Page 23 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

“It feelsweird not going to these with him,” I comment, smoothing my fingers along my collar, straightening it. Claire coasts her palms down my arms, smiling as she peers around me to face our reflection in the mirror.

“This is your thirteenth monthly cast party you’ve gone to alone, right?” she asks, picking a piece of lint off my blazer sleeve.

I pause, elbows out as I continue to perfect my collar. “Thanks for reminding me.”

She winces a little, dark hair shining in the fireplace’s soft glow. I decided to get ready at her place tonight so I could talk to her about how I’ve been feeling. Claire jokes she should get half of what Dr. Evans earns, since she’s my off-day shrink. She’s probably not wrong.

“Sorry, I just meant to say,” she says, tilting her head to the side, studying me in my blazer and black pants, my beard trimmed and hair swept back into a neat coif, courtesy of hair product that hasn’t been touched in ages. “You look nice. Crave loves you. Focus on that tonight because… Aug, I love you but… he may never take you back. And I hate to see you needlessly in pain.”

In our typical dynamic, now is the time I’d get defensive, argue and protect our history, angrily guard an invisible future I’m trekking toward.

But tonight… I’m not doing that. “Actually,” I start, turning to face Claire. She reaches back to the counter, retrieving a small glass of whiskey. She sips, and passes it to me. “You know theprotégé,” I begin, staring into the partially drunk glass before finishing it. “She’s been… I don’t know. Looking at us.”

Claire snorts as she fishes a fluffy hair band off her wrist, pulling her dark locks behind her back. That reminds me of Brielle when she pulls her hair back in the afternoons. Her neck is a fucking turn on. She circles the counter and faces the burner, adding oil to a hot pan. “Lookingat you?” Her grin stretches from ear to ear as she looks at me, tossing chopped garlic into the pan. “You two are easy on the eyes, Aug. Don’t act like you don’t know that.”

I swipe my hand over my hair, making sure not a strand is out of place. My entire body vibrates with nervous energy, because I always try to talk to Lance about us at these mixers. Everyone is having fun, talking music or playing a video game, sharing drinks and appetizers, the cool bay evening hanging a painting of glittering stars above us—it’s the perfect night. And despite the fact that he’s yet to agree to more than a conversation, I’m not stopping.

“I don’t mean like that. I mean… I think she knows about me and Lance.” I shake my head, not knowing how it’s possible. Only Cohen knows about our history with certainty, and Lance and I have never acted anything but professional while at Crave, aside from a few heated office conversations. And things that took place at the studio were a long time ago, when only he and I were there. In the early days where we couldn’t keep our mouths off one another.

Claire tosses peppers into her pan and steam billows between us. “How?”

I shrug, popping a mint into my mouth from my pocket. “I don’t know but… I’m pretty sure she’s aware that something has gone on between us. Because her glances went fromI wonder what it would be like to fuck himtoI wonder what it would be like to watch them fuckand unless she’s some secret domme with a kink for bisexual film directors,she knows. She knows and something in my gut tells me she wants to play…with us.”

Only, we don’t play anymore. We don’t do anything anymore.

“Do you think Lance would be up to play, you know, casually with another and you?” she asks, using tongs to pinch pieces of chicken from a plate, transferring it to the skillet. “I mean, you guys haven’t even played together, not casually ever, right?”

I nod. “Right. Because we don’t know how to be casual.” I shake my head, lifting the glass of whiskey to take the very last lingering drop. “Anyway, that’s… a horrible idea. I respect Crave, I respect Ezra, I’m not muddying the waters like that. It’s bad enough that I did it once. Look how that ended up.”

Claire nods through the steam, pushing the food around with a wooden spatula. “Okay.”

I kiss her cheek and thank her for the hour, joking that I’m ready for her invoice when she wants to send one. But in my car, staring up at Tuck’s penthouse from the curb thirty minutes later, I wonder if I’m right about Brielle.Doesshe know about us? And does she want to play with us? I pull my hand down my face, playing with the trimmed ends of my beard a moment as I stare out in the foggy city night. Lance and I don’t know how to be casual, so playing with a third would be… disastrous. For everyone involved.

And fool me once and all that shit, because there’s a reason why everyone in the history of time advises against workplace romances. I had one failed one and now I have to live in its ashes, everyday. I don’t need to add a second.

I head up, and focus on having a good evening with those who I care about. And like Claire said, I look fucking great. And that needs to be enough for tonight.

Two times.

That’s how many times Lance has shrugged me off when I’ve pinched his elbow in private and tried to talk to him. Once on the balcony, completely alone, and another time in the hall, waiting for the bathroom. Both times he made it clear, just because we’re alone doesn’t mean we need privacy.

Sipping a Stella, I nod along with the small talk I’m making with Otis. Well, Otis is talkingatme, telling me about some river rafting trip he’s planning with his college roommates, and I’m just there to absorb all thebrosanddudes.

I’ve been actively avoiding looking at Brielle all night. I made the mistake of taking her in from head to toe once when she arrived and I couldn’t stand for thirty fucking minutes.

A very fucking tight black wrap dress, patent red pumps with lipstick to match, all that silky blonde hair down her back in easy waves—utter goddamn perfection. Just enough cleavage and thigh to get my heartrate up, but enough coverage to drive me fucking wild. When we made eye contact, she glared at me. Me, her fucking mentor, one assigned to her in one of the most prestigious film programs on the West Coast. And she’s glaring.

And goddamn it, but her attitude makes me harder.

Finally, Otis catches the attention of a newer set hand, and wanders off. I pull another Stella from the ice chest, and pop the top off into the metal bucket of lids. Brielle, whom I’ve avoided like the plague all night, is standing off in the corner, three men surrounding her. That doesn’t surprise me—she’s gorgeous, and radiates attitude which many people, including myself, can’t fucking resist.

I stare at the three men surrounding her. One of them is a set hand who's been with Crave for a few years, and is completely harmless. In a committed relationship, with not a singular scummy bone in his body. The other two are single.

One of them, a new actor, has his hand on the small of her back as he listens intently. She’s speaking directly to him, her face animated, hands moving as she tells a story. The other man stares directly down her dress, hunting for a glimpse of those perfect tits.

She’s so goddamn gorgeous, and I can’t help but imagine myself standing there, Lance at my side, and Brielle on her knees between us. Heat floods my chest as I imagine sifting my fingers through her silky hair, his hand connecting with mine as we grip the back of her head. Such a sharp tongue on her, she’d make such a fucking hot, sweet little pupfor us.

I sip my beer, swallowing down the fleeting erotic fantasy. I watch her with them instead, taking in the soft lines of her body in that dress, the way his hand hovers at the base of her spine.

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