Page 76 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

“Yeah.” I force a laugh, trying to replicate his. “You’re totally right.”

But after everything I just realized a moment ago, I hate Teague Morrow for being right about me.

“Alright, people!” Quinton uses a megaphone to reach all the cast and crew in the ballroom. “We’re ready to film the iconic red dress scene.” A few claps and cheers ripple through the crowd. “I want the reaction to be as real as possible. That’s why we haven’t brought Jenna in yet. Obviously, we’ll do this in more than one take, but everyone stay in character, and let’s make this take, when you’re seeing her and the dress for the first time, our best one. Questions?” Nobody says anything. “Okay, places, please.”

I tug on my lapel as Teague grabs a drink from the prop manager. Conversations fade. The crew clears out of the ballroom, and everything stills as the camera and sound start rolling. Naomi holds the sticks, calling out the scene number, and Quinton starts everything with a loud, “Action!”

Suddenly, the room buzzes with chatter and movement. The actors on the dais, playing prop instruments, start moving their arms back and forth, pretending to make music.

Teague turns to me and says something like he’s my best friend, Drake. What we say right now doesn’t matter. We just need to look like we’re talking. He takes a long sip of his drink while I answer, but everything stops when Jenna takes her first step at the top of the giant staircase.

Teague does his part. He chokes on his drink just like planned.

But me, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. My words trail to silence as I stare back at Jenna. I thought I was prepared for this part of the episode, thought I knew what to expect. I mean, it’s just a dress. How impactful could it really be? But I’m stunned by her.

Jenna has never looked more beautiful. I dare someone to find me a time or a photoshoot that rivals this moment.

The strapless red dress rounds her body, enhancing it in the best ways. A lengthy slit shows every inch of her long legs, and each time she steps down the stairs, her legs get spotlighted.

I’m entranced by her descent.

I literally can’t look away.

I’ve been in show business a long time. I’ve worked side by side with some of the most stunning women in all of Hollywood. They’ve worn dresses made specifically for their bodies, had their hair and makeup professionally done.

But nothing compares to Jenna.

My heart races as I watch her deliver her lines to each key character that approaches as she slowly makes her way through the ballroom. I’m cognizant of the cameras moving around us and how one rotates in front of me and Teague in preparation for our part.

“It’s the dress from the magazine,” Teague says with admiration, acting like Drake.

“I . . .” I think my line starts with that, but I’ve been so unfocused I can’t really be sure, and now Jenna is headed toward us, and it’s getting harder to remember.

She!

That’s my next line.

“She . . . looks way better than the magazine. How did she . . .”

Jenna stops in front of us, and I can’t help but smile at her as I gawk.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” She dips into a curtsy, and my eyes follow, checking her out the entire time, but they’re supposed to for the sake of the show—that much I remember. So I keep looking, not even trying to hide my wandering gaze.

When she comes up, the smugness on her face is genuine. She’s not Renna Degray. She’s Jenna Lewis, and she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

* * *

Jenna is the first person I find when we wrap up filming for the dance scene. I just spent the last two hours holding her in my arms, pulling her body as close to mine as the script allowed, but it wasn’t enough. I want more, an insatiable desire that never feels satisfied.

She’s alone, off to the side of the set, back pressed against the wall.

I drop my gaze over her body, still blown away by her in that red dress. Her eyes lift as I approach, and immediately, sparks ignite, fueling my body with heat.

My hand goes to my chest as if it can somehow contain my hammering heart.

Her eyebrows pull upward, waiting for me to say something.

“You’re killing me today,” I finally say.

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