Page 86 of Take Hold of Me

Emilie

Ever since mymeeting with Monsieur Price, I have walked a red carpet every night. Smiled on a different man’s arm. I am a prop. And Price’s puppet.

For his part, Wills played his role as my bodyguard perfectly, even though he did not understand why I changed course and threw myself back into modeling. I went with him to Complete where he set me up with Trina as my personal trainer. When Zak started a self-defense class, I was the first to join. Just leaning a few moves makes me feel more confident. Should I ever need to use them. Visions of MonsieurPrice spur me on to challenge myself and become stronger.

Among publicity gigs, working out at Complete and running my lines for my cameo, I barely have any time for myself. But for Wills—who has not been back to his flat all week—and my private Instagram account, I would not have been able to keep my sanity intact. Being a pawn for the paparazzi every night has pushed me to my limits.

“You’re going to do great today, Angel,” he says with “Ninja Heroes” playing softly in the background.

I smile. Being in a movie is exciting, even though I am playing myself and it is a small role. It could lead me to other opportunities, perhaps away from the Agency. I shake my head—I do not want to cloud my first-ever movie shoot with confusing thoughts about my future.

Reveling in his faith in me, I reply, “I cannot wait. And I am very happy you are able to come with me.”

Wills takes me in his arms. “I’m always happy to come with you.” He kisses me, hard, and all thoughts about my career vanish. Even though he still has not said the words, I know he must love me. He could not treat me with such care and attention otherwise.

My front doorbell rings, signaling the car from the studio has arrived. “See,” I giggle as I wipe my lipstick from his lips, “this is why I never had to learn how to drive.”

Wills powers off the TV and wraps his arm around me, leading me to the front door. With his free hand, he pulls out his own key to my house and locks up. “You’re doing really well on that front, too. Tomorrow, I have plans for you to drive on the 101. It’ll be good practice.”

I smile as we slip into the limo.

When we arrive on set, I am whisked into wardrobe, hair and makeup. They put me in a tight mini dress that zips straight up the front. My stilettos are sky high and my hair is styled in loose curls, hoop earrings dangling and a funky bracelet around my wrist. This outfit is fun. I step out of the dressing area where Wills is waiting for me.

“Damn, Angel, that’s some outfit. You look great.”

“Merci.” I run my hands down my sides and take the bottle of water he offers.

“You’re going to do great. I can’t wait to see you take all of them by storm when they see how well you know your lines.”

His confidence sparks my own. I am going to own this.

“There you are, Miss Dubois.” A short woman with frizzy hair comes up to me. She removes a stack of papers from a clipboard, introducing herself as Sally, the director’s assistant. “Here are your change pages. Come with me.”

Looking from Wills to the woman, I have no choice but to follow her. Thankfully, Wills is at my side, calming my nerves.

“Excuse me, but what are these ‘change pages?’ This is my first time on a movie set.”

Stopping in a narrow hallway littered with all sorts of cables, she says, “I should have explained. They are the changes that were made to your lines since we sent them to you. Things change all the time on a set and tweaks are made to lines as a result. Don’t worry—usually they are minor.” She ushers me through an opening in a wall. “Now here we are.”

We step onto a set that looks like a coffeehouse. My old lines had me ordering a café and exchanging some words with the barista before a fan interrupts us and asks for a selfie. The fan is played by Brandan Rogers, who is the star of the movie. At least he is an ally of sorts, after having walked a red carpet with him recently.

Wills blocks my vision of everything but him, grabbing onto my forearms. “You’re going to be amazing, Ems. Break a leg.” His eyes flip down to my shoes. “Well, maybe not. Enjoy yourself out there. I’ll be right here, cheering you on.” He kisses my lips and disappears among the movie crew.

Gripping the change pages like a lifeline, I walk over to the counter and skim the new words. I had some lines in French before. They have not changed.

Mon. Dieu.

My heartrate accelerates triple time. My eyes flick around the set. Looking. No. I do not want to do this. I close my eyes, counting backward—quatre, trois, deux, un, zéro—

“There she is,” a Spanish-accented male voice booms. It is a voice I know all too well. One that I once welcomed whispering into my ear, and the last one I expected to hear on the set of my first movie taping.

My whole body stiffens. I am a professional. I can do this. I open my eyes. “Bonjour, Rinaldo.”

My ex-boyfriend stands in front of me wearing a football jersey and tight—verytight—black leather pants. His dark hair has been slicked back. He looks tan. And relaxed.

“Emmie, it is so good to see you.”

He kisses both of my cheeks. Whereas my whole body used to strum when his lips met mine, now I do not even feel a flicker. All because of Wills. Where is he?

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