We’re talking through the scene when phone alerts start going off around the room, followed by whispers and covert glances.
“What’s up?” I ask Kenneth. “Am I imagining that something is… off?”
“I have no idea.” Kenneth glances around with a frown.
Takira approaches, her face set, and grabs my arm. “We need to talk.”
“Um, Kenneth and I were—”
“It’s fine.” Kenneth flicks a glance between Takira and me. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you still have questions.”
“T, what’s up?” I demand as soon as Kenneth walks away. “I was just—”
“You need to see this.” She thrusts her phone into my hand.
I can’t even believe what I’m reading. It’s a post online about a podcast and Camille Hensley and me and Canon and the movie. It’s all these disparate parts that shouldn’t have anything to do with each other but have somehow landed in the same place. All of Canon’s concerns, the things he warned me about, are splashed on a digital page for any and everyone to see.
I glance up and all eyes are on me before being quickly averted.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper to Takira. “They think—”
“Right. Yeah.”
Embarrassment clenches my throat, and I can barely swallow. A knot tightens in my belly. If these people, my cast, look at me like that—like I didn’t earn this after seeing me bust my butt the last three months—what will people who don’t know me at all think? But on the heels of embarrassment comes indignation. Theyhaveseen me putting in work to do mybest. Seriously? Some vindictive bitch who couldn’t get her way makes a few comments and they look at me like they’re not sure?
And then I just feel… alone. Even with Takira standing beside me, Canon isn’t. I don’t blame him. No doubt he’s in some production meeting, exactly where he should be, but he’s not here. And I have to face the speculation and judgment I sense from my colleagues by myself. He probably doesn’t even know this is going on.
“Oh, shit,” Takira says, looking over my shoulder.
I turn my head to see what has her cussing, and draw a sharp breath when Canon walks in. He’s a few feet away, several people between us.
“Hey,” he says to the room, issuing a general greeting. “Great job today, everybody.”
They mumble and nod and stutter, almost like he caught them in the act of something. I don’t know where to look. Don’t know what to do or how to behave. I don’t want to make this worse, but everyone keeps looking from him to me and from me to him like we’re onstage and they’re waiting for our next lines.
I have no script for this.
“Neevah,” he calls, his voice carrying clearly across the room.
I force myself to look at him and not focus on the invisible bullseye covering my whole body.
“You want a ride home?” he asks.
In front of everyone.
What is he doing?
Everyone knows a driver brings me to and picks me up from set every day. I blink at him stupidly, and the whole room seems to be holding its breath, waiting for my answer.
“Um… yeah? Sure?”
“Come on.”
He extends his hand.His hand!Like he means for me to take it. I’m superglued in place, but Takira nudges me forward, and I stumble a little before righting myself and taking the few steps to reach him. He immediately links our fingers and leaves the room, tugging me after him. I holdmy tongue for as long as possible, conscious of all the eyes on our departure. As soon as we are out of eyeshot and reach the parking lot, I turn on him.
“What the hell was that?” I ask. “You decided taking me home, holding my hand, and confirming everyone’s suspicions was the best idea?”
“Yeah, because rumors, gossip, and speculation disrupt chemistry and, if left unchecked, can compromise performances.” He leans against his car and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t plan to address it directly, but there’s no reason to hide when it’s been exposed.”
