17. Michael

MICHAEL

S he shudders under my hand, and I want to punch myself in the face.

You’re making it worse.

You came over here to try and comfort her. But now she’s crying more.

Movement in my peripheral has me shifting my gaze from the side of Alice’s pretty face to the crew member standing a few feet away. Camera in his hand. Lens aimed at us.

Years in the entertainment industry keep me from reacting.

Yanking my hand away from Alice, or snapping at him to stop recording, would only amplify the situation. So instead, I turn back to Alice and raise my voice to its normal volume, sure the microphone on the camera will pick it up.

“Thank you for cleaning. You can go now.”

There’s another sniffle, then she turns—away from me and away from the camera—and hurries off set.

Ignoring the camera myself, I shut the freezer and walk casually in the other direction. Pretending that every inch of me isn’t clawing to chase her down and beg for her forgiveness.