A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (11 page)

Devon nods.

I lean back against the wall and slide until my butt hits the floor with a jolt.

Devon’s sneakers squeak against the tile as he sits down as well in the middle of this tiny room.

“Kyra gonna wonder where you are?” I ask.

“Yeah, but…you sure you’re okay?”

I don’t respond to that directly. “Your boss is gonna be mad if he finds out that you’re in a broom closet with some former child star.”

“My boss is a
she
and a huge fan of yours.”

“Then she’ll be even more angry. But I guess she’s put up with you until now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I lean my head back against the wall and shut my eyes.

“Veronica,” prompts Devon.

“You know what I mean. You hook up with lot of people, and are really mean to them afterwards. You’re every woman’s nightmare.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I have taken saying too much around him to a whole new level.

It takes all of my courage to venture a look in his direction, and when I do, I see that he is staring down at his shoes with a frown.

“No one who ever really got to know me would be interested.”

“That’s not true,” I say.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve seen people stupider than you have relationships.”

“Well,
gee
, when you put it like that,
Veronica
—”

“Please keep it down,” I beg. “I don’t want someone coming in here and finding us.”

“Right.”

I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tight. I should have a racing pulse as I sit here so close to the most gorgeous guy I know, but in that moment, he’s just Devon. It’s as if we really are friends.

“Can I ask why you care about what I do in my time off?” he ventures.

“Because you hurt people. Every other day, there’s some girl running out of here in tears. If someone treated your sister that way, I think it’d bother you.”

“My sister?”

“If you have one. Your hypothetical sister.”

He stares at me hard, as if he could bore holes in my skull with just his gaze. “Some guy hurt you once and now you’re all on a crusade?”

“No.”

“Sure.” He snorts.

“I’ve never dated anyone so…” I really shouldn’t have said that, I think. This is
Devon
. He is only a part-time friend. Ten minute from now he’ll be a jerk once more.

“Sure you haven’t.” He snorts.

I shake my head and direct my gaze at the mops leaned against the far wall.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“No way. How is that possible?”

“I’m, you know…only nineteen.” That just makes it sound worse. Someone could make a comedy skit out of this dialogue. “And I work 24/7/365. I never had the time.” That’s easier to admit than that no one’s ever shown real interest. I’ve been hit on, of course, and had fans propose to me and all that, but none of the tiny group of guys whom I’ve actually gotten to know has ever seemed to see me that way.

“And for your show, you’re gonna have to get your sexy on,” he says.

“Right. At least the show will be entertaining for
you
. And just think of how much money you can make selling that little detail about me to the tabloids.”

“You should be more worried about me telling the world that you don’t warm up enough before your workouts and your form on the weight machines is way off.”

Not his usual kind of joke. That one had a real, malicious bite to it.

“I’m being a jerk, aren’t I?” he says.

“Yes.”

“Sorry.” I hear his clothes rustle as he moves again, and I startle when he slides right next to me against the wall. Our arms touch from shoulder to elbow. “I wasn’t well socialized as a small child,” he says.

“Obviously.”

“Hey, I really am sorry. I just… Most of the time, I have no idea what to say to you.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“Okay…”

I sense that this hurt him though, so I look sidelong at his profile. “You got a problem with leaving me alone?”

He raises his eyebrow, looks down at me, and reaches out to touch my face.

M
Y SHOULDERS GO
so tense that it’s as if someone’s turned a crank in the middle of my back and wound me as tight as I’ll go.

I push off the wall and get to my feet.

He makes a fist with one hand and says nothing. I can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt or both, but I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t care. I turn and grab the doorknob.

“Lizzie,” he says in a low voice.

I pause and turn.

He looks down at his hands and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

I open the door, slip out, and almost run right into Kyra, who is leaning against the wall in her workout clothes.

“What is going on?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“When Julian said get drunk and hook up with someone to practice for your show, he didn’t mean with Devon.”

“Nothing happened. We were just talking,” I say with way more anger than makes sense. Before she can respond, I march down the hall to the changing rooms.

“You’re dead,” I hear her say matter-of-factly. “Actually, just fired. Lizzie, wait up!”

I break into a run because this is
totally
how I want to start my day—with drama.

Kyra catches me once I enter the changing room and she grabs my forearm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

“Something happened. Devon’s not all smug, so you obviously didn’t cave to him-”

“We were just talking.”

“In the closet?”

“Yeah.”

She blinks slowly and deliberately. “Why?”

“Because we talk sometimes, and no, I don’t know why. He just… On some of my worst days, he’s actually been decent to me.”

“Lizzie.”

“He saw I was upset this morning.”

“Or in other words, vulnerable.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I got that the first two times you said it.”

I twist out of her grasp. “I know what you’re going to say. He’s playing me. He does that to girls.”

“Pretty much.”

“So I’m stupid.”

“No. Just inexperienced.”

I try to dart past her to the lockers and she hooks me with her arm and pulls me in for a hug. “Listen, don’t ever feel like you’ve got no one else to talk to. You have me anytime, anywhere. You got that?”

Not the lecture I expected. “Thanks,” I say.

“Don’t let him get you alone again.”

I nod. “Right.”

“Jess, can you please take one look at the edits I suggest? I am, after all, an
editor,”
says Kevin.

We are all sitting around a table set up in our warehouse where we shoot
Clues
.

I stare at the final part of the scene, where “Couple kisses passionately. He pulls her shirt off over her head and they sink to the floor, where they proceed to make love.”

“Lizzie?” prompts Kevin.

It’s my cue. “Sorry! Um…okay. I didn’t hire you.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Try that again,” says the director—who is different than the one we shot with a few days ago. That one was only available for that week. In television, directors come and go; they’re the least permanent member of the crew.

“Jess,” repeats Kevin, “can you please take one look at the edits I suggest? I am, after all, an
editor.”
He looks at me like I’m an amateur and working with me is a clear waste of time.

Something snaps inside of me. “I didn’t hire you,” I say, brushing him off.

“Yeah, but your publisher did, and that’s who you work for.”

“I work for
myself
. And you work for me.
I
write the words. You just rearrange them.” Those are the lines, but my thoughts are,
Shut up, Kevin. I’ve been in show business ten times as long as you have. I don’t care if you went to Julliard and have a Tony Award.

The mood around the table shifts. Everyone’s at attention now, listening to us read our lines.

“Hey,” says Kevin, “let’s not do this to each other.” His tone says, “Cool it, kiddo. Don’t mouth off to me.”

“Okay,
fine
,” I say. “Quit. I don’t need you.”

And that’s the end of the dialogue.

“Wow,” says the director. “All right. Now this is working.”

It is? I don’t feel fake-mad and turned on. I’m actually annoyed. No part of me wants to rip his shirt off and roll around on the floor with him.

What if he were Devon?
says a little voice in my head.

Then I might want to kiss him, but I wouldn’t dare, and more than that, I’m just not ready for it. I can’t take my love life from zero to a hundred in a week. But somehow I’m going to have to fake it.

The scene, though at the end of the episode, is one we reach on the second day of shooting, which I think is bad planning. It’s the scene that requires the most chemistry, the most comfort between me and Kevin.

Or maybe I just wish that we didn’t ever have to film this part. Why does my first ever kissing scene also have to be so involved? Why couldn’t we start with an awkward peck that would mark the beginning of the transition from colleagues to lovers?

Then again, there’s so much that doesn’t make sense to me about the storyline. I’ve seen tons of shows and movies where sparring couples who hate each other fall into each other’s arms, but I don’t get how that’d work in real life. Anyone who yelled at me and got me on the defensive would get his face scratched if he even tried to hug me. I’m just not a spur-of-the-moment-passion kind of person, I guess.

To prepare for the scene, I dress in my costume, which includes a purple lace bra. They were going to go with black until they saw how deathly pale my skin is in comparison. I tug it down in the back so that the fastener rests below my shoulder blades then pull the shoulder straps into position before I stand and stare at myself in the mirror.

I had augmentation surgery when I was fourteen, so my breasts aren’t natural, but they’re made to look that way. Nothing huge or over the top, just a little large for someone who stays thin. My waistline jiggles too much for my taste, and there’s a little roll of fat over the top of my jeans, I’m sure of it. No way that’s just skin. I suck in my stomach. Better. I’ll have to remember to do that.