Page 44 of Beyond the Fame

“Of course, silly. I wrote the book and the screenplay. This project has been my baby for nearly thirteen years. I plan to be here every day.”

I sigh, heavily. Right. She’s going to be here every single fucking day. She’s been near me for seconds and my dick is already begging for relief. How will I last three months?

Rebecca’s blue eyes cut to me. She purses her lips and raises her chin high. “Jensen.”

“I need to finish prep,” I lie and to Lana say, “We’ll talk later?”

I don’t give her time to answer before I’m walking away as fast as I can. I round a corner and slam my back against a wall, tearing the white poster board with the school’s mascot of a panther drawn in black.

I close my eyes to calm my racing heart and fast breathing.

Get yourself together, dammit.

I stand there, panicking, for at least five minutes before someone finds me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a tiny, angry voice asks. I turn and find a short petite woman wearing jeans and a black fitted blazer with a white blouse underneath. Her braided blonde hair hangs over her shoulder.

“Hey, Eloise.”

Mylan’s personal assistant gives me a snarl. She's not my biggest fan. We used to be cool. She’s been Mylan’s assistant for about two years now. It’s the longest anyone has held the position—between him going all male diva, him hooking up with them, or them only wanting the job because he’s Mylan Andrews. Eloise is the only one to put Mylan in his place. She doesn't put up with his bullshit.

She once told me she had an uncle who was an alcoholic. She knew how to deal with this disease. Having her with me in the clubs the few times my busy schedule allowed me to hang out with Mylan, helping me watch over him to make sure he stayed in line, was a relief. We became close because of it. We both did our best to keep him away from the drugs and alcohol, but he’d still find his way back to it. All we could do at that point was babysit him.

Then she saved his life when he overdosed. It should have been me. I should have been there. What she experienced that night... I can’t even imagine. And yet, she stuck by his side while I was the one to abandon him. She probably resents me for that.

Now, here she is, likely thinking I'm flustered because of Mylan and not the woman who makes me question everything about my entire existence.

Though, working with Mylan these next three months also has me on edge.

“I’m fine,” I finally say and step away from the wall. I adjust my black-framed glasses and tug on the bottom of my long-sleeved flannel shirt.

Instead of saying something nasty to me, as I deserve, her face softens. She places her palm on my arm.

“He’s doing great this time.”

I say nothing. I can’t. So, I nod and walk away.

I somehow avoided Rebecca the rest of the day. Well, sort of. She was there, always there, sitting in one of the director’s chairs—watching the scenes, watching me work, leaning in to Bri Downley, my first assistant director, to share her thoughts on certain shots and suggesting additional takes. Bri would then relay the message to me.

At first, I wanted to ignore Rebecca, but I changed my mind after observing her during a scene. She didn’t see me staring, but I saw everything as she watched her memories come to life. Her palm resting over her heart. Her eyes wide and glazed with tears. The way she sucked her lips into her mouth so they wouldn’t tremble.

Goddamn her for chipping away at my cold, dead heart.

So, I accepted all her suggestions to re-evaluate, re-shoot, re-position.

Now, it’s late. The crew has packed up; the cast is gone, and it’s just hours until we’re back for day two.

I'm the last to leave. Walking down the hallway, I pass a security guard making the rounds as he watches over the equipment. He's one of a few guards patrolling at the school, monitoring the set to make sure no fans or crazed paparazzi sneak in.

I round a corner and stop in my tracks.

Rebecca is still here?

She’s standing in front of a glass case in the middle of the hall. I walk towards her, my feet near silent on the carpeted floor. She doesn’t hear me approaching and when she finally looks over at me, she glances away, wiping at her face.

I stop by her side, turning to the case to see what has her so upset.

In the center is a picture of her brother. He's in his football uniform. Sweaty light brown hair clings to his forehead. He’s smiling with his arm around a younger Lana who is wearing a cheerleading uniform.

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