Page 38 of Billionaire's Second Chance

I turned around to face his bright smile. He wore a casual black shirt over tight jeans and crisp white sneakers. A shiny watch glistened on his left wrist.

“Boss, you should see this.” One of the crew members interrupted us, holding a white board against his face.

Damon's smile immediately contorted into a frown I hadn’t seen before—narrowed eyes, lips stretched into a fine line.

He peered at the little board, ran his fingers through it, and nodded.

“Come with me,” he ordered the crew member, and they immediately walked away.

A few steps in, Damon paused to look at me over his shoulder with his sparkling blue eyes. "You look great in that outfit, Ava.”

My knees buckled, but I quickly gathered my composure and went to check on Derek.

Sandy was done with him by the time I walked in. Sandy's small, mean eyes were torched in my direction.

“Hey, you, leading lady over there.” He clapped his hands, and I took a step back.

“Yes,” I responded shakily.

“Makeup. Now!" He yelled and walked away to his next victim.

Derek trudged over to meet me, wearing a smile I could see right through. If this was what working with Sandy meant, I wanted to avoid getting on his bad side.

“He gave you a good scolding, didn’t he?” I poked his arm.

Derek chuckled. “Remind me never to show up late to set again.”

“There you are,” a teenager with CREW printed on his shirt approached us. “We need you two in the tents, please.”

He must be from the make-up department Sandy had screamed about. We joined him in the tents. The makeup team was headed by a skinny young man in his late twenties named Joy. His hair was dyed pink with the tips dipped in coral blue.

“Come on, beauty. Let’s make some magic.” Joy exclaimed.

I held back from laughing. His assistants already nudged me into a makeshift room with a free-standing wardrobe.

“Okay, everyone. We need to transform her into a supermodel. Extra special. Boss’s orders.” Joy ordered.

I fought the smile that tugged at my lips.

“Alright, chop-chop. We don’t want a sandstorm in our parade.” He must have meant Sandy.

His assistants ushered me into a chair, mopping my face with different brushes while he clapped and directed.

The dress was indeed made for me. I stepped out to meet Derek, who was already racing to my side.

“As always,” he said. “You’re stunning.”

He offered his arm, and I latched on to it, smiling as we swayed together. Sandy’s clapping reminded us we were on set. He yelled his directions.

The set was a typical romantic setup—a room scene with a fan blowing over a queen-sized bed, and Derek in it with nothing but tight-fitting black boxers.

“What’s wrong, Rose? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Derek's first line rolled from his lips.

“I’m so sorry,” I, Rose, shut my eyes. “I should have knocked before coming in.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He came up behind me.

His hands cradled my shoulders and trailed a path down to my waist.

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