Page 14 of Double Standard

Maybe it’s ultimately the same thing, what he said versus what Ana told me.

Would I want to know if a coworker—not the director, but a peer—tried to undercut my career?

It’s possible Ana already knows this about Colt. She probably does. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

But what if she doesn’t know? Should I tell her?

If I do, she might go to Francesca to talk about it. It may get back to Colt.

I’d look like a snake. He could convince Francesca to choose someone else for the next film.

Maybe I’m overthinking the whole thing.

What a shitty fucking thing for him to do to her.

The thought of Colt trying to mess with Ana’s job flares in my chest, and the white-hot frustration comes out through my fists. It’s not until Francesca yells, “Cut, Levi. Cut. CUT!” that I realize the scene ended and I’m still slamming this poor guy into the floor.

“Shit, sorry! Sorry.”

Francesca raises her hands like she wants to shake me. “Go take a beat.”

When my anger finally burns off, what’s left is embarrassment. That, and awareness of something I can’t ignore: I feel protective of her. Whether or not I should.

The internal warning system I expect to go off, the one that should be telling me to slow down, instead says,Is it really so bad?It’s not bad to want the best for someone, a friend or a coworker.

Focus on what you can control.The phrase comes to mind in my dad’s voice, nagging and unwelcome. He must’ve said it, and I must’ve heard it, fifteen thousand times growing up. Though it kills me to admit—and I would never, not to him—it’s solid advice. I can’t control what happens if I share Colt’s remark. How Ana would respond. How Colt would react. Icancontrol doing excellent work on this film and showing up with Ana, both things I agreed to. I can double down on what’s working and keep my attention there.

That feels safe for both Ana and me.

Though, if I’m honest, my feelings are starting to feel less safe by the day.

Three raps on Ana’s trailer door turn into eight before I finally hear a “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me—can I come in?”

She opens it up an inch, enough to peek an eye and one side of her face through. “I’m not dressed yet.”

“Even better.” I wink, and she knows it’s a joke—of course, it’s a joke—but the way she flushes isn’t.

“What I mean is I’m not in my next costume yet. I’m not naked, I have a robe on.”

“Perfect. Open up.”

She swings the door wide and sucks in a breath as I glide up the stairs and into her trailer. “OK,you’renaked.”

I’m not—I’m in costume, but the scene requires more, in the words of the wardrobe department, “glistening skin” than actual garments. Bare chest. A lot of quad. I clear my throat. “Oh, yeah, sorry, we’re about to reset, but I thought you...” I stop before I say,should know what Colt said. Because, no, dumbass. That’s not what I should say. I’m focusing on what I can control. Instead, I manage, “I thought you’d like this idea I had.” I’m fumbling, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

This is the first time we’ve been alone on set since filming started. It feels at least ten degrees warmer inside this trailer than it did outside. She crosses her arms over her chest before looking me up and down. “Actually, I have an idea for you too.”

“Oh yeah?” This is good, because my idea? I still need to come up with one.

“The photos of us kissing took off. Should we stage one in here? People love a BTS.”

“The... boyband?”

She raps a hand against my abs. “No, Farmer Jim, behind the scenes. B-T-S.”

“Farmer Jim? Really?”