Page 11 of Unscripted with Mila

Our gazes locked. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see the intensity of his gaze. His presence was overwhelming. I swallowed, my throat dry. I should tell him who I was. Explain we would be working together.

Yet, I couldn’t get words to form on my tongue. My shyness had kicked in, locking me into silence.

I took in a deep breath, startled as he moved closer. He was too close, yet I wanted him closer. I shook my head. He was too much. It was all too much.

And yet somehow, it wasn’t enough.

The intensity hit me, and I knew I had to get out of there.

I pushed myself up and out of the water. “I have to go,” I burst out, racing around the pool and grabbing my cover-up.

I headed for the gate, ignoring his plea of, “Wait!”

I rushed away, not relaxing until I got to my room, satisfied he wasn’t behind me. I dropped my head into my hands, shaking my head.

“What a moron,” I whispered.

I was certain he must think me mad. I groaned as I realized we would see each other on set, but I comforted myself with the fact that we’d been in the shadows and he would have had a hard time seeing my face. Besides, I was wet, and he probably wouldn’t recognize me. I pushed my hair away from my face, frowning as I realized my hair clip had come out at some point during my race back to my room. Dammit, I liked that one.

I sat down, shocked to see I was trembling and breathless. I felt a longing in my chest I couldn’t explain. It had to be the surprise encounter. I had never told anyone about my secret obsession with Nicholas Scott. The first time I had seen a picture of him, something in my chest had fused together. I followed his career closely, celebrating his victories, cheering for him from afar. I cried during his bad times, the sensation of there being more to his story than people knew strong and unshakable. Somewhere deep inside myself, I thought if I could meet him, I could help him. But I hadn’t been prepared to see him so soon after I got here. It startled me.

My reaction had to be hero worship.

That was all.

Right?

CHAPTER FOUR

NICHOLAS

I picked up my coffee mug, draining the last of the liquid from it and setting it back down on the table. I glanced at the hotel grounds from my vantage point on my balcony, not surprised to see how quiet it was. I knew the studio had a bunch of rooms rented out for the cast and crew. I was grateful to have a room here. I would be driven to and from the set, and it would help me avoid the paps and reporters that always seemed to flock around me while I was filming. It seemed odd to some people that I preferred life on a set, but I was protected—insulated, even—from a lot of things. Security watched out for me. Meals were prepared. There was always a gofer to run an errand and to pick up something I required. Another one to get me coffee or a cold drink. And often, other cast or crew members to shoot the shit with to help pass the time. And if not, I had my sketchbook. I could draw for hours.

I tapped my pencil as I studied the drawing I had picked up half a dozen times today. It was a study of shadows, the focus of a face I had barely been able to make out last night, and yet the memory lingered.

She had hidden in the corner like a frightened rabbit. Her very posture warned me not to move too quickly. She was ready to run at the drop of a hat. When I’d arrived at the pool, at first I had been disappointed to find someone else there. The last two nights, I’d had it all to myself, and I liked sitting in the water, gazing up at the sky, sneaking a cigar MJ would have no idea about, and enjoying the quiet. I had sat down in the water, watching the small figure glide back and forth—up and down the pool in steady, strong pulls. I lost count of the number of lengths she swam. When she stopped and climbed up the steps across from me, I had a glimpse of her profile and figure. She was short. Curvy. Her hair was dark, pulled back into a knot on her head. She wasn’t breathing fast, so swimming was obviously something she was used to doing.

I had no idea why I approached her. I was surprised at her reaction, the fear evident on her face as I went closer. I held out my hand, expecting some sort of recognition. Instead, her eyes had remained apprehensive, her posture tense. Until we touched. Something hit me, something unexpected. Something intense and warm. It felt as if I had touched home. And from the flare in her eyes, I guessed she felt it as well.

It was the oddest sensation.

But before I could press her, before I could find out her full name and room number, she was gone. Rushing in her panic to get away, almost tripping over herself to put some distance between us. She hadn’t even noticed that her hair clip fell out, rattling on the cement surrounding the pool. I climbed out and picked it up, intent on handing it into the front desk.

Except I never did.

I inquired if there was a guest with the name Mila but was informed no. For some reason, I slipped the hair clip back into my pocket and thanked the girl behind the counter, who was watching me with an eager expression, hoping I would stick around and talk more.

Instead, I left before she could find a reason for me to stay.

Now, the hair clip sat beside my sketchbook, the only vivid detail in the sketch aside from the wide eyes I drew from memory. I guessed they were dark—everything about her had been dark in the dim light. The glimpses I’d had of her face had been too cloaked in shadow to recreate. I picked up the hair clip, studying it. It was pretty. Pink with white and gold swirled into the base. Heavy and thick, leading me to think her hair must be long. Her voice had been soft, lilting.

Shy.

I wasn’t used to that in this business. Most of the women I dealt with could hold their own. Break my balls without much effort. You had to be strong in this industry.

Something, I was reminded of almost daily, I was not.

I blinked, bringing myself back to the present and the mystery girl. I wondered if she would be at the pool again tonight.