"It had nothing to do with the kid," I state firmly in case he's jumping to the wildly incorrect assumption I'm an asshole who'd have a problem with someone because they have special needs. "I hung out with Sam and his folks once you left after filming, signed some merch, and got a penguin encounter experience for him and his family at the aquarium. Oh, and box seats to see the Lakers because his mom is a huge fan."
He studies me for a beat before speaking softly. "Yeah. I heard that, too."
"So why are you here then? You could get us both in big trouble."
He glances around the room like he wants to be one hundred percent sure we're completely alone and there are no crew secretly lurking anywhere, then he leans in, locks those piercingblue eyes on me, and lowers his voice to a secret whisper. "You're not actually a bad guy, are you?"
4
Cabot
Scooter doesn't have to say a single word. I get my answer in the way his eyes widen then dart away, the quick swallow, the fast blinks.
"Wow." I sit back in the wide wingback chair, gripping the plush cushioned arms. "I'm a superfan of the show, and you even had me fooled."
He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. It's called showbusiness, after all. Guess I'm good at putting on a show."
He can say that again. Normally, I see right through bullshit. I can tell when scenes are overproduced or cast members are getting a particular type of edit to fit a narrative. But not this time. Scooter Burns having a heart of gold has truly blindsided me.
"You're not the only one hiding something."
"Excuse me?"
"I shouldn't be saying this, but since I'm in your room and breaking the rules anyway, why not go all in?" I take a deep breath, knowing full well what I'm about to reveal could jeopardize my future on the show…and my ability to help Mom out financially. But it's the right thing to do. "I've been brought in to piss you off and…replace you."
Scooter remains still, his face uncharacteristically emotionless. "I know."
A stunned sound slips out of me. "You do?"
He nods. "I'm close to one of the producers. Eddie."
I let out a sigh of relief he didn't say Riff because that would have had me throwing up in my mouth a little.
When the silence between us stretches out for too long, I ask, "Do you hate me?"
"No. I mean… You play arrogant and annoying very well," he says with a slight smile.
I wave my hand in front of him. "Well, I have learned from the best."
"Welcome to showbiz, kid," he says, adding a slight old-timey Hollywood slant to his voice. Then he straightens, his eyes narrowing at me. "So, why are you doing this? Is it for the fame or the money?"
"Definitely not the fame," I answer, shifting deeper into the seat, the cushions dipping under my weight as I try to get comfortable. "My brother's medical expenses are killing Mom. There are lots of things that insurance doesn't cover, like ongoing physical therapy, home and vehicle modifications, specialized wheelchairs. The list is endless. She works three jobs and has for a really long time. When this opportunity came up…"
I blow out a breath. "The money I'll make will not only cover Billy's medical bills, but it'll let me pay off Mom's mortgage and shout her a long and very overdue vacation." Scooter is looking at me softly, an expression on his face I've never seen before. But I don’t want his pity. "Sorry for dumping all of this on you."
"Don't be. I asked. For what it's worth, it will make it so much easier for me to put up with all your bullshit on camera."
I grin. "Good. Because there's plenty more of it to come."
He groans but grins as well. "Care to give me a hint?"
"What? And risk spoiling a 'golden moment'?"
His grin stretches into something warmer, our intense eye contact heating up my core. "We couldn't have that now, could we?"
"I should probably get going," I say, unable to break the stare.
His eyes stay fixed on me, too. "Yeah. You probably should."
