Page 17 of Off Script

“That’s two questions,” Jada joked weakly but Angela’s quirked brow meant “Don’t screw with me.”

“Yes or no, Jada.”

“Please, don’t put me in the middle of this.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Tell me the truth.” Angela grabbed Jada’s hands, tugging on them painfully, although Jada assumed—or hoped—it was meant to be reassuring. She held back the urge to point out that no, she and Angela were not friends. They barely spoke outside of doing scenes, and when they did, Angela addressed her with patronizing contempt.

“I—I . . .”

Way too late in the twisted game, Andrew noticed their heated exchange.

“Angela! We’re ready for you,” he called. The urgency in his voice alluded to the unspoken “Right the fuck now.”

Angela scowled and dropped Jada’s hands. Her niceties were over with.

“I don’t need your answer. I can tell from the guilty look on your face. I don’t know why you’re covering for him, but there’s no fucking point.”

Angela stormed off toward the soundstage with Andrew hot on her heels, using his walkie-talkie to update Ren that their star was on the move. Jada was sure all hell was going to break loose once that crazed woman found Tristan. Rather than joining in the melee, she ran off to the dressing room to tell Mikayla the deep shit she’d somehow gotten into. If she was going to die for being the messenger, she at least wanted to make a last confession.

7

Tristan wasn’t expecting it.

One minute he was talking to Ren and one of the producers, everything perfectly calm now that they’d been notified Angela was on her way. Then out of nowhere, a mystery object struck the back of his head, shattering. Sharp shards of glass sank into his skin as stars burst in front of his eyes. Spinning around to face his attacker, he spied a steaming Angela angrily waving the remains of a handheld microscope at him. The prop must have been left out from the other day.

“How could you?” She screamed at such a high pitch it brought everyone in the room to full attention. Despite being an actor, Tristan wasn’t one for dramatic public displays of any kind. Not PDA or fights, and especially not ones involving hysterical women.

“What the hell is your problem?” he hissed, yanking the prop out of Angela’s hands.

“You slept with that woman! That worthless tramp. When you hadme. No man in his right mind would choose her overme!” Angela said, before looking for another object to throw. Tristan grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop her assault.

“First of all, we are over. And second, this is neither the time nor the place to have this conversation,” Tristan said, wishing their co-workers weren’t listening in.

“I don’t care! How could you do this? After all I’ve done for you!”

Tristan bit back the retort that Angela had done very little other than act like a possessive prima donna. He didn’t need her to do anything because he’d never asked her for a damn thing. He couldn’t hold back the frustrated sigh that was bottled up within him.

“I can’t deal with you when you’re being irrational.”

Angela gasped—then slapped Tristan so hard, it gave him whiplash.

Several crew members pulled Angela away, dragging her out of hitting range. In the struggle, the gaffer tripped over one of the cords. As he went down, the lighting equipment came down with him. Sparks flew as the bulbs exploded and the lighting’s barn door blades slashed the green screen. Tristan gawked at the wreckage as others rushed to help the gaffer up, all their hard work ruined. Angela ignored the havoc she’d caused in favor of throwing out one last threat.

“Ren, I refuse to work with him. You fire him or I’ll quit! I’ll walk. I swear!” Angela said, kicking and screaming the whole way. Tristan didn’t know—or care—where they took her as long as it saved him—and everyone else—from her onslaught. However, he was about to face another battle when he turned around and saw Ren’s face. “What the hell did you do?” Ren growled at his leading man.

Their friendship and positive working relationship weren’t going to save him from the director’s wrath.

“I may have . . . hooked up with someone recently.”

Ren’s eyes narrowed. “How recently?”

“Like an hour ago.” At his response, Ren was ready to pick up where Angela left off.

“You can’t be serious. Because I know you’re not stupid enough to risk your professional reputation on a one-off. People might say whatever they want about your sex life in the gossip magazines, but you shouldn’t give them ammo to disgrace your actual work. Let alone the crew’s work.” Ren flourished his hand at the damaged set.

“This messed up relationship you two have brought onto this film is screwing everyone over. Do you think Tim deserved to be dragged into your mess?” Ren shouted in defense of the lighting team member who had fallen.

“No, I’m so sorry, Tim. I’m sorry to everyone, actually,” Tristan said, knowing.

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