Page 20 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

“He didn’t call,” I reply softly, reducing her anxious energy with my calmness. She releases my shirt, smoothing her hands over the crumpled fabric, smiling awkwardly up at me. “I think he only called Ezra. But he didn’t call me.” I wish he would have.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course he did.”

I tip my head to the side, wishing we had more than a few minutes. “Your parents aren’t supportive of this program because of Crave, or not supportive of making films in general?”

“Quincey Parker,” she starts, mimicking a husky tone. “Does not want his only daughter to make pornographic movies.”

I quirk a brow as we pass a smirk back and forth. “Your mom the same way?”

Her smile drains slowly, and I regret my question and know the answer.

“She’s not around. She passed away when I was young. Seven,” she says. I put a smile on so that she doesn’t have to feel bad about asking a question that comes with a tough answer.

“I’m so sorry Brielle, that’s awful,” I find myself saying as I stroke my palm down her arm, slowly, both of us eyeing the trail of bumps it leaves along her skin. I pull my hand back discreetly, and shove both in my pockets.

“You? Your parents alive?”

I smirk and knock my fist gently into her shoulder. “You think they must be dead because I’m so much older than you?”

Her eyes tip to the side as she giggles. “Honestly, kinda,” she laughs, and I find myself laughing, too.

“They’re alive,” I reply finally, and then Cohen approaches, and our conversation evaporates as we turn our focus back to work.

I realize as I let her direct the scene, studying the soft curves of her silhouette from her place tucked to the side of the set, she made me laugh. And I didn’t think about the heartache for a solid ten minutes.

nine

So fucking hot. And so not my business.

brielle

He’s backfrom his errand. Oh goody.

I cannot stand the way he just stares out at the set, eyes unmoving fromwhere-ever-the-fuck. I blink up, met with the sharp lines of his heady profile, hating the way my belly always swirls at his handsome beauty, and angry as hell he won’t look at me.

He took me around the set to meet people, but it’s our first time alone since his apology in the office. When I was talking with Aug earlier, he’d been physically on the set, working. I realized that Aug wasn’t kidding—Lance does it all. I peer over at him.

“If you thought I was going to apologize to you in there, well,” I say, pretending to study my nails for a moment despite the fact his gaze remains pointed forward. “Youwere wrong. Because I’m here to learn and if you continue to steamroll everything I suggest, I’ll never learn. So,” I breathe, my heart fluttering like a damn butterfly on speed. Why do I care so much about what he thinks? Andwhyam I letting this uptight self-important assclown get under my skin? “You owed me the apology and therefore, I accepted it. I just wanted you to know why I didn’t, you know…”

Finally he turns, dropping those cruel eyes on me. My skin burns under his sedulous gaze, and my thighs clench together because of it. “You’re pushy, inexperienced and untested. Have you ever thought that maybe hearingnoand having your ideas brushed offisa learning experience?” His frothy anger lifts his brows, and responsively the edges of my vision go dark, breath caught in my chest, trapped and burning. I stand there, mouth open, unmoving as he continues, his voice quietly fierce. “Learning isn’t about getting your way. Getting your way is for spoiled brats.” His nostrils flare andfinallyI take a breath, desperate to steady my whirring head. “Grow up, Brielle. Not for me, for Aug.We’remaking it incredibly difficult for him to work by behaving like this.”

I swallow, finding my mouth and throat painfully dry. “Fine.” I say that because I don’t know what else to say, and right as I’m silently replaying every word, ready to slice them open and scrutinize them for all they’re worth, Augustus sidles up to me, eyes on the set.

He surveys the layout and turns to face us both, but pauses with his eyes on my hands. “Where’s your notebook?”

I look back at Lance—God why does he smell like the exact mix of things to make me want to tear his clothes off and smother his face? “Tell him,” I whisper, giving him my bestdo it or elseeyes. He rolls his eyes at me and explains, “I tore it up when we argued.” He softens his expression for Augustus, and my gaze bounces between them a moment. “I know,” he says, “and Iamsorry.”

Aug turns his face forward, and around the edge of his beard, I see his face is… flush.

What is this?

“Go get the notebook on my desk.” He strokes his hand through his beard, and the scruff beneath his palm grating gently makes my stomach knot. Wait—did Lance just drop the asshole ruse after just one chastising look? Is that their professional relationship or—“You need to take notes, go get the notebook.”

Turning on my heel, I smooth my hands down my pencil skirt. I’ve been wearing a pencil skirt every day since I started. They compliment my shape, and I have plenty that go with anything, making getting dressed in the morning easy. But also? I’ve caught both Lance and Aug eyeing my backside. And I know that’s so not why I’m here and it’s completely cliché to fall for hot movie directors but I can’t help it. Catching their eyes lingering on my ass, sweeping my breasts too—it makes me feel…fucking fire.

While theycouldbe checking me out right now, I don’t care—I’m annoyed. I wouldn’t have to be stomping away, missing the start of the scene, if Lance wouldn’t have lost his temper. And here I am, traipsing off for a notebook like a reprimanded school girl. No amount of being checked out by hot, talented men can curb my irritation at the moment.

I swallow my frustration as I push into their office, remembering how Lance’s jaw turned to steel as he held his tongue, anger rippling through his neck, blue eyes searing me. My panties weresoakedwhen I left work.

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