Page 36 of Her Dark Angel

Wesley nods his head so quickly I’m surprised his neck doesn’t snap from the movement.

Not wanting the situation to escalate further, I wrap my hand around Nash’s wrist and stand from the couch. “Let’s go to my dressing room. Now.”

Nash winks at me as a shit-eating grin spreads across his lips. “Oh, Kin, you naughty thing. If you want me, just say so.”

I groan in annoyance as I tug Nash behind me. Stepping off the set, I shoot an apologetic look at Jason. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He simply nods in acknowledgment, allowing me to pull the idiot behind me down the corridor and into my dressing room.

Nash walks into the room and I close the door behind me, leaning my back against it. “What the hell was that?”

He lifts his eyes to meet mine and grins. “I did good, right? I’m not used to being someone’s boyfriend, so all of this is new to me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to control the frustration building in my chest. “Nash, you can’t go around threatening my coworker, okay? You need to dial it back a tad.”

He shrugs as he gazes around the small space, taking in the wooden vanity with all my make-up cluttered on top, the multiple racks of clothing for the different scenes I’ll be shooting today, and the snack table. His gaze lingers on the packet of Hostess Pudding Pies that is half empty, courtesy of me when I arrived this morning. “He deserved it anyway. I don’t take lightly to people talking shit about me.”

I blow out a long breath and chew on my bottom lip. Maybe I was quick to overreact to his behavior. If anything, I understand it. Being in the public eye and constantly having judgmental opinions thrown your way about the way you look or how you act is all too familiar. “It wasn’t right for Wesley to talk about you like that. But he only has that opinion because of what the media spreads in the tabloids.”

He needs to understand if his public image were better, people wouldn’t have the preconceived notions they do about him. The idea has been drilled into my head far too many times by my mother.

Nash plops down on the couch and splays his long arms across the back of it, his leather jacket forgotten about on the cushion beside him. “Whatever. He seems like a dickhead anyway. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that he has the biggest crush on you. I’m sure he beats it off every night to your pretty little face.”

My cheeks flare at his suggestive words. Reaching for one of my tennis shoes beside the door, I launch it across the room. It hits him in the stomach, but of course, he doesn’t flinch. “There is no need for that type of language, asshole.”

Nash shrugs as a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “What, you don’t like the idea that your coworker would do something like that? That he lies in bed at night picturing your face while he grabs his cock and rubs?—”

“Okay, shut up, Nash,” I interrupt quickly, my cheeks aflame and stomach knotting. God, he’s so crude at times. “And he doesn’t do that, so stop saying it, okay?”

He holds his hands up in defense and leans forward, his eyes meeting mine. “Fine. I’ll stop. But I’m being serious. If he gets handsy or continues to harass you, I will take great pleasure in sorting him out.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t ignore the way his words ignite a spark deep in my core. I don’t know if he’s still acting or being serious, but I don’t ask. In my mind, it’s best not to know what Nash’s true intentions are. I’m sure he is just looking for an excuse to get his hands dirty, and Wesley seems like an easy target.

Nash looks around the room once more before settling his gaze on me. I’m still standing awkwardly by the door, so I walk across the room and sit down on the couch beside him. His woodsy cologne is thick as it insults my nostrils, but I don’t care. I find it comforting in a way. Like I’m sitting in a cabin in the middle of the woods, not a soul within a twenty-mile radius, the fireplace crackling, and birds chirping outside the window as snow settles on the ground.

“So, I’ve told you my backstory, little devil. What’s yours?”

I tug my bottom lip between my teeth and contemplate his words.

He wants to know my backstory? Where do I even fucking begin?

“Well, I started acting when I was eight years old.”

Nash’s eyes widen. “Eight? That seems a bit young.”

“I agree.” I sigh and fold my hands in my lap. The sensation of my thumb picking at the skin around my middle finger sends a jolt of pain up my arm, but I ignore it. “I didn’t have much of a choice. My parents told me that one day I would be a huge movie star who makes lots of money, enough to help support them too, and will live in a nice house with expensive belongings. To any eight-year-old kid, that lifestyle sounded like a dream. And, of course, I agreed to take acting lessons and go to auditions.”

Nash doesn’t say a word as he listens, and I’m grateful for it. While I do have some good memories of my childhood, it doesn’t erase the demons lurking in the depths of my mind, constantly reminding me of a time I have tried so hard to forget but fail to achieve every time.

This is our little secret, Kinnie. Remember that.

I swallow hard and force the voices to the back of my mind. “I started my career acting in commercials and random advertisements. When I was ten, I got the lead role in a children’s show called Schoolyard Quest. The show did so well that I got role after role in television because many directors in Hollywood wanted me. I got my first movie deal when I was fourteen, and I guess the rest is history.”

Nash blows out a long breath, his eyes watching me intently. “That’s it?”

I nod, not understanding what else he expects me to say. I can’t possibly tell him about Reggie or how my life changed after that damn TV show. Or the one after it.

When I meet his eyes, I feel the intensity radiating off them in waves. My heart rate spikes. Why is he looking at me like that?

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