Instead, I walked over to her, cupped her cheek with the palm of my hand, and wiped a falling tear away with the pad of my thumb.
All without a single word said.
It seemed like something a boyfriend would do and I wanted to make it look as believable and realistic as possible—that’s the reasoning I’m going with, anyway.
She took my hand in hers, kissed my palm softly, and mouthed the words, ‘Thank you for the flowers,’ before carrying on with the task she was assigned to do.
The vulnerability that I’d just witnessed moments prior, vanished into thin air, and she became her usual, confident self.
Like she was only allowed to feel what she felt for a split second before getting back into work mode.
I’ve been on the job for less than a week, and it already feels like second nature to me.
Somehow even more natural than working at the Lotus, or having my picture taken from different angles. But there’s a hell of a lot more work that actually goes into this job.
I’m up at ungodly hours of the morning, working anywhere between eight and twenty hours at a time. All while somehow finding the time to workout and keep my body in shape, ready for the scenes that require my shirt to be nowhere in sight.
Even if I had friends in town other than my brother, I could guarantee I wouldn’t have a social life.
There’s just simply no time for it.
Part of me wants it to last forever, but the other part of me is looking forward to reaping the benefits that I know this life can bring.
I’m not stupid. I know it could all fail, and I could wind up living back in that bar. Or worse, having no place at all to call home.
I just need to work hard, keep my nose down, and do what Tate asks me to do.
It’s been another long day on set, but it’s over. With our first days off slowly approaching, I’m desperate for a break.
Heading out of the barn after a long day of shooting, I search for the car Tate and I borrowed earlier this morning, only to find the convertible—and my brother—nowhere in sight.
Checking the phone in my pocket, I see a text from him saying he had to run and would meet back at our apartment later tonight.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, massaging the back of my neck. Of course, Tate would just…not bother to consider anyone else.
“Hey, Cole.” I hear a man’s voice call out from the other side of the car park, and quickly realize it belongs to none other than Harley Wingrove himself.
I chuckle to myself.Serves Tate right.
“Hey, man,” I reply as I head in his direction, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. I quickly spot a petite, brunette woman holding his hand. She’s talking to a visibly disgruntled Jenna. The three of them are standing beside his car and what I assume is Jenna’s rental.
Anexpensive,pearly white G-Wagon.
The same one I’ve watched her come and go in all week.
After yesterday and the flowers, I could see the look on her face when she saw me walking off set.
Like shewantedto talk to me, maybe thank me again, or even offer me a ride back home.
But instead, she climbed into the car and sped out of her parking space, leaving a cloud of gravel smoke behind her.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was forcing herself to avoid me.
I’m not hindered by her avoidance, though.
She’s guarded. I get it.
Just like I also understand that it’s only a matter of time before she lets me get to know her on a level outside of those big, barn doors.
