“Mahdi. It’s Roman.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks, agreeable as ever.
“The franchise agreement I’m supposed to sign this afternoon.”
“What about it?”
“I need a clause added before I sign.”
He pauses. “What is it?”
It’s vindictive, and cruel, but my pride demands that I get some retribution. “I want it written that Clover Daly will be pulled from any futureDarkness Risingfilms.”
Chapter Fifteen
CLOVER
It’s been a couple months since I signed the relationship contract with Roman, and I haven’t heard a word from him. Not one damn peep. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised considering how our last encounter ended, but still I figured I’d have heard something by now.
My stomach twists into an uncomfortable knot as I flip through a copy of theDarkness Risingcomics. The script for the movie isn’t ready yet, so I’ve been doing a deep dive through old comics to get a better understanding of my character. Beside me, my journal is packed with various notes about backstory and motivations for Moonbeam.
I have been working my ass off for this role. Literally, and figuratively. Over the last few months, I’ve been putting in hours at the gym, and making sure I’m stronger than ever. The trainers have been working me so hard that muscles I didn’t even know existed are sore on a daily basis. But it’s all worth it knowing I’ll be able to pull off the stunts, and that I’m doing the character justice.
Growing up, I was teased for my body. Hitting puberty before your classmates sure doeswondersfor a young girl’smental health. Back then it felt like I was in a constant battle with my body, always trying to be smaller than I was, but never doing it in a healthy way. If only high school Clover could see me now.
Hopping up from my bed, I grab another highlighter. Color-coding my notes feels like a concrete step I can take that’ll help me feel more prepared. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. The truth is, I am sweating bullets at the prospect of being a co-lead on such an enormous project. I don’t want to seem like I don’t know what I’m doing or anything like that. I want to feel like I deserve to be there, like I deserve to act alongside Roman, whether or not that dickhead thinks so.
When I sit back on the bed, Smokey swats at the purple highlighter, knocking it onto the floor. Clearly, she isn’t a fan of my process.
The gentle vibrations of my phone pull my focus away from the notes, and when I look down, I see an unknown number pop onto the screen. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a call from someone I don’t know.
“Not today, Satan,” I mutter before hitting ignore. It’s blessedly silent for a minute before the ringing starts up again. Figuring it must be something important, and resolving to hang up immediately if it’s not, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Clover.” Roman’s rich voice comes through the speaker.
“Roman.”
“I received a rather pointed email from Janine this morning, so we need to start being seen in public together.”
Straight to business, I see. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s meet at a gym, and we can be photographed leaving together.”
“Text me the time and address and I’ll meet you there.” I try to keep the vocal equivalent of an eye roll out of my voice.
“Perfect,” he answers tightly before hanging up.
It’s almost time for me to meet Roman for our first date. “Date” is a bad word for two reasons. First, because I’m not actually dating Roman Everett. And second, because the idiot picked the gym for our first outing. The gym. Nothing screams “romantic” like roided up men, the sound of metal weights being dropped, and the smell of sweat. I’m a lucky girl.
I carefully pack away my notes and comics before doing a quick once-over of myself in the mirror on the back of my door. This pale blue workout set was the best that I could do on such short notice. The cropped workout top clings tightly to my body and shows off a bit of cleavage, and the high-waisted pants are tight enough to help compress any bits of myself I suddenly feel are too soft. I need to go shopping for more clothes that I’m comfortable being photographed in. Preferably something black.
The more I think about going to the gym for this date, the more annoyed I am with Roman. Did he really have to pick something where the first time I’m being photographed by paparazzi is in something form-fitting? Talk about feeling exposed.
When Roman suggested the gym, I didn’t realize that what he meant was we’d arrive at the gym separately, work out separately, and spend a grand total of two minutes or lesstogether when we leave the building to get photographed together.
I’ve been silently stewing throughout the duration of my workout as Roman jogs on the treadmill on the other side of the room. He makes the speed he’s running at look effortless, even though I know it’s got to be tough. He’s a lethal combination of grace and power, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hot watching him work out. I mentally kick myself. I shouldn’t find anything hot about Roman Everett since he’s a douchebag of the highest order.
He didn’t even say ‘hi’ when I arrived. Just looked me up and down, gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, popped in some AirPods and then launched into his workout.
