I grab my walkie-talkie and give a quick order to security before walking over and addressing his men.
"Okay, gents, here's the deal. Tom is about to be thrown out of the theater in a most ungracious fashion for being a disgusting, disrespectful stain on society. So if you want to avoid joining him, here are my rules: you do what you're told, when I tell you to do it. If you don't, you're fired. If you call me anything other than 'Miss Holt', you're fired. If you behave like anything other than complete gentlemen from here on out, you're well and truly goddamn fired. Are we clear?"
Tom makes a scoffing sound and gives me a condescending look. "They're my guys, sweetcheeks. If you get rid of me, they'll follow. Have no doubt."
I look at the men calmly. "If that's the case, no problem. You're all welcome to join Tom in the unemployment line. I'll have a new crew here within the hour. The decision is yours."
Without another word, the men scurry away to do what's been asked of them.
I look at Tom in smug triumph. "Oh, wow, Tom Cat. Your men decided to work without you. It's a Christmas miracle! Thanks for playing. Better luck next time. Now, get the hell out of my theater."
He takes a threatening step toward me, and I immediately judge the distance from my closed fist to his crotch, while calculating how much force I'd need to drop him to his knees. Looks like all of those self-defense lessons Liam gave me before he left are finally going to pay off.
Just as I'm getting ready to throw down, two security guards arrive to escort Tom to the exit. I wave to him merrily as he leaves, ignoring the sexist obscenities he mutters under his breath.
Cool. One problem down, several hundred to go.
My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a text from Liam.
<5 days>
A tingle runs up my spine. It kind of ridiculous that he can do that to me with a couple of words on a screen. I wonder if it's normal that when I read his texts, I can hear the deep rumble of his voice in my head. It gives me goosebumps.
Another text pops up.
<To be clear, that's 5 days until I can see you. And kiss you. And strip off your goddamn clothes with my teeth, so I can put my mouth all over you. ALL over you, Liss.>
Another shiver. I really have no time to indulge in replying right now, but God, I want to.
I sideline filthy thoughts as I head backstage to check the dressing rooms.
Liam keeps texting. <Do you know how much I miss you? Because seriously, this is hell. I need to be with you. And inside you. Now.>
I fan myself with my clipboard, as I mentally run over the dressing room checklist. Evil man. He knows I'm working. And that I'm probably stressed out. This is his way of distracting me, and yeah, it's working.
<I want to fuck you right here in my trailer. It's freezing outside, but in here, you could be naked 24/7. I'd take such good care of you. Provide you with hot and cold running orgasms, morning, noon and night.>
Dear God. I can't remember the last time I orgasmed. I've tried a few times since he's been gone, but my body won't cooperate. It's mourning him with the passion of an Italian widow.
<Do you want me to make you come, Liss? Because I will. Over and over and over again. I'll do it until you pass out.>
My face is burning by the time I check the final dressing room. To be honest, the damn room could be filled with toxic waste and a jukebox dedicated exclusively to Billy Ray Cyrus, and I'd have no clue. I can't stop fantasizing about Liam making me come.
Another text: <How do you want me to do it? With my mouth? My hands? My cock? God, my cock misses you.>
"Miss Holt?" I turn to see Ainsly looking at me with concern. "Are you okay? You're all red."
I let out a breath. "I'm fine. Get moving on the production riders, okay? This room should have—" My phone vibrates again.
<My cock wants you to kiss him. And lick him. And slide down onto him. He's aching for it. My entire body is aching for it. I want to be surrounded by you, Liss. Tight, and warm, and—>
"Miss Holt?"
"Uh—" I blink as I drag myself away from my phone to check the list on my clipboard. My vision is blurry as my brain flashes up mental images of my hot-as-hell fiancée, naked, hard, and servicing me in ways that make my legs forget they have bones.
"Miss Holt? You were saying what I need to get."
"Uh ... right. Yes. An espresso machine. And a bowl of M&Ms with all the green ones removed."
"Sure. I'll get on that. Can I also get you some water? Or something to eat? You don't look well."
She's not wrong. I'm lovesick. And Liam deprived. And orgasmically challenged. None of that is healthy, dammit.
"You're right, Ainsly, I'll grab a sandwich and be back in five, okay? You keep going on these rooms."
"Sure, I'll be here."
I almost sprint to my office. It's true I have a sandwich in my bag, but what I'm really hungering for isn't food. When I get inside, I lock the door and lean back against it. My fingers shake as I jab Liam's name for Facetime.
Within seconds, he appears on the screen.