end of the pool.”
My gaze travels to the deep end. Suddenly, the pool seems a mile long. Fear creeps back into my veins. “I don’t think I can do it.”
He tilts my chin up with his thumb and holds it there. Another rush of tingles streams through my body from my head to my toes. I meet his intense gaze and my bottom lip quivers. He’s affecting me, making me all hot and bothered. I flounder for words.
“I’m scared. I’ve never swum before. What if I freak out and—”
Still pressing his thumb under my chin, he cuts me off and flicks his index finger across the tip of my nose. “You won’t. And besides, I’ll be swimming right next to you.”
That’s a comforting thought, but I remain frozen in fear and some other forbidden emotion I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Here. Wear these.” He takes the goggles on top of his head off and puts them on me. I don’t move a muscle while he adjusts them to fit my face. My eyes stayed fixed on him through the plastic lenses. Oh, God! He’s beautiful! So, so beautiful!
“Are you ready?”
I don’t respond. I’m too fixated on his face and his body. If God created man in his image, He must be insanely divine.
Brandon grows a little irritated. “You know, we don’t have all day.” Ugh! That dreaded bossy voice. “So let’s get to it. Kick off and start swimming.”
He moves out of my way. I shoot him one more doubtful look and I do it. It doesn’t come easily and I know I look nothing like an Olympian, but for the first time in my life, I’m actually swimming. Propelling myself across the pool with my arms and legs. Slowly but surely. On my first breath, I see Brandon on his back, stroking idly beside me. He winks at me, and I manage a tepid smile back at him. But halfway down the length of the pool, he picks up his pace, and before I know it, he’s way ahead of me. Panic grips me. I’m all by myself in the middle of the pool. The memory of my mother drowning fills my head. Her arms reaching out for me. Of me, watching, hopeless and helpless, until she disappears beneath the sea. I will it away. Swim, Zoey! You can do it! Do it for her!
On my next breath, a natural rhythm kicks in. Effort becomes effortless. Brandon’s voice resounds in my ear when I come up for air. “Come on, Zo. You can do it. You’re almost there.” I manage to glimpse his impassioned face before my head slides back under the water. The end is in sight. Maybe a dozen strokes away.
Finally, my hand touches down on the rim of the pool. My head shoots out of the water, and looming above me is Brandon, all wet and beautiful. He grabs my hand and hoists me out of the water, something I have not an ounce of body strength to manage. After lifting the goggles on top of my head, he swiftly wraps a large fluffy towel around my dripping wet body and then draws me into his arms. Breathing heavily, I don’t resist and rest my head against his damp manly chest. My thudding heart drowns out his. He holds me tightly. While my breathing calms down, my heartbeat speeds up. My nipples harden at the touch of his sculpted pecs, sending a blast of arousal to the triangle between my inner thighs. He presses me closer and I feel his hard length rub against me right through the thick towel. Finally, I break my head away from his chest and gaze up at his breathtaking face. His dark hair is slicked back, his eyes two sparkling amethyst gems. My eyes don’t blink and my mouth doesn’t move. My heartbeat hastens from a trot to a gallop.
Grinning smugly, he breaks the heated silence and rakes his hand through my soaked strands of hair. “You did it!”
“I had a great teacher,” I say softly with a smile.
“There’s a lot I could teach you, baby.”
Oh my God. He called me baby again. But this time his lush lips stay parted. He bows his head, and I swear he’s making a beeline for my mouth. Every feature on my face freezes in anticipation. He’s getting closer. I can practically taste him. Oh so close. And then…
“What may I ask is going on here?”
Brandon jerks away, body and all. My towel falls to the ground.
It’s her.
Hurricane Katrina.
Brandon
“I’m just giving Zoey a swimming lesson. After last night, I thought she could use one.”
With glacial eyes, Katrina gives Zoey the once over. “Some people should never put on a bathing suit.”
Zoey is cringing; I can tell by the way she scrunches her face and clenches her fists. Before I can come to her defense, she excuses herself.
“Thank you, Brandon, for the lesson. I really appreciate it. I’m going to get changed and go to Starbucks.”
Her tone is totally professional, and she avoids eye contact with Katrina.
Dressed in some designer white workout outfit, Katrina keeps her disdainful gaze on my assistant. I’m waiting for some kind of apology. A small smile slithers across her face and a glimmer of hope fills me.
“While you’re there, get me a low-fat soy latte. And don’t forget the Sweet ’n Low.”
My Mean ’n Low fiancée needs more than a package of fake sweetener. What was I thinking? There’s no hope. Zoey’s big brown eyes flare, but she maintains her cool. I want to say something, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“Sure.” Zoey hurls the word at Katrina and takes off. My eyes stay on her backside as she heads toward the guesthouse. Her ample ass is shaped like a heart and I more than like it. I want to coddle and squeeze it. And that’s just for starters.
Katrina’s breathy voice hurls me out of my unscrupulous thoughts. “Darling, while we’re waiting for our coffees, let’s go over some wedding details.” She’s clutching an iPad.
“I’d like to take a hot shower and put on some jeans first.”
She flings her head back with marked impatience. “Darling, can’t that wait? I have yoga at nine and then I have a full day of shooting. This is important.” She adjusts her sports bra. The remains of that tattoo on her chest shimmer in the morning sun. I still can’t make out the name. B-U-T-C-H? Another old boyfriend?
“Please, darling,” she purrs in my ear.
“Fine.” I might as well just get it over with.
I take a seat opposite her at one of the poolside tables. I wish I had my damn sunglasses. Even with the umbrella, the morning sunlight is blinding me.
“So what’s happening?”
I’m sorry I asked. Setting the iPad on the table, she goes over a crapload of wedding shit I have no interest or expertise in. Like seating and floral arrangements, wedding favors, bridesmaid gowns, the menu, and more.
My responses—when I can get a word in—are limited to the following: “Uh-huh. Good. Perfect. Nice.”
The one-way conversation goes on for what seems like forever. While my interest dwindles, Katrina grows more and more excited with every over the top detail. “Darling, I’m so thrilled you love everything. Mommy’s doing an incredible job. This wedding is simply going to be unforgettable!”
I twitch a half-smile as my mind wanders. All I can think about is my assistant. Why isn’t she back yet? Starbucks is just a half-mile down the hill on Sunset. Five minutes away. But it’s not my caffeine addiction that has me on edge. It’s my growing addiction to her. I need her more than I need my coffee fix. Like I’m co-dependent on her. But isn’t that what a relationship with a personal assistant should be?
Jolting me out of my disconcerting thoughts, Katrina clasps my hands. “Brandy-Poo, I’m just going to need one thing from you.”
“What?”
“Your credit card so Mommy can put down deposits on everything.”
I hesitate and then consent. According to my manager Scott, I did agree to pay for the wedding. The less I have to do with any of this shit, the better.
Katrina smiles brightly, revealing her perfect pearly white teeth. “Wonderful. Tomorrow, Mommy and I are going to Neiman’s to pick out our registry. Can you come?”
I thank my lucky stars I have a full day of shooting Kurt Kussler tomorrow. I have no interest in picking out dinnerware and silverware and all those other ridiculous wedding necessities. As far as I’m concerned, I have everything I need. I break the news to Katrina and feign regret.
“Don’t worry, darling. Mommy and I can handle everything. And we both have exquisite taste.”
I take that to mean expensive.
“You’re just going to love everything we pick out.”
“I’m sure I will.” At that moment, I see Zoey heading toward us, carrying a small Starbucks bag.
Katrina doesn’t notice her and starts spewing all the registry items she has in mind. From hand painted china sets to sterling silver tea sets. I half-listen. My mind is more focused on my iced coffee, and the girl who’s bringing it our way. She doesn’t have movie star looks, but she’s fucking adorable with her curvy-little body and that kissable, upturned mouth.
“And Brandy-Poo, one more thing we really need to think about is our honey—”
“Your coffees.” Zoey sets the bag down on the table and serves us both, Katrina first.
Katrina immediately grabs her coffee without acknowledging Zoey.
“You’re welcome,” singsongs my assistant, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I have to love her. She hands me mine.
“Thanks, Zo.” Our eyes connect and she smiles.
“No, prob.”
“Why don’t you join us?”
Katrina’s eyes narrow. “Zoey, why don’t you go to the kitchen first and get me a cup and saucer. I don’t care for drinking coffee out of a paper cup. It’s so uncouth.”
“You have two legs. Get them yourself.” She stalks off with an air of confidence.
Score one for Zoey. Katrina’s jaw drops to the ground.
“Brandon, how could you let that rude girl talk to me like that? You should fire her sorry ass.”
There are a lot better things I want to do to her ass. Shit. I’m engaged. A pang of guilt assaults me.
After coffee, Katrina splits, and I take a hot shower and get dressed—jeans and a T-shirt. I spend the rest of the morning going over my Kurt Kussler script and rehearsing. I’m at once excited and anxious about being back on the set tomorrow. It’ll be my first time since the accident. I’ve decided once again not to let anyone know I have amnesia. It’s pointless and will put everyone on edge. I’ve watched enough episodes to know who’s who, and Zoey put together a file of the cast and crew. I don’t quite have all the crew members down—between cameramen, ADs, grips, wardrobe, hair and makeup, catering, and PA’s, there’s well over a hundred. It takes a village to produce a TV series. But yours truly has a plan. I’ll just avoid calling people by their first names, and if I screw up, I’ll just cover it up with a lighthearted excuse à la: “It’s been a long time, man. It’s easy to forget.” You have no clue!
The first scene up tomorrow is the love scene between Kurt and his late wife Alisha. A flashback. No matter how many times I’ve rehearsed it, I’m still not getting it. Or should I say, making it work. I’m growing frustrated and anxious. The last thing I want is to suck tomorrow. I’m an Emmy and Golden Globe nominated actor. My cast and crew expect me to be good. Make that great.
At half past one, I’ve had it. Cussing, I crumple up my script pages in my fist, toss them across the living room, and then pour myself a Scotch. It’s way to early for me to be drinking, but I’ve got a throbbing headache and need to de-stress.
Nursing the Scotch, an idea comes to me. The same one I had last night before all the drama.
Zoey. Rehearsing my lines with me is on her list of job responsibilities.
Slamming my tumbler down on the coffee table, I reach for my iPhone and text her.
Print out two more copies of my sides and get ur ass over here.
Before I hit send, I modify my message.
Print out two more copies of my sides and get ur sweet ass over here.
One word can make a difference. As Jackie Gleason used to say on the Honeymooners, an old show from the fifties my mother loved to watch… How sweet it is.
I impatiently wait for her reply. Zippo. My feisty assistant is back to playing games with me. I text her again.
If ur not here soon, I’m going to drag u by ur hair like a caveman.
My cock flexes as I type the words. And I silently chuckle. The savage Neanderthal image gives me more than a rise and a laugh. The thought of dominating her like that sends a ripple of recollection through my head. I blink several times, searching for a memory I’m obviously suppressing.
Before I hit send, she responds: Coming.
My rigid cock strains against my jeans in anticipation.
Damn my amnesia!
Damn that girl!
Zoey
The asshole hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still texting me obnoxious messages and I’m still at his beck and call. I take that back. He’s gotten worse. That head injury has given him more than amnesia. I think he’s gone bi-polar. One minute, he’s super nice to me, the next a total jerk. I don’t know what to expect.
I re-read his text and read more into it than I should. If he wants my sweet ass, I’m going to give him what he wants. I hastily change from my baggy sweats into a sexy tight black mini-skirt and sleeveless tank top, both courtesy of Chaz. Before heading over, I examine myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door. Before my sojourn at the spa, I made a decision to take it down once and for all—waking up to my chunky body was not the best way to start a day—but now that I’ve shed some pounds, I don’t mind it. I study my reflection. Okay, though far from thin by Hollywood standards, I look good. Wearing all black is slenderizing. I shove my hands under my skirt to fix my top. With a couple of tugs, it hugs my solid curves perfectly. I’m wearing my best Gloria’s Secret push up bra—and in this clingy top, I must say my cleavage is outstanding. Thanks to the spa, my legs are thinner and more toned, and the platforms I have on make them look longer. Retrieving the sides from my printer, Go-to-Zo is ready to go.
“Hel-lo-O. I’m here”
I catch Brandon off guard on the couch reading the trades. While most now read The Hollywood Reporter or Variety online, he still likes to read the daily paper versions. I wonder if it’s because his late father owned a newsstand. He doesn’t know I found that out online. I’ve googled just about everything about him. With my uncanny memory, I’m a walking encyclopedia when it comes to Brandon Taylor.
He looks up and stares at me. Let me rephrase. He eyes me from head to toe. “You look nice.”
Surprised at the compliment, I adjust my skirt. “Thanks.”
“Are you going some place special later?”
“I have a date tonight.” I have no clue what made me say that.
“Oh,” he mutters under his breath. “That guy you went out to lunch with?”
I flash a smile. “Yes.” Well, it’s true.
He knits his brows. “Your boyfriend, right?”
“Yeah.” That’s true, too, depending on how you interpret the word “boyfriend.”
He frowns and I change the subject. “I brought your sides. Two copies like you asked.” I slide them out of the folder I’m holding and hand them to him.
He hands one stapled set back to me. “I need you to rehearse the first scene with me.”
My breath hitches. To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to his sides. I just hit print and threw them into a folder.
“Sure, no problem.”
“You should study the lines and then we’ll work on them.”
With the sides in hand, I plop down on the leather chair closest to him. I can feel his eyes on me as I read over the scene. I cross my legs to quell the sudden tingly sensation between them.
With every word, my pulse quickens and chest tightens. And I grow heated. It’s one of those flashbacks with Kurt Kussler and his late wife. A love scene. An explicit one that takes place shortly before Alisha is brutally executed by Kurt’s nemesis, The Locust.
“Okay. I know the lines.” My voice falters. The scene is so sensual and moving. I’m fraught with emotion.
Brandon lifts a brow. “So quickly?”
“Yes,” I stutter. “I have an eidetic memory.”
“What’s that?”
“The extraordinary ability to look at anything or anyone and remember everything about them after only a few moments of exposure.”
“Wow. So like a super-memory?”
“You can call it that.” It’s weird that I can remember everything and he can’t remember a thing.
My photographic memory is the reason I’ve never forgotten what Mama’s killer looks like. Even as a five-year old, I was able to explain to the police sketch artist every detail of his face though I only laid eyes on him for a brief moment. And it’s the reason I keep reliving the day of Brandon’s accident. You’d think by now it would be a blur, but every vivid detail fills my mind while every unforgettable emotion sweeps through my veins. The heart has a memory too. His pool of blood…my ocean of tears. The fear and despair. The pain. My beating heart is an emotional watershed, the back of my eyes a veritable damn.
Brandon’s voice breaks into my inner turmoil and brings me back to the moment. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. “Yeah. It’s a very powerful scene. Let’s do it.”
“I want to rehearse it in the shower.”
My jaw drops and my stomach knots. “What?”
“That’s where it takes place. It’ll help me really feel it.”
“B-but the scene calls for you and Alisha to be bared to each other.” I know they use body part cover-ups, but still it requires undressing. I’m bristling all over.
“You can keep your clothes on. I’ll do the same. We’ll just pretend we’re undressed.”
My heart pounding, I process his words. His eyes stay riveted on me as if he’s mentally undressing me. Fully clothed, I already feel so exposed. So vulnerable. So aroused.
“And we’ll pretend the shower is running, right?”
“Wrong. We’ve got to go all the way.”
I gulp, reading much more into his words than I should. I struggle for a comeback. “What about my outfit? It’ll get all wet.”
“Make that the least of your worries. I’ll get it dry cleaned or buy you something new in time for your hot date.”
“Fine,” I splutter. My panties already need to be rung out. He’s right. I’m worried about a lot more.
Brandon’s bathroom is a spacious, state-of-the-art retreat, and like the rest of the house, it offers dazzling views of the city. Today, I can even see as far as the Pacific Ocean. There’s an oversized whirlpool tub and a separate glass enclosed shower that’s virtually the size of a room. A dozen people could easily fit inside it.
“Are you ready?” asks Brandon as he turns on the shower. It’s one of those luxury hi-tech showers with a multitude of knobs. To my wide-eyed amazement, the water gushes from the ceiling like a waterfall. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The room steams up instantly.
“Take your shoes off.”
Kicking off my platforms, I’m having second thoughts. Anxiety is pulsing through my bloodstream and my stomach is twisting. But before I can change my mind, he takes me by my hand and leads me into the stall. The water pounds on us, soaking us quickly. In a couple breaths, we’re as wet as two drowned rats.
“This is kind of fun,” he laughs, shaking his dripping wet mop of ebony hair out of his eyes.
“Yeah,” I laugh back, drinking in the contours of his rippled muscles that strain against his drenched tee. I gleefully tilt back my head and rake my fingers through my hair. Droplets of water catch on my tongue. I’m reminded of being a little kid and running through the sprinklers with my clothes on. It was something naughty and fun.
“Okay, now let’s get serious. Do you remember your lines?”
I meet his glistening eyes. “Of course.”
“Good,” he says with a sexy lopsided smile. Without fair warning, he flips me around. His powerful arms circle my waist and draw me close to him. His hard body presses tight against mine. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. My heart pitter-patters, and I’m glad for the forceful spray that washes out the sound.
“Now, remember. I’m Kurt Kussler and you’re my beloved wife Alisha. We’re insanely in love. Two kindred souls united by body and mind.”
I nod like a bobble-head doll. Words are stuck behind a big lump in my throat. I just hope I can say my lines.
“Ready? Here goes.”
I nod again. I’m wired up. Every nerve in my body is buzzing.
“Baby, did I ever tell you how sexy you are?” Brandon, I mean Kurt, breathes into my ear.
“No.” Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I try to remember this is just make-believe.
“Well, I’m telling it to you now, Mrs. Kussler.” He parts my wet hair and, then wrapping his arms around me again, he nuzzles my neck. I flinch in his brawny arms at the feeling of his soft lips touching down on my flesh. Tingles swarm me.
And then he gropes my big tits, circling my nipples with his thumbs. My buds instantly harden under my clingy wet tank and another rush of tingly sparks descends to my sex. It’s as if my tits and my pussy are connected by a power cord. Holy shit! He’s turned up the steam.
As called for by the script, I moan. But to be honest, I can’t help it. As he continues to nibble my neck and tweak my tits, my knees go weak. To my relief, an arm curls around my waist and holds me up. A trail of kisses travels down my spine, sending a shiver up it despite the heat. He lifts his other hand off my tit and cups the ample cheeks of my ass in his palm. He squeezes and caresses them.
“I love every part of you,” he breathes against my neck.
I’m so caught up in the scene I almost forget my line. “You’re everything to me, Kurt.”
He draws me closer to him, and to my shock, he slips the hand holding me up under the waistband of my skirt. His fingers slide down my abdomen until they’re cupped over the crotch of my drenched cotton undies, covering my pulsing pussy like a glove. Hissing, he leaves his hand there for a few heated breaths, and then begins to rub my clit until the sensitive bundle of nerves is a bubbling nub.
“Do you like this?”
Oh my God. Was this in the script? Am I supposed to say something? I’ll just ad lib. “Oh yes. Please don’t stop.” My voice is a breathy, desperate plea.
“Don’t worry, that’s not happening.” For real? He continues to rub my clit vigorously. “You’re so hot for me, baby.”
I’m on fire. And if he only knew how really wet I am. Soaked with lust and desire. My breathing grows harsh. I may either jump out of my skin or faint. My burning need to come is consuming me. Taking over every ounce of my being. To make matters worse, the hardness between his legs grazes my backside. Holy cow! He’s as aroused as I am! Are we acting or is this for real? The line is blurred in the haze of steam.
“I love you, Bra… um, uh Kurt.” Fuck. I almost flubbed my line.
“The same, baby. I can’t get enough of you.”
He flips me around so I’m facing him. His biceps flex as his deft hands grip my bare upper arms. I soak in his impassioned face, dripping with lust, his thick-lashed eyes smoldering with desire. I brush away a wisp of his slick hair that’s fallen into his eye. I think the script called for that.
Moving his hands to my face, he tilts it up, his eyes never losing contact with mine. His head moves forward. Holy smoke! He’s going to kiss me! Maybe I missed that part in the script. My whole body quivers as his lips touch down on mine. Oh my God! It’s a veritable movie star kiss—deep, passionate, all-consuming. A kiss like none other. Thinking I may swoon, I moan again into his mouth and dig my fingernails into his hard biceps. He bites down on my lower lip, and then his tongue darts inside my parted mouth. It finds mine and we tango like we’ve danced this way forever. Whirling and swirling, my tongue follows his lead. I moan again—I’m not sure if that’s scripted—but I just can’t help it. Every muscle in my body is trembling with anticipation and desire. Without breaking the kiss, he draws me closer to him and starts grinding against me.
“Alisha, my love, let’s make a baby.”
The baby they will never see. Alisha, of course, doesn’t know this yet, and the thought of the tragedy that awaits her brings tears to my eyes. They mingle with the stinging needles of water, cascading over us while my character’s cherished husband and lover grinds harder and faster with urgency and zeal, rubbing against my aching clit. It’s all pretend, yet it feels so real. I can feel his swelling erection, straining against his soaked jeans and pulsating against me. It’s so hard, so hot, so ready to come. Clutching his shoulders, I fight the urge to slide a hand down to his fly and touch his extraordinary length. A bizarre thought crosses my mind—dry humping someone has never been this wet. I’m soaked through and through, so close to the edge. There’s a hot ball of fire between my legs the water can’t quench, and on his next thrust, I combust with a deafening scream of his name. I’m so enraptured, I don’t know if I’ve shouted out Kurt or Brandon, but who cares when his face contorts with pure ecstasy and he roars out, “Oh, baby.”
Fade to black. I free myself from him and lean against the all-glass shower. Barely able to stand on my trembling legs, I collapse into a squat. My pussy’s throbbing, my mind’s murky, and my heart’s working hard. Brandon joins me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. Like mine, his breathing is shallow. He looks as shell-shocked as I feel. In a cloud of steam, we sit silently side by side, our bent legs touching, until our breaths and heartbeats calm down. The shower’s still on, the forceful spray still grazing us. The sound of the pounding water replaces the drum of my pulse in my ears. Brandon finally breaks our long, stunned silence.
“Wow. You’re a really good actress.”
“Thanks.” I don’t tell him I’ve had to be.
“Did you ever consider becoming one?”
I tell him I did and even took a few acting lessons. “But the truth is, there aren’t enough parts around for a girl like me so I decided to become a full-time masseuse.” I also don’t tell him that I took his assistant position with the remote hope of breaking into the biz.
Twisting, he sweeps away a tangle of hair that’s dangling in my eyes. “Well, I think you missed your calling.”
“Thanks.” My voice is a soft whisper.
“No, thank you. You really helped me. I’ve got the scene down now.”
“No prob. That’s part of my job.” I pause. “You were amazing.” Oh was he! My head is already set on instant replay.
He smiles. “I may need your help again. It’s been rough getting back into the swing of things.”
“Sure. Anytime.” I’m in love with Kurt Kussler, but I’m not supposed to fall for Brandon Taylor. That wasn’t in my job description. And besides, he can never be mine. He was just acting. Nothing was real. My heart grows heavy, soaked with reality.
