Page 10 of Steamy on Set

“Oh so you’re a feminist?” I ask, cutting him off.

He tilts his head down, long eyelashes fluttering onto his cheeks as he waits for me to continue.

“You know feminism is about a lot more than how we dress. Women should get to choose what they do or wear and be accepted for whatever that is.”

“Actually feminism is about—”

A laugh barks out of me, as I turn the kettle on.

“What?” He leans against the counter, his eyes boring into mine.

“You were just about to mansplain to me what feminism is.” I chuckle again, in awe of his audacity. With the tea bag in the mug and the water boiling, I turn sideways so that I can face him fully as he does the same.

“No, I wasn’t.” His mouth twists together as he unfolds his arms and clasps his hands in front of him.

“Oh yes, you were.”

His eyes roll to the side searching for an answer. Putting them back in a place to look at me, he seems to have found it.

“Okay, maybe I was.”

Taken aback by him admitting he is wrong, I turn to stare at the door to see if ice is creeping up it from Hell freezing over. Finding the same bland wood grain, I have to assume his brain is malfunctioning, making him nice.

When he starts talking, that assumption goes right out the window.

“Either way, they make an obnoxious amount of noise as well, which was great at first. They worked as a warning bell for your presence, but now no one can stand it.”

My upper lip curls back with the scrunch of my nose and I turn to look into his eyes of pure darkness.

“Speaking for the whole crew? Is that something you think you get to do because you are the director, or because you’re their collective boyfriend?”

His head snaps up like I hit him. My mouth pulls into a wide grin as I turn, just as the kettle pops signaling it’s done. Pouringthe hot water into the cup, I add one scoop of sugar and a splash of cream, and then turn to leave.

“Once again, I don’t date the crew, but I see you got jokes. You think you are funny, huh?”

Looking back over my shoulder at him, I let all my teeth show in a smile that I hope is both threatening and breathtaking.

“I am funny, beautiful, smart and talented. I know that is hard with you to contend with since you only happen to be one.”

Slamming the mug down on to the counter, he raises his eyebrows while fighting with his mouth to stay in a scowl. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, like my words are a symphony of humor.

“And which one am I?” he asks.

I lift one shoulder as I continue my journey to the door.

“I’ll let you have one of your groupies tell you. I’m sure each one has a different opinion, so to them you may be all those things.” I open the door, ready to let whatever he says next hit the back of it. As I let go and step into the hallway, he grabs hold of it, following me.

“I have seen you wear a lot of things over these last few weeks, but I have to say jealousy really fits you well.” He falls in step with me, steaming mug of black coffee in his hands. I try not to trip, his words hitting me from behind, knocking me a little.

“I’m not jealous.” I turn to the left back towards the work room. I sneak a quick glance at him and see the smirk is back as he veers in the same direction, easily keeping up.

“It would explain why you care so much about who I sleep with. I mean, you have already admitted that you think I’m good looking.”

Scoffing at his words, I can tell it becomes less believable by the third time I do it, so I pick up the pace, deciding to ignore him instead.

“It’s fine Farrah, I don’t blame you. I just think you should admit it so we can move past it.”

Stopping short outside the door that leads to the wardrobe room, I pivot on my heels and glare at him.

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