“Can you at least make it shorter?”
“I’ll do the best that I can.” He stroked her hair. “I’ll ask for an eighteen-hour schedule to finish my scenes as early as possible and get back to you. I’ll cancel all the interviews and photo shoots till you wrap, so you can, at least, come with me.”
She clung to his arm. “Thank you.”
The phone buzzed in her fist. “Fuck. It’s Andrea,” she grumbled, canceling the call, her fingers quick with a text message to her manager. “Okay. I texted Samantha the address and told her to get me something to wear on the way.” She clutched at her stomach, her fingers fumbling through social media applications.
“You shouldn’t do that.” He snatched the phone out of her hand.
Her thumb pressed at the top of her stomach. “Then tell me what they’re saying.”
“What difference does it make? Good or bad, it’s gossip. You can’t let it affect or concern you.” He looked at her abdomen. “You all right?”
“I’m a little nauseated, and my stomach is acting up.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled. “Stress does that to me.”
He set the phone in his lap and rubbed her shoulders. “Should I call a doctor?”
She snorted. “Hell no. How about a joint?”
Her phone buzzed again. She looked, and then winced, her face growing pale. His gaze fell on his lap and the name on the screen. Kyle.
Mike clenched his teeth, a headache banging his head out of the blue. He glanced at her, sizing up her expression.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” She bounced off the couch and darted to the bathroom.
He jumped to his feet, going after her, but she held her hand up, motioning for him to stay. He glared at her phone, his fingers itching to pick up. He wasn’t going to be polite and reserved like Kyle was when he asked him to stop pursuing Maggie. Mike was going to tell him to fuck off. Loud and clear.
Except he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed. To tell Kyle meant he would know. An ex-boyfriend with a grudge meant the whole world would know.
Mike growled as the invisible chains Maggie put around his hands burned, and for a moment he was angry at her. He stalked to the bathroom, ready for a fight.
She was on her knees, hunched over the toilet, her hair hiding her face. “Get out. I don’t want you to see this.”
“No.” His anger vanished into concern. He quickly squatted behind her and pushed her hair off her face, holding it with one hand, rubbing her back with the other. “You sure this is just stress?” It couldn’t be the food. He’d eaten it, too.
The sounds of her getting sick turned violent. “I’ve been like this…since I started the movie.” Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she got to her feet, flushed the toilet, and then she splashed water from the sink faucet onto her face. “Do you have, like, mouthwash or something?”
He opened the cabinet above the sink and grabbed a blue bottle. “Here.”
As she gurgled on the minty liquid, he gave her a backrub. “I’m worried about you, Carolina.”
She spat. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve been like this my whole life.”
“I know, but this business needs better nerves.”
She laughed tiredly. “Thank God for weed. Let’s roll some.”
“No. You smoked too much yesterday.”
“So?” She trudged down the hallway and back to the living room.
Mike followed, apprehension building up in him. She did love weed, and she had her own vape, but he’d always thought she smoked for fun, not to deal with pressure.
He bent a leg under him as he curled back on the couch next to her. “How much do you smoke a day?”
She fumbled with her phone. “What are you? Party police?”
“I’m serious.”
