Page 21 of Steamy on Set

“So.” He leans back, his hands clasped in front of him. “The rework on the costumes for the party is a lot better.”

They should be, since I took the lead this time.

“I know.” I forgo the obligatory thank you.

He rolls his eyes as the corner of his lips tilt upward.

“Well, maybe from now on the rest of your work will be completed correctly.”

The urge to admit it wasn’t my work in the first place sits impatiently on my tongue, refusing to be washed down with a sip of my tea.

“Let’s just hope that when it’s your turn, you’re able to do the job we’ve all been working for you to be able to do.” The tight fit of his shirt allows me to see his muscles tense as he takes in my words. I wait for him to retaliate, but when I find I am met with silence, I look up to see his brows pulled down.

I bite down the urge to ask him what’s wrong, instead choosing to make my way toward the door.

Halfway there, I lose the battle with biting my tongue.

“Don’t tell me you actually suck. It’d be terrible to do all this work for a movie that’s going to be crap,” I say turning around.

He looks up at me, but the usual fire that lives in his charcoal eyes is barely even an ember.

“I don’t suck,” he says with heavy layers of unsureness, looking down at the floor.

With the heat from the cup starting to warm my skin, I walk back to the counter to put it down.

“Try saying it like you mean it.” I wait for him to echo the words with more surety and turn his normal cocky grin on me.

When he doesn’t, I step in front of him, forcing him to look at me.

“You really think you are going to do badly, don’t you?”

As he tilts his head to the side, I can see insecurity war with his usual bravado when he looks in my eyes. I wait for the obviousdenial and puff of his chest, but find myself starting to feel bad for him when it doesn’t come. It’s like the other day in the sewing room when I remarked on his work. Clearly, this is a sore spot for him.

“No,” he finally says, lacking conviction.

Having waited weeks for the opportunity to hand his ass to him, I don’t feel right about poking at this weakness. Maybe because of yesterday’s conversation in the storage room.

“It doesn’t matter.” I lean in.

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I get paid either way.” I smile, letting him know I’m kidding. Hoping that some of my own devil-may-care attitude will seep into him.

He cracks a little, the corner of his mouth quirking up a tad. Some of the heaviness leaves his shoulders as he straightens.

“How caring of you.” The kettle pops, and he turns around to pour the water into the mug, breaking our connection.

“You probably won’t suck though. You live to get under my skin, and you being good at your job would be the most annoying outcome.”

He looks over his shoulder at me.

“My life does not revolve around you.”

The ease in his voice makes me feel free to go now. Picking my cup back up, I head back towards the exit, calling over my shoulder,

“You could have fooled me.”

I hear him scoff, readying to reply, but I stop him short.

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