Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I lifted a hand in surrender. “It’s not really my kind of thing.”
She blinked with surprise and . . . had I offended her? “Do you usually fly overseas and pay a small fortune to do something that’s not your ‘kind of thing’?”
“No,” I answered quickly. “I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. The writer for Refiner who was going to write the review couldn’t make it. I’m his replacement.”
Her expression softened. “Oh.”
I kept talking for some reason. “Which is kind of hilarious because I have to be the worst person possible for the job.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t like haunted houses.” I’d gone with the explanation I hoped didn’t make me sound weak, but her follow-up question backed me into a corner.
“Why?”
“Because”—I took a breath and used it to broaden my chest—“they don’t appeal to me.”
She smiled like she’d figured out a secret. “You don’t like being scared.”
There wasn’t any point in denying it. “I’d say most people feel the same way.”
She absentmindedly touched her fingers to the bottom of her chin and then dragged her fingertips down the long column of her throat. “I guess that’s true.”
I watched her polished nails as her hand slid down, and the action deposited my gaze on her cleavage peeking out the top of her corset. Had she done that intentionally to draw attention to it?
“What about you?” I asked. “You like being scared?”
She considered my question like she’d never thought about it before. “You know what? I don’t.” She propped a hand on her hip. “I’m told when our last guest is done, everyone on staff who wants to will get an opportunity to see the whole thing and go through it. I like haunted houses okay, but I won’t be doing that.”
“Wait. See the whole thing?” I asked.
“Josh . . . the creator of Void,” she explained, “is protective of the story arc. He compartmentalizes the different sections so the cast and staff only see the parts we work on.”
Interesting. “Why?”
“It’s supposed to give everyone—even the performers—a more authentic experience if they don’t know every detail.” Her tone made it seem like she wasn’t convinced that worked.
“So you haven’t performed for Void before?”
She shook her head. “No, and I’m not a performer either. Like you, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m just a PA who got roped into operating the elevator because it sucks and they needed someone to do it.”
Was that true?
When I’d first noticed her, she’d given me the impression she was wearing a costume she wasn’t 100 percent comfortable with. Plus, she’d broken character and suspended the rules for me.
If she was supposed to make me feel uneasy, she’d done the opposite.
When the conversation had lapsed just long enough for it to become awkward, a half smile tilted her lips. “You got a name, North Side?”
“I do, Saint Charles. It’s Tyler.”
Her eyes sparkled like she was thrilled to know my name, and a warm sensation grew in my chest.
“Nice to meet you, Tyler,” she said, her tone genuine. “I’m Chelsea.”
Her friendliness was addicting, and despite my distrust, I wanted to be closer to her. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
There was a voice in my head telling me to do my job, to use this opportunity to get information about Void I couldn’t get anywhere else, but I ignored it. Instead, I wanted to know more about her.
“So,” I started, “you’re a PA? How’d you get into that?”
She paused long enough for me to wonder if she was embarrassed to say. “Everybody has to start somewhere, right? It’s a foot in the door.”
“You want to get into acting?” I guessed.
“Worse.” She let out a joyless laugh. “Screenwriting.”
An invisible force pushed me forward a half step, bringing us closer. “You’re a writer too?”
“Well, I’m trying to be one. I’ve got a half dozen scripts done, but getting anyone to read my work is like pulling teeth. So much of the business is who you know. It’s all about networking.” Her expression shifted to one of resignation. “I needed a job and some money, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to get some production experience.”
“You’re wrong,” I said softly. “If you’ve written anything, let alone a half dozen scripts, you’re not trying to be a writer. You already are.”
Her pink lips parted as she drew in a slow breath, and I didn’t miss the way she subtly leaned toward my body, like she wanted to be near me. She liked what I’d just said.
We were opposite sides of the spectrum, with her in fiction and me in nonfiction, but we were still the same. All writers were storytellers, and it was stunning how much I enjoyed having this connection with her.
“What kind of scripts do you write?”
“Rom-coms.” She said it quickly, making me wonder why. It wasn’t like she was embarrassed. More like she expected me to roll my eyes and didn’t want to see it.