Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Excuse me? My eyes widened in shock. Who the hell talked that way to a stranger? “I—”
“Listen, just tell him I stopped by, since he’s not taking any calls, and I apparently missed him downstairs earlier at the naked boob signing.” He snickered. “Let him know his shoot tomorrow morning has been moved back to eleven. And, girlie, do everyone involved a favor and go easy on his cock tonight. The whole shoot depends on him being able to get it up. If you’ve worn him out, no one is gonna be happy—especially Bambi, his costar. Capeesh?”
There was a lot there that made my heart drop into my feet, and I felt bile rising up my throat, but I wasn’t going to let this greasy sleazeball see that. This was a member of Carson’s team? God. I stood taller and formed my face into what I hoped was a bored expression. “I’ll tell him, Tim,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, but my eyes remaining steady.
“Good,” he said, starting to turn away. Then he turned back and his beady, little rat eyes assessed me again. “You know,” he said, running one finger down my cheek to which I flinched away, “you’ve got a really good look—sexy yet innocent. You’d look great on film. When you’re done with Carson tonight, why don’t you come down to my room and we can do some role-playing, see what your acting skills are like…among other things.” He adjusted himself in his pants as his eyes moved down to my breasts and lingered there.
I pushed the door closed in his face. I felt like I was going to throw up. I had no words. If this weekend had taught me anything, it was that I was a lot more frazzle-able than I thought.
I leaned unsteadily against the wall, trying to get hold of myself. Carson had a shoot tomorrow morning. With a girl named Bambi. His costar. Which meant… I clenched my eyes shut for a minute as a small sob clogged my throat and made it hard to breathe. Stop it, Grace. I was not going to cry about this. It was what he did. I knew this.
Yes, I knew it, but it was the one thing I hadn’t allowed myself to truly dwell on during our time together. I hadn’t let my mind stray to the mechanics of Carson’s job… or the fact that another real-life person was involved. In this case, a person named Bambi. I’d kept the specifics of his job in the back of my mind, not denying them exactly, just refusing to fully consider the reality. We were going to spend the night together; he was going to be inside me tonight and then inside Bambi in the morning? My heart clenched painfully. I hated the thought of that. I hated it.
Carson suddenly emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He smiled, but it quickly disappeared as he took me in. “Buttercup?” he asked worriedly.
“Your agent Tim came by,” I said, my voice shaky. “He wanted to let you know that your shoot with Bambi in the morning has been moved to eleven.”
He froze and his eyes closed for a couple beats. Then he opened them and said simply, “I’m sorry, buttercup.” And that’s when I felt my heart truly crack.
_________
Carson
My guts churned as I took her in from across the room. Shit, shit, shit! Fucking Tim! I hadn’t wanted Grace to know about my shoot. I had avoided thinking about it myself. But it was reality, and I knew I’d have to face it eventually. I was just sorry as hell that Grace had to face it too. And that Tim—the sleazebag—had delivered the news.
“Grace,” I started, walking toward her. She crossed her arms and the movement made me want to slam my fist into the wall. She was drawing away from me, not purposely maybe, but her body language spoke for her. “I’m sorry you had to find out about the shoot like that.” I hesitated. I didn’t really know what to say. I felt ashamed, confused, still unsteady. “You knew what I did…” I started, the words fading because they weren’t right. Maybe those didn’t exist.
“I know,” she whispered. “I guess I just didn’t think you’d be going so directly from me to someone else. I guess… I guess I didn’t think about it.”
I understood that, I did. But I also wanted her to understand that what I’d be doing tomorrow was professional, nothing more. “It’s not like that, Grace. It’s work,” I said quietly.
“I know.” She nodded, a jerky movement that wasn’t quite convincing. “What I wonder is, how do you separate the two? I never asked you anything about what you do because I didn’t want to think about it—not truly. But now I want to know. How do you separate real life from ‘work’?”