Chapter 22

ON MONDAY, THE FIRST day of taping, Piper had to be on set for hair and makeup at 6 a.m. Throughout the day, she had three wardrobe changes—designer clothes she’d give her eyeteeth to keep—and was back in the makeup chair each time.

Despite the long day, everything went smoothly until the last scene between her and Dirk. It was a sexual tension builder, with Dirk’s character, Andrew, pounding on Marlena’s door, insisting on seeing her past midnight on a dark, windswept, rainy evening. There was no sex in the scene, mostly just smoldering looks and heated dialogue. It ended, as did the episode, with the couple’s first kiss. Piper couldn’t wait to get it over with.

Then, the worst happened—a technical glitch in the control room held them up further. So, with the air-conditioning blasting, Piper stood on set, shivering in what had to be the thinnest, shortest sleeveless nightie the wardrobe department could find while waiting for Hunter to call, “Action!”

She tried to focus on her lines, what few there were, and push aside the nerves creeping in. When she glanced over at Dirk, who stood beside her—fully dressed, wearing a raincoat, no less—he seemed bored and disinterested. He was handsome, there was no denying it, with a chiseled jawline and captivating chocolate-brown eyes. Unfortunately, his obnoxious personality ruined his good looks. He made it clear with each haughty, disdainful glance he sent her that he thought he was too good for the part and definitely too good to play opposite to her—a nobody.

She’d never heard of him, either, which was rather ironic. Cindy, who’d been on set that morning, mentioned he’d done a few Hallmark movies and a popular eight-episode Netflix series that had done well in the ratings. Up to this point, Piper had the same view of him as Christian: seriously unimpressed.

Thirty more minutes passed before the cameras started rolling. Piper did her best to block out the hundred or so people on set and become Marlena. The first part went well, both delivering their emotional lines perfectly. But the real acting came into play when Dirk pulled her close. Piper forced herself not to stiffen at his touch. It was just a kiss. How bad could it be?

When the moment came, she had her answer. He pressed too hard, smashing her lips against her teeth. Unable to control her reaction because it hurt, she flinched and pulled away. Her hand came up to wipe her mouth, and she checked her fingers for blood.

“Cut!” Hunter called. “Piper, are you okay?”

“Yes. I think so. Sorry,” she replied, paying no heed to Dirk’s impatient grunt.

“Let’s try it again,” Hunter directed. “Maybe with a bit more romance and passion?”

Dirk smirked as if his suggestion was meant only for her.

“Action!”

His second attempt didn’t hurt so much as it repulsed her. How had she missed his awful breath the first go-round? Her disgust must have shown because Hunter called a stop to it again.

“Cut! Dirk, a moment, please.”

Sherry McKnight, the intimacy coordinator, rushed over, and the three of them spoke for several moments. She couldn’t hear what they were saying because makeup came in and repaired the damage, especially to her lipstick.

The consultation over, Hunter returned to his director’s chair. “Okay. Let’s run it again.”

Dirk didn’t look pleased when he took his place. She wasn’t either when his next kiss was sloppy wet with entirely too much tongue. Piper tried to stay in character, acting all swoony over the best kiss she’d ever had from the man she wanted more than anything, but being stabbed in the mouth by his tongue and all the slobber was hard to ignore.

She couldn’t even execute her plan of pretending Dirk was Tristan, whose kisses combined the perfect amount of pressure, subtle moisture, and heat. They were just too different. Compared to Tristan’s rugged good looks and undeniable masculinity, Dirk’s magnificent head of hair and Hollywood smile paled in comparison.

“Cut!” Hunter called again, this time with audible impatience. When he signaled to Dirk, and he stomped over, the intimacy coordinator came to her.

“We’ll keep working with him,” Sherry assured her.

“Does it look as bad as it feels?”

She squeezed her shoulder. “Yes. That’s why I’m here checking on you. Are you okay?”

“No.”

Sherry blinked in alarm, clearly not expecting that answer. “Whatever it is, let’s fix it now because your scenes only get more intense as the week goes on.”

“I have a request that will help, but I don’t think I can tell him.”

“That’s my job. What do you need?”

“Not me. He needs a breath mint. Or gum. Stat.”

Sherry’s hand flew to her mouth as she smothered a laugh. “The pompous ass is going to love that, but I’m on it.” Then she blinked again. “Oh dear. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It goes no further,” Piper promised. “I can better ignore the lousy kissing if he has minty fresh breath.”

Before departing on her mission, Sherry gave her shoulder another squeeze. “You’re taking this so well. Others would... Well, never mind that. You make the other, um, challenges less of a pain in the butt.” She angled her head her costar’s way, although it wasn’t necessary; Piper caught her drift.

Dirk required three more sidebars before Hunter was satisfied with the scene. It was after 8 p.m. when he called it a day. When Piper entered her dressing room, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She couldn’t help but second-guess her career. Did she really want to do this for the rest of her life? Long hours, skimpy-wardrobe issues, dealing with stuck-up costars, and awkward love scenes? Where was the rush of excitement she felt when she first stepped onto the stage back in high school? Or while doing little theater during the summer when she could barely contain her thrill of bringing a character to life.

With a sigh, she mustered the energy to move and made her way to the makeup chair at her vanity. Thankfully, it wasn’t far.

“Maybe Broadway is more your thing,” she told her reflection.

It took a half dozen remover wipes to scrub off the heavy stage makeup. Then she threw her hair up in a messy bun and got into her street clothes. She’d gone for comfort when she left home before daylight with bike shorts and a T-shirt. When she glanced in the mirror one last time before leaving, the woman she saw was a far cry from the sexy blonde sleuth she was playing. But it wasn’t like she’d have photographers waiting outside the door. Dirk wasn’t wrong; she was a nobody.

Piper slung her bag over her shoulder, more than ready to head out. “A predictable career with regular hours and regular pay is sounding better by the minute.”

The set was dark when she opened her door. A few overhead lights were still on, so she could find the sound stage exit, but she had to pick her way carefully around equipment and over cords so she didn’t trip and break her neck.

The area was deserted and eerily quiet. Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned, squinting into the darkness. When a hulking figure moved in the shadows, she let out a scream and spun around, ready to bolt.

“Piper. It’s just me,” Axyl said, moving closer.

Taking several deep breaths to calm her racing heart, she replied, “I didn’t notice you there.”

“It’s no wonder. There are no windows, and it’s pitch black in here. They must be on a tight budget the way they were flipping off lights left and right. I had to ask them to leave a few on for us so we could get out without killing ourselves.”

Her pulse might have slowed, but the feeling there was something, or someone out there hadn’t gone away. Once again, she peered into the shadows.

Axyl, keenly observant like all Rossi men, turned and looked, too. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“I know.”

“That’s right. You were here the whole time. That must have been mind numbingly boring.”

“Actually, I found it interesting. I haven’t lived in LA long, and, while Rossi gets celebrity security cases all the time, this is my first. It’s my first taping and the first time on a sound stage, too.”

“What did you think?”

“Honestly, you were great, but your costar, Dirk, is a tool. And he acted like he’d never kissed a woman before.”

“I know,” she replied, echoing his line.

“Could he be your stalker? What do you know about him?”

“Nothing. I never knew he existed before getting this part, and first the note in my mailbox came well before that.”

“What about someone else in the cast or crew?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The only person I’d met before this was Hunter. For Josie’s sake, I really hope it’s not him.”

“Hope for his sake,” Axyl stressed. “If it is, Tristan will rip his head off.”

She feigned ignorance. “Why? We’re just neighbors.”

He snorted, a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“It’s true!”

“What I’d give to have a neighbor like that.”

“Okay, so we agreed upon a few added benefits,” she conceded.

“Benefits, huh? That’s what we’re calling it now?” His raised eyebrow and skeptical expression told her he wasn’t buying it. “Do they extend to the club? Or are you forgetting I saw you there—together?”

She wrinkled her nose at his persistence and, like Tristan, never missing a thing. “At the club, we have a mutually beneficial arrangement. He’s introducing me to the lifestyle, and, in return, I’m training to be his model and rope sub. Or is it rope bottom?” She waved a hand impatiently, and, to distract him, asked, “Why are there so many terms for the same thing?”

He ignored her question. “I’m happy for you, Piper. Just be careful. Tris has—”

“Baggage,” she finished for him. “I know. He told me, though he didn’t go into detail.” She angled a brow up at him. “Would you—”

“Nope. Even if I knew, it’s not my story to tell.”

“You’re right, of course,” she said with a sigh. “He’s also helping desensitize me before Thursday.”

“What happens Thursday?”

“A bedroom scene with Dirk. Which reminds me, I need to have Sherry lay in a supply of mints before then.”

“The tool of the first order has bad breath?” Axyl’s unrestrained laughter echoed throughout the sound stage. “That’s perfect.”

“Not for me!” she exclaimed. It ended in a squeak of alarm when the lights suddenly switched off, plunging them deeper into darkness. Axyl pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight.

“We should go before they shut everything down and lock us in.” He took her arm and, nervous as a cat, she flinched and pulled away. “You’re jumpy. Did something happen I need to know about?”

“No. Just... Have you ever had the feeling someone walked over your grave?”

Axyl visibly tensed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s an expression. You know, when a sudden chill and your hair standing on end tells you something isn’t quite right.” She looked over his shoulder again, or tried to, but couldn’t see beyond the small circle of light from his phone. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Don’t discount your instincts.” He offered his arm, letting her take it this time. “Let’s get you out of here.”