Page 54 of All That Glitters

No one told me shit about her filming early, and she’s clearly on set. There is no mistaking.

She must have left after I—

I turn on my heel and stalk to the desk. I wouldn't have known if she left before me, because I hadn’t paid attention. The house is always silent. I’ve just gotten used to ignoring it.

Growling, I grab my keys from the desk and storm past Sherry.

“Where are you going? Marcus!” she blurts out.

Without bothering to wait for the elevator, I head into the stairwell and take the steps two at a time.

I’ve got to check on her, see how things are going. Maybe wring her skinny little neck about going into set today without fucking telling me. And Parker is going to get it, too. I’m the first person he should have alerted to an early start date. What the hell kind of game is he trying to play?

Ice settles along my spine and trickles down. Nothing good, I guarantee it.

Of course, Empire wouldn’t have told me about going in early, even if she knew.

Not after—

“Goddamn it.” The curse erupts at the same time I slam the door behind me and catch the end of my shirt in it.

Surely, she was getting on well with everyone. Hopefully, she was having an enjoyable experience. She certainly looked happy in the social media post.

The studio wasn’t a far drive from my building, but traffic put me a good thirty minutes behind. Every mile sees my anxiety growing until I’m cursing and flashing vulgar gestures at anyone who lingers too long at a red light or, God forbid, cuts me off without using their blinker.

I want to check on her, that’s it, I remind myself, working on my breathing instead of cursing out the grandma chugging along at ten miles an hour ahead of me. I just want to check on Empire and see how things are going. It’s her first movie, after all, so she’s bound to be nervous. I might be a complete shithead, but I’m still her guardian.

A negligent guardian.

One who should have known where she’d be today instead of distancing myself.

It’s up to me to make sure she isn’t in over her head and making bad impressions with the other people on set. What happens if she’s left to her own devices and somehow manages to tick off one of the directors? Or Parker himself?

He might be a piece of shit, but he’s well known in this community, and his reputation precedes him. Having good standing with him will open doors for her.

I finally make it to the studio and barely spare a glance for the guards at the gate beyond a quick wave. The tires squeal as I take the corner toward the studio. There aren’t any parking spaces left, and I’m forced to walk the rest of the way, each step making me angrier instead of calmer.

If Empire does something, says something, without me there to witness and correct her, then she might ruin connections that will be a hell of a problem to fix later, connections that will help her on her way to the top. This is my reason and justification rather than simple worry about letting things go too far between us, to the point where I might have damaged our relationship.

No, not a relationship. I push inside the door toward the dim interior of the soundstage. Guardian and mentor only. It’s already been decided. No more kissing, no more touching, and certainly no more oral sex.

We’ve got to get back on track so things like the current situation will not happen again.

Once we both understand the established line, then I’m going to have to start taking a closer look at her schedule.

I haven’t been on top of things lately. My fault entirely.

I follow the muted sound of voices toward the set and pull up short. A giant knot forms in my chest and the bottom falls out from under me, pure rage filling the space at what I see.

Empire stands over a brightly marked X, completely naked. The lights shine down on her dewy skin. There’s not a scrap of clothing on her, showing her shaved pussy to anyone and everyone, her nipples peaked and her arms hanging at her sides with her fingers clenched. She’s staring down at her feet, her hair hiding her expression from view, but it doesn’t take a genius to see the way her body tightens with each inhalation.

There is no intimacy coordinator and no protection, like screens or tape between the actors.

There’s fucking nothing except Greg standing there with his gaze trapped by her tits, running lines, my ward struggling to remember hers while Parker watches from his seat, perched there like a damn gargoyle.

The black mood descends on me quickly, and I thunder forward.

“Parker.” His name is a gunshot of sound and threat. “What the fuck is going on here?”

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