Page 43 of The Likelihood Of You

The ash from the wilting cigar between his fingers fell into the gold ashtray below it; the smoke mixed with the spotlights made the room feel like I was in the middle of an interrogation scene in a mobster movie.

“Just don’t make it a habit, Jacob; you’re not the first kid to walk in here, do a couple of movies and then go off the rails with a bigger head than he walked in here with.” He tapped his cigar again. “You’re a talented kid. A smart one, too. Just don’t go hiding things from me again, like last year.”

Immediately, I knew what he was grilling me about.

“Nothing like that’ll happen again, Charlie. Believe me… I won’t make that mistake again.”Because who I had my eyes set on now, I knew damn well I could trust.

“So you’ve done a background check on her then?” He asked, taking a drag from the cigar.

My heart stopped. “What?”

“The new girl.”

How the fuck did he know about this? “I…”

“Oh, please.” Charlie coughed on the drag he just took, which was weaved with a cackle so deep I didn’t know how his throat didn’t burn. “Don’t go keeping secrets from me again. You know I need to knowthese things, Jacob. I’m your publicist, from Christ’s sake.” He relaxed his back against his chair. “Who is she then… Flora’s her name, right?”

“Florence, actually.” I dropped my head. “And she’s not like…” I couldn’t even bring myself to say her name. “You know who.”

Charlie scoffed. “Didn’t know you got it on with Voldemort. That’s new.”

I should really fire this man.

I stood up from the chair, subtle bubbles of rage brewing deep inside me. “I didn’t come here for you to bully me; that’s not what I pay you for.”

“Exactly.” He leaned forward. “You pay me to make sure you always look your best in the media, which you do right now. You pay me to keep your image safe, and you, of course. And I don’t need to explain that trusting the wrong person can set fire to all that and turn your life to hell.”

Charlie stood up, leaving the cigar in the ashtray and giving me a look I hadn’t seen from him yet: sympathetic. “All I’m saying is please… for the love of God, be careful. As a friend,” I scoffed. “seeing what you went through and how it nearly destroyed your career before it even began, that hurt. I just don’t want it happening to you again.”

He dished me a tight smile, his eyes morphing from slits to globes. I wasn’t used to such niceties from Charlie, but I wasn’t about to question it. He had my best interest at heart, and I knew that. But God, could he scare the shit out of me.

“I know… thank you. But I can promise you, this is nothing like what happened with… Darcie.”

“I hope, for your sake, that you’re right.”

“Where the fuck is that British pastry girl?”

Surprise, surprise, Wes was having another one of his meltdowns for the ninth time today. I really do feel sorry for Flo’s feet; she’s been running back and forth with whatever goodies she’s baked all day, dodging props and people and the sharp edges of some set pieces purely to feed him.

He keeps screaming for the pastry girl, my face contorting whenever he does. Not only does he not possess the human decency to learn her fucking name, he’s never once said thank you to her.

“Wes, she has a name, man. Use it.” I shouted across the set, only to be met with a scowl from the man himself and a lazy bird flip.

Florence was standing beside his chair with a plastic tub and shot me a grateful look, tilting her head and mouthingThank you. I curve my lips and shoot her a quick smile. She soon left his side and jogged back toward the staff lounge, my eyes following her every step of the way.

It’s been around two weeks since that night at Pin’s, the night we kissed, and things have been fine. Well, if you count saying a total of twenty words to someone in two weeks as fine, then yeah, things were as fine as they could be.

The Monday after she came into work as usual, her eyes bright, a spring in her step and a smile that made the Cheshire Cat’s look like afrown. But it was clear after I caught that smile fade only to magically reappear whenever someone spoke to her, that she was far from okay.

Over the course of the day, her spine had become arched and shrunken, and when she thought people weren’t looking, her hands found their way to her face and ran through her hair. I’d also caught on to the tissues that were shoved in the back pocket of her jeans, and the one that was stuffed up her sleeve.

I wanted nothing more than to go over to her to ask if she was okay. I’d grab her wrists with a featherlight touch and pull whatever was taunting her right out of her. But every time she noticed my stare, that bright smile beamed on her face, like she’d practised it so much it became a natural reflex.

I knew I needed to talk to her before I left that day; otherwise, I wouldn’t have slept. I didn’t want her to catch me looking at her either, only to give me that rehearsed smile, so I crossed the set until I was directly behind her.

I tapped her on her shoulder, and she spun round, her hair twirling and wafting those warm and spicy notes up my nose. “Hi, stranger.”

Although I tried to avoid it, her less-than-convincing smile rose to her face. “Hi!” Her spine straightened out. “Great scenes today. I barely got any work done because I couldn’t stop watching.”

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