Page 36 of Hot Set

But even the thought of letting this man buy me a drink felt like a betrayal of Brandon. It was as if I’d set my sights on Brandon, and now, no one or nothing would be good enough. It was as if I owed Brandon some loyalty he hadn’t even realized I’d given him.

“Sorry,” I replied, shaking my head. “I have someone I’m interested in.”

Another whistle, followed by a nod. “Lucky man.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I replied.

Assuming Brandon and I could even have a relationship.

“I should get back to my friends,” I said, hoping to leave before things got out of control.

Connor shrugged and smiled benignly. No harm, no foul; it seemed. He walked away and disappeared into the crowd. For a few seconds, I lingered and watched the way he’d gone. Then, I returned to the other room, taking my time. As my eyes scanned the bar for Seth, Mark, or even Logan, thoughts whirled around my head.

Forget whatever label that described me; for now, anyway. I definitely liked Brandon. That much was clear to me. And an even bolder thought followed;I’d liked having sex with Brandon, too, and wouldn’t mind having it again.

Definitelywouldn’t mind.

If I showed up at the set tomorrow and he wanted to have sex, I’d probably jump at the chance. I’d jump at the chance to do a lot of things with Brandon; I’m not that particular.

But I had also applied for a job—not just any job, but mydream job—with theFBI. If they hired me, I would have to move to Washington D.C., so any thoughts about having a serious relationship with anyone right now wouldhaveto be put on hold. I could have my dream job or Brandon, assuming that he felt the same way about me, but not both.

GAWD!! So grossly unfair.

Seth waved at me, and I walked over. “Having fun?” he asked.

“I’m still confused,” I said distantly.

Seth wrinkled his nose. “Really?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

I nodded. “The thing is,” I said, “I’m fairly sure I really like Brandon now.”

The downside was I was no closer to a relationship with him or even knowing what todo if I was in a relationship. In the end, I was going to lose something, and I didn’t know which one was going to hurt more.

Chapter thirteen

Brandon

Iscowled at my finger, wiping away the dot of blood from the tip. I guess I wasn’t going to be a master tailor any time soon. Judging by the haphazard row of stitches I’d made to repair the torn seam of a skirt, something which—I knew, logically—should’ve been a simple fix, I probably wasn’t even going to be anamateurtailor anytime soon. I was beneath amateur, if there was such a thing. But everyone else was busy, and wardrobe had been shorthanded for nearly a week. Only makeup seemed to have their act together, although that might change if Alex left. And he might. Today, he wasn’t on set. Instead, he’d gone to his second interview with the FBI. He’d insisted he could still come in after it was completed, but I’d insisted he take a break.

Alex had ended up working on this film nearly as much as I was, meaning he was definitely due for a break. He was supposed to be asparemake-up artist, someone to make Bioncia’s life easier. I’d never imagined Alex having to pull this much weight.

I paused, thinking of Alex’s face while he did make-up, the way he tilted his head just a bit and parted his lips just a little. Even in the harsh lights of the studio, Alex’s face looked soft, picturesque, like a romantic painting I might’ve spied in one of Mark’s art history textbooks. I shook my head and forced my eyes back to the dress. I needed to be working, rather than spending my time thinking of Alex.

I tried to tell myself my thoughts were scattered because I’d been keeping so many odd hours. Movie production seemed to be a twenty-four-seven kind of job, which I hadn’t anticipated. But there was something appealing about working like that; sporadically. And there was something about the unpredictability of movies that, while stressful, was an adventure.

With a sigh, I smoothed over the velvet and silk gown and held the fabric up to the stage lights, ensuring that I couldn’t see any holes or spaces between the stitches. There weren’t any. At least, that was something. Thank God for small victories.

Oh God, I dropped the needle. With a dawning sense of dread, I scanned the tile floor, trying to find a tell-tale shine of silver metal. It was nowhere to be found. Swearing to myself, I slipped off the stool and crouched near the ground, squinting at the floor. A pair of bare feet slapped by. My head snapped up, and there was Seth, grinning.

“I know I’m great, but you don’t have to kneel,” Seth said, smirking, “unless you are compelled. You would not be the first, y’know.”

“Where are your shoes?” I asked.

Seth shrugged. “It’s raining. I’m not walking around all day with my shoes soaking wet,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, you’re probably going to get a needle in your foot,” I replied. “I dropped one.”

Seth jumped back. “You’re not serious,” he said. “This is a joke.”

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