Page 15 of Between Takes
“Something wrong?” he asked, amusement dripping from his words.
“Not at all.” My eyes fixed on a spot just to the side of his gloriously naked chest.
Moira, his wardrobe mistress, continued pulling items from the rack at a leisurely pace. Couldn’t she tell I was desperate for an out here?
“Maybe you should wait outside if you can’t handle a naked man.”
My eyes narrowed at the challenge in his voice. I couldn’t leave now. The bastard would think he’d won!
“I’ve seen plenty of naked chests,” I said, tutting like he was boring me. “Yours doesn’t quite compare. Maybe start lifting weights instead of throwing your weight around a ring. It might buff you up a bit.”
Please don’t start lifting weights.
I made a show of studying all that exposed skin. How I kept a straight face and didn’t float off into dreamland is beyond me – at least I think I maintained my detached, scientific expression. I’d definitely need to get laid before I could keep working with him.
His eyes narrowed. “Your deflections are hilarious, but honestly, Mona, you’re not fooling anyone.”
My gaze snapped to him. He wasn’t going to bring up last night. Surely not. I thought we had some unspoken agreement. I held my breath and waited for it. He grinned at the sight.
“You were licking your lips last night. You like my body as it is, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. He was right, of course, but I wasn’t going to confirm that. He didn’t need to know he was right. He just wanted to lord it over me and add it to his manipulation arsenal. I saw right through that pretty-boy smile of his.
“Keep dreaming, Hotshot.”
“I don’t think it’s my dreams you need to worry about.”
And with that smug pronouncement, he disappeared behind the curtain of his changing room. Why had I made him get up this morning? It was peaceful while he lay face down, suffocating himself. Sigh. I didn’t know what was good for me until it was too late.
“I could murder a Welsh cake right now,” Shaun said, his tone wistful.
It felt like I’d been sat on the equipment case – or flight case, as they said around here – for hours. There weren’t really any seats on set, just the director’s chair and seating for main cast, but flight cases seemed to ease the burden for everyone else.
Shaun leaned against the equipment case next to mine while we waited for the stage to be reset. Guess the actor’s chair wasn’t that comfortable.
“You’re not allowed flour or sugar.”
“There’re raisins in them. Surely that cancels out the bad?”
I pushed a plate of fruit towards him without taking my eyes from my tablet. “Eat a grape, Shaun.”
“I don’t want grapes,” he whined. “I want a Welsh cake.”
“And I’d like a boss who doesn’t throw tantrums like a child, but we can’t all have our way,” I muttered, too distracted to give it my all.
He wanted to change all of his personal trainer sessions. He thought he could snap his fingers and it would be done. No sweet-talking his usually very sympathetic trainer. No checking if the new schedule worked. “Just do it, Mona” was all he’d snapped when I’d pointed out that it may not be that easy. Trainers had other clients and their own schedule. Well, I’d been proven right because Shaun’s PT was putting up a fight and I was on the verge of using his credit card to bribe the man.
