Page 11 of Nathan

Chapter 6

Nate

My alarm blares at the ungodly hour of four a.m., making me groan and fumble for my phone before I swipe across the screen to shut the damn thing up. It will buy me five minutes snooze time. I only got in at one in the morning, and I need all the extra sleep I can get. Going out last night might not have been the best idea, especially knowing I have an early morning shoot. I’d regret it if the evening had only consisted of a couple of drinks at a boring club, but the unusual turn of events was worth the heavy eyelids and lethargy I’ll spend the rest of the day struggling to shake off.

I shower, dress, grab an apple from the fruit bowl, and head out to find my driver waiting curbside—a perk provided by the studio, although usually I prefer to drive myself. Sometimes being indulged has its benefits, though. I’ll be able to nap on the way in.

The moving vehicle lulls me to sleep, but the abrupt jolt when we stop wakes me. Feeling worse than if I hadn’t napped, I rub my eyes and scrub my face. My car door opens, and greeting me with a grin far too bright for such an early hour is my director.

“Morning. You made it.”

I swing my legs out, making sure I don’t bang my head, and unfold my large frame. Clapping Mike on the shoulder, I grin. “Did you doubt me?”

“Yep. Especially when I heard you headed off with a petite redhead at about eleven-thirty last night.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is nothing sacred in this town?”

“Nope.” Mike laughs. “I hope you’ve got plenty of energy left. Gonna be a long day.”

“Yep, all good. I was in bed by one. Alone.”

Mike’s forehead creases. “She blow you off, or just blow you?” He cackles at his own joke.

“Neither,” I say curtly, the all-too-common disrespect of women in Hollywood grating on my few remaining nerves. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Mike frowns. “Who’s bitten your ass this morning?”

I don’t answer.

Mike huffs and mutters, “Goddamn moody actors,” under his breath, then disappears inside the studio while I head toward makeup, where I’ll spend the next ninety minutes being turned into my character.

“Morning, Shirl,” I say to the lead makeup artist on set—a formidable woman in her early fifties. “I need to grab a quick sandwich before we start. I’ve only had an apple.”

Shirl shakes her head and pats the seat. “Sit. I’ll get one of the girls to fetch you something.”

I do as I’m told. No one messes with Shirl. Not if they want to keep their balls.

Mike hadn’t been joking about the long day, and by the time I crawl into the back of my car later that evening, I can barely keep my eyes open. My thoughts turn to Dex, wondering whether she’s had any trouble with Bernard. When I gave her my contact details last night, her reaction was so damn adorable. The way her brow crinkled and her fingers trembled as she took the rectangular card from me showed her surprise.

What she didn’t know was how shocked I’d been that I’d given her my card at all. My phone number is a closely guarded secret. The only people who have it are my brothers, a couple of close friends, my agent, and whatever director and producer I happen to be working with. Course my number would be in Bernard’s files if Dex cared to look, but she’d never be able to use it, not without consequences.

It could be dangerous. She could sell my number, tell all her friends, or drunk dial me at three in the morning. Though it wouldn’t be a disaster. I’d only have to change my number, but I could do without the hassle. Except I don’t think she’ll do any of those things. Something about her screams integrity—a rarity in this town.

My driver drops me off outside my house, and I head straight inside, thankful the security guard on the gate has done their job and there are no paps hanging around, shoving their cameras in my face. Fame sucks. It’s the biggest downside to this career. The interest of the press and fans alike is something I haven’t gotten used to, and I doubt I ever will. I love the process of making films and TV, and I adore the acting side of the business but hate the surrounding bullshit. The shallowness of the industry and everyone in it is something I put up with, but I refuse to let it touch me. I’m known for being standoffish, never one to mix with other actors or any of the crew. I have a few friends, none of whom work in the same field as me, but they don’t truly know me. No one does. Not even my three brothers.

And for good reason.

If they knew what I’d found out seven years ago, it would blow my family apart.

Hell, it blew me apart when I discovered the letter on a return trip home for Thanksgiving. In an instant, everything I thought to be true went up in flames.

Even all these years later, the pain of it still has the ability to bring me to my knees. Before then, I’d been happy, excited about the future, enjoying my time in London studying at RADA, and loving the independence being in another country had afforded me.

Then boom! My life had exploded. To this day, I can’t eat turkey. Every time I try, it sticks in my throat.

The faded black ink on yellowing paper had explained a lot. A whole damn lot. Right then, I made a vow to myself not to share the details of what I’d found with my brothers. I’d bear the brunt of the truth, bury the devastating news deep down where I hope, over time, my pain will lessen. A side effect I didn’t anticipate is how keeping the details close has created distance between my brothers and me I don’t know how to fix. But I can’t tell them. I can’t do that to their memory of Mom and Dad. Declan isn’t the only one who puts family first.

I open the fridge, remove a chicken pasta salad, and eat the solitary meal for one, then strip down to my boxers and flop onto the bed. With another early start in the morning, I’d better get some rest. But despite the lethargy in my body and the heaviness of my lids, I can’t drift off. My mind is full of a certain pint-sized, redhead with curls that cascade down her back, plump, rosy lips I want to kiss, slate-gray soulful eyes I could drown in, and a temper fiery enough to keep me interested. I can only imagine how such intense passion would manifest itself in the bedroom.

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