Page 28 of Fool's Gold

Another voice lifts in a scream.

There’s nothing, though, that gets past the roaring of my pulse in my ears. The bloodlust is so terrifying I start to salivate without slowing down. This is the only way to get him to stop. To get him to pay for what he’s done to her and make sure he never does it again.

Suddenly hands are on me, dragging me off Greg. Two guys from the lighting crew move to either side of me, gripping my shoulders and hauling me back. And there’s Empire herself, breathing heavily, her eyes wide and staring at me.

She’s got her robe on like a security blanket and draws it around her chest.

When I glance back, Greg is being helped off the ground by several men and his personal assistant. He swipes a shaky hand across his face and smears the blood there.

“Maybe I got your message.” It takes me way too long to realize the calm tone he uses is for me. Until Greg straightens and waves off the help. He’s a little unsteady on his feet. “But I’m not going to be able to film again until my face heals up. Which makes this your problem, Mr. Ortega.”

He doesn’t stop on his way out the door, and the last I see of him, he’s leaving a trail of blood across the set, and the quiet is absolutely unnerving.

NINE

Marcus has a serious problem, and it’s not up to me to tell him.

All it’s gonna take is a good look in the mirror for him to realize he’s fucked himself over. He wants this movie done in two months? He just took out his main star.

There’s no replacing Greg this late in the game, and the majority of the scenes left to film have him in them. There’s only so much his stunt double is going to be able to do because, let’s face it, the action scenes all take place between Greg and me. And he needs to be there to do his lines.

Everything on set went downhill fast.

Faster than I would have thought. But Marcus and his outburst really put a damper on things for the rest of the day, and it takes way too long to reset and regroup. What the hell was he thinking?

A knuckle against my pussy isn’t the end of the world. I can handle myself now, especially once I see how well the set is organized. This isn’t the same space it was when Parker Heath headed things. The intimacy coordinator is a friendly woman around my age who talked me and Greg through everything.

Where is the trust?

Where is the faith in me?

The security guards standing by took Marcus out of the building once the lighting men handed him over. I watch their retreat with fractured attention, and it doesn’t come back together once he’s out of sight.

“It’s going to be fine,” Belinda, the director, says with a strained grin. Her red hair is pulled up in a ponytail and threaded through the back of her baseball cap. “Everything is going to be fine. The next scene we have on the docket is Alicia at school with her friends, so let’s switch to the other set and go from there. Are you good?”

Just like that, she switches direction with the ease of a seasoned professional.

I nod, swallowing over a lump in my throat, my body throbbing. The words are there in my head, and pulling them out feels natural in the moment, but if I actually stop to think about it…nothing.

Shivering, I tighten my hold on my robe, girding myself for the next scene.

Marcus is nowhere to be seen, but things flow better with him gone. I hate to admit it. The pressure eases without him watching me, and my body is much looser.

That’s what happens when the object of your desire isn’t constantly within ten feet of you. The sexual tension eases, and you finally breathe again. And with the rest of the actresses playing Alicia’s high school friends milling around between takes, it’s almost enough to make me forget about what happened.

Almost.

Once we wrap for the day at ten at night, I rush off set with my knees quaking only to find a car waiting for me. The driver, a man I don’t recognize, inclines his head and opens the back door for me.

“Miss Stone, if you’ll please.”

“Who are you?”

“Mr. Ortega hired me to take you home. He sends his apologies for not being here himself.”

I resent Marcus sending a car to take me home. My own sedan is in his parking garage. I’m more than capable of driving myself, but Marcus is once again making the decisions for me.

“Miss Stone?” the driver presses gently.

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