Page 38 of Fool's Gold

The schedule has been shuffled around to accommodate more of her scenes without Mr. Patterson. We’ll make it work as long as she does her part. Right now, my hold on her is tenuous at best, and fuck all, but I’ve done it to myself.

She shouldn’t have to pay the price for dealing with me, but she has, and she will again.

My stomach rumbles, and I slap a hand against it, threading the fingers of my other hand through my hair. Any more of this shit, and I’ll be dead.

I should already be dead. I’ve got nothing but borrowed time ahead of me.

Rather than waiting for Celeste to get the jump on me again, I drag my less-than-happy ass to the office. She isn’t there, although I half expected her to be. A glance at the clock shows I’ve got an hour to make it to set.

These are the witching hours for people like me, the ones who barely get any sleep, and when they do, their dreams are filled with nightmares of a miles-long list of things to accomplish.

Time for me to give the reins a yank and see what I can pull.

I send a text to the number Celeste handed off to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt she’ll follow through. Snap to attention, more like, and come calling once I crook a finger.

She struts through the door less than fifteen minutes later, looking as polished and put together as though she’d had hours of preparation. Her icy gaze darts up to meet mine, and those lips curve sensuously, painted for battle.

“I knew I’d hear from you.” Celeste makes herself comfortable on the corner of my desk, perched like a prized pureblood cat ready for her show. I stay sitting and refuse to get up. “Are you finally ready to admit you want to play with the big girls rather than the brats?”

“I wanted to tell you to your face that I will be on set with Empire from now on.” I drum my fingers along the desktop. “Tell your scrutiny goons that the next time they try to stop me, the repercussions will be worse than whatever fresh hell you promised them.”

Celeste arches a delicate brow. “Oh?”

“No matter what happens, I plan to stay on set. I’m not asking for your permission. This is a courtesy conversation and nothing more.”

Celeste’s laughter digs beneath my skin like a wasp burrowing into wood. “I find this remarkably amusing. You’re not in a position to call shots with me or with my men. From what I’ve heard, you posed a serious problem to yourself and our actors yesterday. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

“And it won’t.” Just like I’m not going to let her chastise me. My expression goes sour, and the few sips of coffee I managed churn in my gut. “What do you want, Celeste? How can I get you off my back?”

“I’m more interested in you getting me on mine.” Her laughter is back. It’s never left, only growing stronger, louder. More insidious. “It’s all about playing games, Marcus. Which one would you like to know about? There are too many to count in play. I’m not sure you’re capable of following them all.”

“Fuck you.”

“Come on. Ask me again. Better yet, do your worst. I can’t wait.” Celeste shifts one thigh over the other and flashes a glimpse of her panties between her legs.

She’ll be waiting an eternity if she thinks I’m going to put my cock anywhere near her.

“I’ll be on set from now on,” I repeat, sending the message home. “Better make your accommodations. And replace your batteries. You’re getting nothing out of me.”

THIRTEEN

My phone alarm drills holes straight into my eardrums.

I need the time to get ready, but damn, I barely slept, even when I got promoted from couch to mattress.

River let me stay in her room and share a bed with her. While not easy because she starfishes like crazy, being close to someone who wasn’t going to change their mind about me on a dime is a small measure of comfort.

Once the alarm goes off, I leave her sleeping and grab a quick shower.

We’re not the same size clothing-wise, but I manage to scour her closet for a cute little maxi dress that will work to get me to set. From there, wardrobe will take over. Same with makeup and hair. I don’t want to show up to the set looking like a complete idiot, but there’s no sense in painting on a face when it will get wiped away.

River looks like a little pixie sleeping with her arms and legs splayed.

I’m not waking her up at this ungodly hour.

I scribble a note, leaving it near her French press where I know she’ll see it. Although the thought of coffee makes my mouth water, I know there’s going to be some on set. It won’t be nearly the same, but—shit—I’ve got less than thirty minutes—hopefully traffic won’t be bad.

The driver is waiting for me outside, and we show up to the studio promptly at six. It’s a miracle.

---