Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,62
over my shoulder and glare. “Why are you here? I’m sure she’s not expecting you, so yet again, that means you’re trespassing.”
“Watch yourself, McCallum,” he warns, backing away while never taking his eyes off me. “You’re not as invincible as you think you are.”
They say Hollywood changes people, and they’re right. Because Alexandra Romanov swallowed Angel Smith and I’m not sure if she’s ever coming back.
Not that I’m complaining.
I scan my eyes down the bright green dress she’s wearing straight to those damn stiletto heels. Add in the made-up face, framed by dripping diamonds and styled hair, and I’m having a hard time keeping my dick in check.
“Rook.”
She glances up, a stack of papers curled in her hand. “You came.”
“I told you I would.”
“Yeah, but, you’re late again, and after…” A rush of pink splashes across her cheeks. “Well, it’s been four days, and I thought maybe…”
That maybe I haven’t been hard for four damn days? That one time with you could ever be enough?
I push the thoughts away. “You called and said you needed help, so here I am.”
She doesn’t say anything. The only acknowledgment I get is a nod.
“By the way, did you give Rubio the access code to the front gate?” I ask casually.
Lines crease her forehead. “The detective? No, why?”
“He was waiting for me in your garage.”
“What? Why, and how?”
That answers my question. Cops like Rubio love the divide and conquer tactic. One I worried he’d already put in play before cornering me in the garage.
“Just some baseless questions you don’t need to worry about. He was fishing because he’s desperate. As for how? I don’t know, but you can bet your ass I’m going to find out.” Angel nods again, and I can tell there’s something else on her mind. Something big enough to rank above Rubio’s gate hopping. “You sounded stressed on the phone. What’s up?”
She hesitates for a moment, then shoves the papers she’s been holding under my nose. “This is the script Rosten gave me. I’m supposed to be at a table read on Thursday, and I’m having trouble with the lines. I was hoping…” she trails off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”
Something’s off, but I don’t push it. I’ve learned with Angel you have to stroke the kitten before she’ll meow. “I’m already here, you might as well tell me.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I was hoping you’d run some lines with me. The movie is…well, it’s hard to get into character by myself.”
“I’m no actor, but as long as you don’t mind a shitty delivery, I’m game.” Taking the offered script, I flip through it. “What’s the movie?”
“You have to promise not to say a word. I signed an NDA. If word gets out Silverline is producing this, I’ll get—”
I stop flipping long enough to cast a glance up at her. “Rook, I’m in the industry, remember? I know all about producers and their NDAs. I won’t say shit.”
She nods again for the third time. “It’s Bound Fate.”
What the fuck? “The mommy porn books?”
A few years back, Milly had that shit on blast. Those BTN bitches traded those damn books like Pokémon cards.
Covering her face, Angel walks toward the grand piano, her heels clicking against the marble. “God, please don’t call it that. This is hard enough knowing I’m replacing Greta Amherst.”
“What?” The vaulted ceilings echo my voice like a bad sports replay. “They canned Greta Amherst to cast you?”
Swiping a second script off the piano, she spins around, a new look on her face. “Try saying it with a little less shock next time.”
“No, I just meant…” I pause because I don’t know what the hell I meant. “Shit, this is big, rook.”
“I know. That’s why I called you.” Her face falls, and I can see the toll this has taken on her.
I can’t stand seeing her like this. I hate it.
Letting out a resigned breath, I flip through a few more pages. “Okay, so, obviously, you’re Isabella. Who’s playing this Sebastian guy?”
“Noah Braddock.”
It feels like someone shoved a needle in my veins and injected me with lava. I can’t breathe. My lungs burn, and my heart is pounding like a coked-up racehorse. Either I’m having a heart attack at thirty-two, or…
No fucking way.
Am I jealous?
I’ve never been jealous over a woman in my life. But the thought of Noah Braddock, America’s clit-clicking poster boy, doing a sex scene with my Angel…