Cameras snap and bulbs flash, making my eyes burn with red afterimages. The sound of the reporters’ chatter reaches a fever pitch as they realize it’s me. The cameras click like automatic machine guns, capturing so many pictures I wonder what anyone could possibly do with them. As much as I try to resist, I reach down and tug at the fabric of the dress, trying to pull it over my breasts a little more.
I’m stopped several times, asked to twirl, strike a pose, or tell someone “who I’m wearing”. It’s all part of the job, but it was never the part of the job I craved. I live for the moments when I’m completely absorbed by the character I’m playing, when Makayla Pierson fades into some distant place and I become someone else.
After what feels like an age, we reach the inside of the venue. It’s an old-style theater they are using to screen the finalé a day before it airs on live television. A few select members of the press and influential critics will be allowed to watch, but it’s more about showing off the cast before the screening. The building is old, but classic, with crown molding everywhere, romanesque support pillars, and gold accents giving everything an expensive sheen. I spot most of the cast milling around the lobby, where the number of press allowed in is severely limited. Everyone is more relaxed, and the few press allowed in are tactful enough to be discreet about the pictures they take. I see Jason talking to three beautiful women, narrowing his eyes in the silly way he thinks is seductive.
I want to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it until I remember who I’m walking beside. The date I shamefully brought along on the off chance that Jesse would be here to see and get jealous. I don’t know how I let Kennedy talk me into this. Hunter is handsome, but he’s way, way too aware of how handsome he is. He wears a constant, smug little smirk that rubs me the wrong way. I’m glad when we find Kennedy and Patrick, because it gives me a breather while Hunter and Patrick make me nauseous with their overly-macho greeting. Patrick and Hunter slap hands together with a loud pop, pull each other in to bang shoulders, and then pop each other on the back like their performing the heimlich. As if that’s not enough, Patrick punches Hunter on the shoulder after they break up their little greeting ritual. They laugh too loud, smile too wide, and never stop darting their eyes around the room to see who’s noticing them.
I move to Kennedy’s side and we watch together. I lower my voice, leaning toward her ear. She’s wearing something that smells like vanilla and cinnamon that I absolutely love. I make a note to ask her for the name later.
“When do you think they will get out the clubs and start grunting?” I ask Kennedy.
She taps her chin thoughtfully. “I think that comes after the next chest bump.”
I sigh, grinning. “Don’t let me forget how much you owe me for this.”
“Sure. But it looks like it’s working,” she says, moving her eyes past the two men toward the other end of the room.
My heart jumps in my chest. Jesse. He’s standing like a statue in an art museum, so perfectly crafted that I could walk slow circles around him, admiring every detail down to the smallest curve. When I find his eyes though, I feel my admiration melt into fear. He looks like he might actually pull the gun he hides under his suit and kill Patrick and Hunter at any moment.
When I look to Hunter and see the silly way he’s still preening and grinning like a self-impressed idiot, I decide Jesse might be doing the world a favor if he did shoot him. Very well then. Game on.
I slink over to Hunter, putting my hand on his back and letting my fingers splay as I slide it down his spine and move around his hip. I smile up at him like he’s the funniest man in the world. I have about three seconds to wonder what Jesse will do before I feel a presence behind me. We’re facing Patrick, who has been joined by Kennedy, and both their eyes drift over our heads.
I turn to see Jesse, looming over us. His eyes are like hot coals, boring into me, dropping to where my hand touches Hunter’s side. I feel an irresistible urge to pull my hand away, like I’ve been caught misbehaving, but I force myself to keep it there. Jesse doesn’t get to leave twice and still expect me to wait for him.
“You are?” Jesse asks Hunter.
“I don’t have to answer to you, asshole.” He says, smirking and slapping Patrick’s chest with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” says Patrick. “Our girls aren’t signing autographs, so you can get lost, buddy.”
Jesse ignores them, turning toward me. There’s a question in his eye and I try not to speak to him, to give him the cold shoulder he deserves, but the words tumble out of me. “Why did you leave?”
“Who is this asshole?” asks Hunter. “Is he an ex?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” says Jesse at the exact same time.
We glare at each other, paying no attention to Hunter’s baffled expression.
“Where the hell are Edwards and Rosenthal?” asks Jesse.
“I don’t have to answer to you,” I snap. I realize at some point I took my hand off Hunter’s hip to plant both fists on my sides, giving Jesse my full attention. “You left. Again. No call. No letter. Nothing.”
“To keep you safe,” he growls. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”
Hunter takes a step toward him, reaching to push Jesse’s shoulder. Everything happens so fast it’s over before I realize it began. Jesse’s hands were a blur as he slapped Hunter’s arm aside and gave a single, hard shove that sent Hunter to the ground.
I blink in surprise, looking at Hunter sprawled on the ground and Jesse standing casually, as if nothing just happened. Hunter glares, clutching his shoulder where Jesse pushed him, taking Patrick’s hand and letting himself be pulled back to his feet.
I cover my face in embarrassment, noticing the way several heads have turned towards us and are now watching intently, probably hoping for more drama.
I put my hand on Hunter’s back, glaring at Jesse. “No. I don’t think I want to go anywhere private with you again.”
Hunter’s eyebrows draw down in confusion as he likely follows my implication. “Come on,” I say gesturing to everyone but Jesse to walk with me into the seating area where the pre-showing dinner will be held.
I expect Jesse to protest, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction. He only watches us calmly as we walk away, and looks sinfully sexy while he does. If there was any justice in the universe, Jesse would be hideous and frail, but that would make this too easy. Instead, he has to be the physical embodiment of every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. He has to be fucking perfect, and I hate him for it.
I squeeze Hunter’s arm tighter, leading him to one of the many open tables near the edge of the room. People are starting to trickle from the lobby to the dining area, but we’re one of the first to sit down at a table. It’s a white tablecloth arrangement, with wine glasses polished to a glimmering sheen and gold gilded cutlery. There’s already a basket of warm bread in the center of our table, so I reach into the basket and grab two rolls, gnawing off a huge mouthful from one. Kennedy covers an amused smile while Patrick and Hunter openly stare at me.