Page 13 of Off Script

They were hiding out in the dressing room, trying to stay safely away from Ren. Cass had gone above and beyond in avoiding the director by going on a smoke break. The rest of the crew weren’t as lucky as they scrambled to reach Angela, and the tension snowballed into a stressed fever pitch. Time was money on a film set, and even if Angela’s dad was bankrolling this film, any little delay caused a ripple effect, making their already long days even more time consuming.

“She’s probably hungover somewhere. Facedown in her own vomit.” Mikayla swung her legs childishly as she sat in the chair. Jada kicked her foot.

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“It’s true. How many times has she shown up here looking shot to hell, in last night’s party dress? The woman is a train wreck. She’s not like you. Talented. Responsible.”

“All right. You don’t have to suck up to me,” Jada teased.

In reality, she loved having her cousin’s unconditional support. While Mikayla could be flighty with rent and often between jobs, her love for Jada never changed. She was Jada’s number one cheerleader, and Jada treasured her for that.

“I’m serious. You would be a better lead for this movie. And then you’d get to make out with Tristan Maxwell.” Mikayla’s eyes went dreamy.

“Not this again.”

“I don’t get why you won’t admit how hot he is! He looks at you, too, sometimes. You should hit that. Well, if Angela wouldn’t kill you afterward.”

“Mikayla, you had ringside seats during the Daniel fiasco. Do you seriously think I’m that much of a masochist to ever date a co-worker again?” Jada asked.

Since Mikayla had found out about Tristan’s retweet, she’d gone from casually shipping Tristan and Jada to planning out entire dates. The whole way into work Mikayla had theorized on how long Tristan had been low-key scoping out Jada’s social media and when he would officially ask her out. Jada refused to give in to her cousin’s matchmaking frenzy. Just because they were becoming friends didn’t mean she could ignore Tristan’s status as king of the Casanovas. It was much safer to stay professional than succumb to the teeny, tiny part of her that wanted to know what was underneath Tristan’s cool superstar surface.

So she planned to stick to her golden rule: no dating co-workers—especially not men who melted panties but then left women in tears. No way in hell was that happening to her. She’d learned her lesson the hard way onFallen Creatures, and didn’t need another tutoring session. Getting caught up in another torrid love affair wasn’t worth the ultimate consequence of a production going to shit or her being forced to leave another job.

Mikayla’s gasp distracted Jada from her inner resolutions.

“Speaking of Tristan, look what I found! After Val got on me about the shirt, I completely forgot to give this to him!” Mikayla panicked, holding up a leather belt.

Such a plain-looking accessory might not seem important to an outsider. But in the land of film continuity, details were king. If Tristan’s outfit didn’t match up precisely from scene to scene, even if less observant viewers didn’t notice, the cameras and cinephiles would catch the flaw.

“Oh shit. They’ll have my head if I don’t get this to him. A single screwup in front of Val is one thing, but if Ren finds out about this . . . you know how much he hates me,” Mikayla said, clutching the belt. Upon seeing Mikayla’s devastated face, Jada’s fierce urge to protect her cousin overpowered her inclination to scold her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take it to him. I want to go out there and check on the Angela MIA situation anyway.”

Mikayla gave a sigh of relief. “That’s my good old cuz. Always saving my ass.”

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead by now,” Jada said.

In the hopes of looking less conspicuous, Jada wrapped the belt around her own waist before leaving the wardrobe department for the set. The crew was doing their best to stay busy but Angela’s glaring absence couldn’t be ignored. For his part, Ren seemed to have retreated to a more meditative state with Andrew plying the director with chamomile tea. Although Jada was happy to see Ren calmer, she hoped Andrew hadn’t gotten the Sleepytime tea bags from Val’s collection. Either way, a quick look around revealed that Tristan was nowhere in sight. Wondering where else he could be, Jada figured the next best place to look for him was probably his trailer.

Exiting the lot, she crossed the short pathway and approached the white Winnebago. Her brisk knock caused the trailer door to swing open. Hesitant to go in without an official welcome, Jada called Tristan’s name. When he didn’t respond, she stepped inside to find the trailer slightly messy in the expected bachelor way. As Jada stood in the main area, she heard voices coming from the bedroom area farther inside and headed that way. If Tristan was on the phone or something, she could just drop the belt off and dash back out. A minor interruption.

What Jada wasn’t planning on was catching Tristan and one of the PAs going at it. Big time. Tristan was pounding into her from behind, Erica making plenty of appreciative moans. What Jada had mistaken for a murmured conversation was an expletive-laden sexual encounter.

“Fuck yes, Tristan. Harder,” Erica said.

Tristan obliged, moving faster. He was completely focused on his and Erica’s pleasure . . . until he looked up and saw Jada standing there. He immediately stopped, his sexual desire deflating in shock.

“Holy shit! Jada?”

Jada froze. What answer could redeem her for being the cause of coitus interruptus?

There simplywereno words.

Jada stood there gulping like a fish, terrified of what would come next.

“Jada, what the hell are you doing in here?” Tristan’s horrified question snapped her out of her stupor. At his words, Erica looked up and noticed Jada’s presence as well.

She squealed and yanked the covers up to hide.

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