I opened my mouth to shout—at anyone—but Angel spoke first, shaking his head as he dismounted the stepladder. “You didn’t tell me he was going to be here, Sunny.” His voice was tight, furious, and his hand as he pushed his big glasses up his nose was shaking.
Without another word, he stormed out of the room, his shoulder brushing mine just enough for it to sting, and I staggered back, my hand going to my deltoid like I’d just been hit with a cannonball.
Which was possibly notentirelywarranted, since Angel was as lanky as they came, butstill.
I swiveled my head back to Sunny, Sunny the Betrayer, Sunny the Summoner of Cute Exes with Glasses. She threw her arms up as if this wasn’t all her fault.
I made a frustrated noise in her general direction before stomping back to wardrobe.
By the time I made it there, Blake was gone. I supposed he’d used the two spark plugs in his brain to find the rest of his suit, so I slumped down on the white leather sofa to text Bee and tell her,Weshould put out an Amber Alert for Sunny.
Bee responded almost immediately.
Bee:Why? Where is she? Did she not make it to work this morning?
Luca:She’s here now, but I’m about to kill her, and if you want any help finding the body, you’ll need help from the authorities.
Bee:I’m guessing you ran into Blake.
Luca:And Angel.
Luca:Wait.
Luca:You knew?
Bee:?
Bee:LA is a small town and porn is an even smaller business, hun.
Hun! Hun? How dare shehunme?
I threw my phone in the adorable little upcycled Dooney & Bourke bum bag Vanya had got me a few years ago. She’d hand painted flowers that looked strikingly similar to vaginas all over it, making it the perfect 911 bag for porn sets. It had all the necessities. Needle, thread, pasties, and even a plant-based menstrual disc because I was a good friend to uterus-having people, despite the fact that two of my favorite uterus-having people were making an actual attempt on my life at the moment.
As I popped in an earbud, Harry Styles “Daylight” remixes playing, I began to sort through costumes for the next scene, my hands shaking just like Angel’s had been earlier. I flexed them once and then rubbed them together. As much as I appreciated what an incredible music video this would make right now—the lonely beauty in his kilt bravely hiding his agony at seeing his cheating, Eiffel-Tower-loving ex—I wasn’t going to give Angel music video power over me. It had been seven months! I could easily handle however long this took... right?
I quickly did the production math in my head. Some porn shoots happened in a day, but the bigger budget remakes Teddy had a soft spot for could take anywhere from one to two weeks, and with this being Sunny’s first movie, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
Which meant I could be on set with Angel, Blake, and Blake’s windsock dick, for at least the next week. Possibly two. Or—God, no—three.
That was doubtful, of course, but it was better to brace myself now.
There was a knock at the door and then Graham, a pale twentysomething with Big Tweed Energy, and Sunny’s assistant for the shoot, poked his head in. “Would you believe me if I told you Mackenzie broke her costume?”
I threw my head back with a groan. “This day!”
I followed him downstairs to where the crew was in full panic mode, trying to get cameras rolling before the light shifted again.
But it was fine. Everything was fine. I’d fix Mackenzie’s costume, because that was a problem I knew how to fix. Unlike Angel being here with his very naked ex.
Unlike my life, which sometimes felt entirely too much like a music video—the same scenes, over and over. The perfect aesthetic with no real substance behind it.
Anyway, we’d start rolling on this shiz and before I knew it, we’d have one day down. And that’s how I would survive this. One day at a time.
Part of me still wanted to call Teddy and demand he take me off this shoot due to his hot, mean artist son being here, but I’d been ecstatic about the as-yet-untitledPretty Womanparody since Sunny first pitched it. So why should I let Angel and Blake ruin this for me?
“Right down here in the last bedroom,” Graham said as he walked faster than a nurse in a pair of Crocs leading you through the office to your appointment room. You always knew they meant business when that little loop was pulled up around the heel. It was like sport mode for Crocs.
I dug around in my bag for my sewing kit as Graham opened the door and then stepped back for me to walk ahead.
