Page 12 of Off Script

“Thank you, by the way, for sharing my tweet. My friend Alia’s grateful for the support.”

“Of course. It’s no problem.”

“You’re finished, beautiful,” Cass said. Jada thanked her and slipped out of the trailer, dropping Tristan’s mood back to bleak again.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Cass said knowingly. He gave her a guiltless, boyish look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cass.”

Cass picked up a brush and started to apply foundation to his face. “Sure, and that bruise is healing up nicely,” she said, shaking her head. “Keep up with your womanizing and you’ll end up with more than raccoon eyes. A woman scorned can rip your world to shreds.”

“Several have tried and failed. I think I’ll live.” He winked at her.

By the time Cass finished chastising him, Mikayla had returned with his outfit. Breathless but beaming, she held up the hanger with a flourish.

“Tristan! Never fear. I have arrived,” she said gallantly. Tristan inspected the shirt, and it looked spot-free.

“Mikayla Davis to the rescue as usual.” He thanked her.

Despite Ren’s occasional comments that Mikayla was “far too loud and doesn’t take anything seriously,” the girl did always manage to come through in a crisis. No matter what their prickly director said, Tristan appreciated her can-do sunniness after the morning he’d had.

“And don’t you forget it,” Mikayla warned him. Tristan gave her an exaggerated bow of gratitude in response.

Ducking into one of the changing rooms, Tristan took stock of the rest of his ensemble. In addition to the freshly cleaned gray shirt, he had a leather jacket and designer jeans. The clothes were comfortable, and he felt good in them, but he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Unable to put his finger on it, he went back out to ask Mikayla what he might be missing when they compared him to the continuity photographs. But she was gone, and he didn’t want to rustle through Val’s things to find the photos. Rather than hang around to sort it out, Tristan decided to rejoin the crew on the soundstage. When he got there, he wished he’d lingered behind after all.

On the surface, everything looked ready to go. The green screen was up, the lighting “just so,” the cameras positioned. But the crew was undeniably restless. Most likely because their fierce leader, Ren, was far from pleased. Standing by Mateo, he looked like he wanted to kill someone. He was also speaking rapidly in Japanese. Tristan assumed whatever he was saying included several swear words. Off to the side, Jada stood with her arms folded, warily watching everything unfold. Tristan sidled up next to her, trying to remain inconspicuous.

“What’s going on?” he whispered to her.

“Angelastillisn’t here. They’ve called her a bunch of times and she’s not answering. So Ren is . . .” Jada waved toward their fuming boss.

“Jesus Christ.” Tristan groaned, but he also had a sinking feeling.

Angela had basically been a Hollywood golden child since birth, primarily due to her Daddy Warbucks-esque father, and that came with the widespread issues of childhood stars. She’d gone through various meltdowns and been in and out of rehab. Tristan hoped nothing awful had happened to her, but he was also sick of everyone suffering the fallout from her egotism and downward spirals. Deciding he was in no mood to get swept up in Ren’s rage, Tristan went to inspect the catering table. He had just picked up a bagel when Erica came up to him, this time looking more sheepish than usual.

“Hey, Tristan, I hate to ask, but have you heard from Angela? I’m trying to track her down, but her cell is going straight to voice mail.”

“Of course it is,” Tristan grumbled, then took a savage bite out of his bagel. “But no, she hasn’t called me.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed you guys seemed to have a falling out but figured I’d ask anyway.” Sympathy radiating from her concerned look, Erica touched his arm. “I hope you’re doing okay with you guys . . . breaking up?”

Although Tristan’s massive dating fumbles often ended up in the press, he didn’t exactly relish sharing the details of their “falling out.” Erica probably wouldn’t be so bold as to actually leak whatever he told her, but it would definitely get around to the rest of the crew. However, based on the way Erica still had her hand on his arm, her fingers dancing along his skin, he had a feeling she was looking for something more than gossip.

“I think I’m past the heartbroken stage.” Tristan took on a lighter tone as he laid his hand over Erica’s.

“Well, if you everdowant to talk about it, I’m here,” she said, moving closer to him.

“Now that you mentioned it, there’s some time to kill. Do you want to hang out in my trailer for a while?” he offered.

They both knew damn well that talking would be the last thing on their minds once they were finally alone. But this didn’t faze Erica in the least as she nodded eagerly. As discreetly as they could, they slipped out a side door, headed off to put on a private, seductive show that would be far from prying eyes.

Or so Tristan thought.

6

“I can’t believe she’s doing this to us,” Jada grumbled, checking her watch for the fifth time.

“I can,” Mikayla said in a singsong voice.

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