Page 23 of Between Takes
Chapter Eight
I tried to quit. I said the words. Multiple times, in fact.
Unfortunately, Sherry had selective hearing when it came to the word “no.” Instead of quitting, I somehow ended the call with a pay rise and tickets to a BAFTA award show. I’m not sure it was a good trade-off – my sanity for money and chumming with a bunch of celebs. I didn’t like the celeb I had. Why the hell would I want to hang out with more?
That argument also fell on deaf ears. So, I still have a job. Sigh.
I might have stumbled into the one job I couldn’t quit. Wouldn’t that be a nightmare?
If there was one thing I didn’t need after the last two weeks, it was Shaun Martin trying to take my door down at 6AM on my day off. It wasn’t a particularly nice door, cracked and peeling and in desperate need of a clean. At least my flatmates got to experience an early wake-up call for once. Maybe they’d learn to use the day for something productive, like dishes or – god forbid – finding a job.
Back to the six-foot-three chiselled masterpiece in running gear glaring at me in my tiny galley kitchen. The moment he’d barged his way into the flat without so much as a “Hello, how are you at this awful hour?”, I made a beeline for the kitchen and coffee. If I was being forced to stand upright at this hour, I needed caffeine immediately.
“This is not what I expected,” Shaun muttered, his lips pulled back in disgust. His eyes roamed the small space, taking in the layers of grime and grease that only industrial bleach would fix. The sink overflowed with my flatmates’ dishes, and they’d started to breed, spreading out across the counter. Tomato sauce splattered the cooker, crusted and most likely growing – I didn’t want to get close enough to confirm that.
I shrugged. It was cheap and nothing more than a place to sleep. I didn’t even have to cook here; all of my meals were provided by catering at the studio. I could deal with it for six months, especially if it meant saving a nice chunk of change.
“You tried to quit?” Shaun asked, the words ground out between his teeth.
My eyes dropped to his mouth with a frown. Maybe I should look into a mouth guard for him. It wouldn’t do his career any good if his teeth turned to dust.
“Mona!” He lifted my chin. “Eyes up here.”
Huh, when had he gotten so close?
“I thought we agreed to a truce yesterday?”
My frown deepened. “When did that happen?”
Shaking his head, he paced the short length of my kitchen. I leaned against the counter and glumly watched him stalk the space. Coffee would have to wait.
“We had a moment, you – uh – fuck.” He ran his hands through his hair and stopped in front of me with an imploring look for me to, what, put him out of his misery? No chance!
“I’m not good at this sort of shit.”
I quirked my eyebrows and waited.
“You helped me. With your story. And you didn’t have to, so I thought that meant you got it.”
“Got what?”
“I’m not the asshole you think I am,” he said, his voice and face soft, pleading.
“Tragic past aside, I’ve yet to see evidence of that, Shaun.”
He frowned down at me, and the intensity in his green eyes was too much for me at this hour. I busied myself making coffee now that I could safely remove mugs from the cupboard and pour boiling water. He stopped me before I could so much as lift the kettle.
“You don’t want to drink that.”
“Why the hell would I not want caffeine when you dragged me out of bed before the sun’s fully risen?” I happily used my voice as a whip, but he didn’t so much as wince. Maybe the effect was wearing off. His lips pinched at the edges and his eyes laughed at me.
“Sherry said you don’t have any friends down here yet.”
How did she even…? Oh. My sister had better hide.
“I’m taking you out, so go put something…” His eyes wandered down my body, and for a moment, the amusement fled and something heated replaced it. In the confusion, I’d forgotten that all I wore was a pair of thin pyjama shorts and a strap top. He swallowed.
“It’s my day off, Shaun.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.
