Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I was the head of the studio that had just hired her, and she was about as low on the call sheet as a person could get, but her chin lifted imperiously, like she was a queen and I was an unruly serf. “I’m more than capable of handling myself, and I don’t need anyone to make my job easier.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Brendan had heard every word. I could tell by the way he guffawed with Zion and the way Michio winced. Irritation lanced through me. Before I could think better of it, I followed her. I ate up the distance in three strides, and I could tell by the way her eyes widened that she was startled. She hadn’t expected me to follow her.
“Can I talk to you outside a moment, Ms. Laurier?” I asked pleasantly, but she couldn’t miss the note of steel that ran through my voice.
She looked toward Miller, who opened his mouth, but I cut him off before he could speak. “She’ll be right back.”
Without waiting to see if she’d follow, I headed for the back door.
7
WILLOW
I followed Julian out, seething. How dare he order me to come outside with him like I was a disobedient child at a fancy restaurant? He’d hired me to hold my own with Miller, and the first thing he did was start undermining me in front of everyone on set.
The back patio space was a wide concrete pad with a few picnic tables and a large planter that hadn’t seen a live plant in years. Instead, people had been planting cigarette butts in the dry, barren soil. Julian stalked over to a picnic table, but I stayed right outside the door, my arms crossed. He looked even more irritated as he crossed back toward me.
“I don’t think this is going to work out, Ms. Laurier,” he said evenly. “As I mentioned in the interview, this position reports to me. Something you seem to have a problem with.”
I should have been afraid that he was really going to fire me, but I was too angry. He and my father might have been rivals, but they were cut from the exact same cloth. They’d come right off the same bolt labeled ‘domineering, overbearing, asshole.’
“I don’t have a problem reporting to you,” I retorted. “I have a problem with you interfering when I’m trying to do my job. It’s hard to prep a subject for an on-camera interview when the head of the studio is throwing his weight around, intimidating them.”
Julian’s oceanic eyes darkened with disbelief. “The head of the studio was throwing his weight around for you, Ms. Laurier. And the subject needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.”
“His hands are none of your business,” I gritted out. God save me from men who wanted to save me from other men. They never saw that they were the worst offenders. I’d rather someone touch my arm without permission than someone tell someone else where they could and couldn’t touch me. The hero delusion variant was the worst strain of narcissism.
Julian didn’t like that answer. He crossed his arms, unconsciously imitating my stance, and squared his shoulders. “Like it or not, Ms. Laurier, everything that happens on a Lewis Productions set is my business. If you want Brendan Gibson’s hands on you, do it on your own time.”
My jaw felt like it was going to crack from how tightly my teeth were gritted. Of course he was implying that I was a slut now. As a woman, I must want something from a man, and if it wasn’t Julian’s help, it must be Brendan’s groping. “I don’t want anyone’s hands on me,” I snapped, hating the way a blush crept into my cheeks as I said the words. “But I tell people when they can’t touch me. Not you. Not even when it happens on your set.”
“Why?” Julian asked, exasperation cracking through his anger. “I can promise you they hear it a lot more clearly when it comes from me.”
“Maybe so, but it’s my job on this set to make them hear me.” I couldn’t help softening slightly at the confusion in his voice. When I was feeling charitable, I understood that men like my father and Julian were products of their time, and really, Julian wasn’t the worst version. He just didn’t understand that he wasn’t protecting me so much as undermining me. “At least, it was my job,” I added, reminding him that he’d essentially just fired me.
Julian and I stared at each other, arms crossed, tempers still simmering. In my head, I imagined the phone call I’d have to make to Fletcher. “I lasted three hours on set, and I didn’t get a damn thing that you can use against Julian Lewis, who is every inch the asshole you said he was.” Honestly, it might be worth getting fired to have that conversation. Maybe I would do it in person so I could see his florid face turn that ugly shade of puce it always did when he was thwarted.