Page 50 of Hollywood Games
When Zoe returned to the bedroom, several pounds lighter, she lay back on the bed and stared up into the darkness of the bed canopy, replaying over and over in her mind what she wished she’d never seen. She didn’t much like Barbara, but didn’t want her to get hurt, and dreaded Rory’s reaction if he ever found out. There was no way she was going to tell him. There were less than two weeks left of shooting, then they would all be gone. Less than a fortnight of keeping Rory and Brad apart, and Vlad out of the picture as well.
She thought back to how Barbara had been since Brad arrived. She was happier, more vibrant, shining. Hell, she’d even acknowledged Zoe as a member of the human race. And even if Brad wasn’t lying about his age, which she presumed he was, there were only about fifteen years between them. She slapped her hand to her forehead. What was she thinking? As if Barbara would ever stoop to a public relationship with one of the biggest tarts in Hollywood. All she could hope was that Rory never found out, and when the crew left, Barbara didn’t immediately revert back to her role as queen of the gorgons.
It was another early start that morning, and Zoe had given up on the idea of getting back to sleep. They were filming two scenes that day: one in the great hall in the morning and the other in Brad’s bedroom in the afternoon. She hadn’t seen the pages as the script was protected by more security than Fort Knox, however she knew she was needed for both. She left Rory sleeping and went downstairs to get some breakfast from the catering truck, piling her plate high with bacon and eggs. She ate in one of the drawing rooms, which had been cleared and turned into a dining area. A massive TV on a stand stood to one side, breakfast television blaring out. Zoe let it wash over her until she saw a banner headline across the top of the screen reading ‘Chaos in Kinloch’ causing her to choke on her food.
Filled with dread, she walked closer to the TV to see what it was all about. The presenter was talking about the film, with red carpet images of the three main stars flashing up behind her. So far, so glamorous. But then she cut to an interview with an old Scottish man and Zoe’s heart sank. His accent was so thick, and his dialect so strong they had subtitled him. It appeared his main gripe was the fact a ‘devil man’ had taken his chair in the pub, but he soon launched into a monologue detailing the various crimes of the film company, beginning with the noise and ending with the destruction of property.
Zoe groaned as she saw, from multiple angles, the lorry wedged under Mrs McCreedie’s house, followed by Rory breaking the door down and rescuing her. The presenter looked positively aroused when they cut back to the studio, gushingly telling viewers this was the Earl of Kinloch, and describing him as the village superhero, wearing a kilt instead of a cape. The whole scenario was a journalist’s wet dream. Zoe sighed, partly with exasperation, but mainly with lust. When the broadcast ended, she unplugged the television. Rory entered the room and she jumped nervously. ‘Morning!’ she said a little too enthusiastically.
He looked at her quizzically. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Great! Super, smashing. Great! Got to dash. See you later!’ She gave him a peck and ran off.
Zoe’sfirst port of call was to find Crystal and start damage control. She wanted all newspapers out of the castle so Rory wouldn’t see them. He was due to go to the cabin first thing so that would keep him out of the way for a bit. The next job was to avoid Barbara and act normal in front of Brad. Luckily Barbara was nowhere to be seen, and Brad appeared to be suffering no ill effects from a night without sleep. Whilst he was relaxed, leaping around the great hall giving instructions, Zoe was wired and on edge. When Rory returned to find her, she could feel the stress in her jaw, and the tension created by not blurting out ‘Brad’s been shagging your mum!’ She struggled to look at him, then dashed away.
By lunchtime, the combination of the lights, the noise, and the stress had conspired to give Zoe a splitting headache. She was tired, her tummy was still sore and she felt sick with anxiety every time she looked at Brad or saw Rory.
Valentina sat next to her as she waited for the final shot of the morning, opening a leather bag that was part of her costume. ‘Okay, I have Tylenol, Advil, Codeine, Aleve, and Valium. What’s your poison? Or do you want to play Russian roulette?’
‘Have you got a couple of paracetamol?’
Valentina read through the backs of the packets and opened the Tylenol, giving her two tablets and a bottle of water. ‘Take these and you should feel better. Want me to bring you some lunch?’
Zoe looked at her gratefully and swallowed the tablets. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes, of course, sit tight.’ She gave Zoe’s hand a squeeze and walked off.
A coupleof hours later Zoe’s headache had gone and she was happily filled with comfort carbs. She’d managed to avoid too much interaction with Brad and had sent Rory on various wild goose chases to get him away from the castle. At two p.m., as instructed, she walked down the corridor towards Brad’s room and tentatively knocked, trying to get the image of him pressing his naked body up against her future mother-in-law out of her head.
Crystal opened the door and Zoe entered a room full of people and lights, all trained on Brad’s bed. Brad had decided, in the spirit of authenticity, he wouldn’t film the sex scene in the studio where things were controllable. No, he was going to film it in the late earl’s bedroom, on the bed where he’d just been boffing his widow. Zoe shrank back into a corner and watched sweaty men manhandling equipment, directed by a man who kept holding a light meter next to the sheets.
The door to the bathroom opened and Brad exited, wearing a purple bathrobe. ‘Hey, Zoe!’ he called, waving from across the room. She waved limply back, feeling a little nervous about what was going to happen next. Brad directed the camera team for the first position, jumped onto the bed and turned to her. ‘We’re ready for you now.’
She sat on the edge of the bed. Brad took off his robe and sat crossed legged, completely naked except for a white bag that was tied tightly around his cock and balls. ‘Pop your clothes over there and we can start,’ he instructed, plumping up the pillows.
Zoe’s mouth hung open. She tried to stall. ‘Er, what?’
‘You can keep your underwear on, we just need your skin for the lights.’
‘But…’ Zoe floundered. She was having her first out of body experience not associated with having sex with Rory. She tried to get every thought of Barbara out of her mind as her peripheral vision fixated on Brad’s bagged bollocks.
‘It’s cool, Zoe, nothing sexual going on here,’ reassured Brad, pointing down to his crotch as if proving a point.
Zoe gasped, her heart thumping loudly in her ears, her head spinning. She staggered a little and began to hyperventilate. She thrust her arm to the side, flailing to find something solid to cling to. She realised with a shock of panic it was going to happen again. Due to nervous hysteria, and in front of a naked Brad and half the film crew, she was going to laugh.
And she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Rory was having a bad day.He knew something was wrong but didn’t want to push Zoe to find out what it was. His stomach was knotted, a niggling unpleasant feeling crawling around inside him. Why didn’t she want him around? She’d been sending him here, there and everywhere, on various irrelevant tasks. He pulled into the back courtyard, got out of the truck and slammed the door loudly. He was impotent. He couldn’t solve a problem when he didn’t know what it was. He needed to find Charlie, talk it out with him, see what he was missing from the picture.
As he clicked the central locking, Vlad walked around the corner, a smug smile on his face. Here was number two on the list of people he most wanted to punch. Irritation flashed through him. Vlad oozed artifice. All that guff about ghosts and past lives, the way his eyes undressed every woman within a five-mile radius, the stench of alcohol and dissolution that surrounded him, the way his spindly fingers fondled that merkin monstrosity of a beard. Even breathing the same air as him made Rory want to jump in a sheep dip. If there was someone other than Brad he could blame for anything going wrong, it was this sycophantic leech. Rory gave him a nod and turned towards the castle, keen to get away.
‘You aren’t concerned about the scene this afternoon?’
‘What?’ Rory stopped, failing to hide his intense irritation.
Vlad stroked his beard and the rings around it tinkled. ‘Sex. Brad is very method in his approach.’
Rory looked at him blankly.What the fuck?
