Page 19 of The Casting Couch

But then I pictured Liam’s stupid hopeful face, the way he’d probably wring his hands and offer to buy me drinks afterward.

I sighed like the martyr I was.“Yeah, fine.I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you, Nico!You’re the best.”

* * *

The second I pushed open the front door of Boys On Film, the duo of chaos and clipboard, Petyr and Dimitri, greeted me.Petyr was already scribbling furiously, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment just to ruin my day.

“You’re late,” he announced without looking up, tapping his pen against the board like a disappointed judge on a reality show.

“It’s a free country,” I shot back, rolling my eyes and striding past him like the diva I absolutely was.“Also, clocks are a social construct.”

Dimitri let out a low chuckle from behind the desk.“One day… Petyr will chase you down with that clipboard.”

“Tell him to wear something cute when he does,” I called over my shoulder.

I was halfway down the hall toward the back studios when I heard a sudden, dramatic gasp like someone had just witnessed a murder, or worse, a bad contour job.

“Nico!”

I groaned before even turning around.“Moira… please tell me you’re just here to compliment me.”

Moira stormed up, eyeliner sharp enough to slice through aluminum, wielding a makeup brush like it was a weapon.“I just heard you’re going on camera.You didn’t seriously think you were gonna do it without me getting my hands on your face first?”

“It’s not an actual scene,” I muttered, but I followed her anyway because… well… there were two universal truths in this life: Death and Moira insisting on makeup.

We detoured into the hair and wardrobe room, which smelled like hairspray, ambition, and broken dreams.I plopped down into the chair, letting my head fall back with a theatrical sigh.“Just make it quick, okay?Natural.Like… ‘I woke up like this’ but less… desperate.”

Moira was already patting some primer onto my face.“Relax, you’re getting light coverage.Just in case they decide to use any of the footage for social media.”

I peeked one eye open.“You’re assuming I’m about to have a photogenic meet-cute with Mr.Mystery Meat?”

She smirked, grabbing a brush and dusting translucent powder over my forehead.“Speaking of meat… you’ve got a waxing appointment with Lola next week.Don’t want you getting too bushy downstairs.”

I bolted upright.“I’m sorry, what?No!Absolutely not.Not again.”

Images of The Great Waxing Incident from last month flashed through my mind like a war montage.The screaming, and the sweating.The moment I genuinely thought my soul had left my body.

“She nearly killed me last time!”I protested.“There was blood.There was trauma.I had to sit on an ice pack for a week.”

Moira cackled and grabbed a pair of tweezers, yanking a couple of stray hairs from my brow with ruthless efficiency.“You’re fine.And you look good enough for now.”

I grumbled but stayed put, because fighting Moira on beauty decisions was like arguing with gravity.

Five minutes later, she declared me camera-ready and led me down the hallway toward one of the older studios near the back.The second I stepped inside, my stomach did a weird little flip.

Oh.Wow.This studio…

I hadn’t been in this room since my audition.The walls were still barebones and sad-looking, and the lighting was still a little too harsh.And the famous—notorious—couch was still in the center of the room, like it was about to make or break someone’s self-esteem.

There was also the standard sad little twin bed in the corner.A tiny side table stocked with lube, condoms, and enough awkward memories to fill a therapy session.Without even being told, I started peeling off my clothes.

Jacket off.T-shirt, gone.Jeans kicked to the side.

Down to nothing but my favorite pair of black briefs, the ones that sat low on my hips and made my ass look like it was carved by Greek gods on a deadline.

I fluffed my hair with both hands and glanced toward the door, silently begging the universe to not let this be another Bob.

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