Chapter 8

Hayden

The new costumeassistant seems to be everywhere.

We start filming the next day despite having to wait for more costumes because Brady's determined to start on time. "We have enough on hand to get started," he says when I ask him about it.

Mia's grumbling as she scrambles to make last second changes since we're starting with different scenes than the original schedule called for and because she's having to swap out the rejected cotton-poly blend shirts she had for me, Caesar, and Antony. We can't go too out of order because we don't have the full cast for some of the bigger scenes yet. They're coming in a week or two. Brady's plan was to gradually increase the number of people here from out of town, filling in with locals for extras in the crowd scenes, and trying to get a feel for shooting out here with those of us who are in the most important parts first.

It's a cost-saving measure, and considering how much of the bill I'm footing, I can appreciate the thought even if I'm concerned about the reality of the execution. Especially now with the costume snafus.

Victoria's rushing around, delivering costumes to everyone and making last minute adjustments, her brow pinched in an expression of perpetual concern.

I hate that for her.

Which is entirely ridiculous. I shouldn't have any particularly strong feelings for her. I should just think of her the same way I do the second grip—a man I've never seen before in my life. He's here to do a job. I'm here to do a job. We'll both do our jobs and get on with our lives.

But I find my eyes drawn to Victoria, like she's a force of nature, a swirling vortex, and I'm caught in her pull.

As she's walking away from making an adjustment to Antony's costume, she looks up, and our eyes clash. Hers widen much the same way they did last night, and I offer a reassuring smile.

If anything, that seems to make her more nervous, though. Her lips press together in a barely passable imitation of a polite smile, then she drops her eyes and hurries off.

Casually, I walk over to Brady, who's conferring with the camera crew, telling them his plan for the shots. I catch his eye, and he holds up a finger for me to wait while he finishes.

After a moment, he jogs the few steps over to me, eyebrows raised in question. "What's up?"

Shaking my head, I seek out Victoria again—she's crouched down, frantically sewing a hem. I guess she didn't get a chance to alter these at home ahead of time since they weren't scheduled to be used until next week. "I know you said everything went fine last night when you talked to Mia about the costumes, but I just wanted to make sure the new assistant isn't getting any blowback."

Brady follows my gaze to Victoria, and when I glance at him, he crosses his arms and shrugs. "Not to my knowledge. I gave no indication that she's the reason I had an issue with the costumes, but I can't control what she told Mia after I was gone or what Mia may have pieced together on her own. But changes like this mean they're having to work extra hard to play catchup. It doesn't look like she's being punished to me. Why? Did she say something?"

"No." I stuff my hands in my pockets. I guess that's one good thing about doing this in the 1800s. I get to wear pants with pockets instead of a toga. It gives me something to do with my hands right now. "Like I said, I just wanted to make sure."

Brady nods slowly, studying me closely, then a wide grin breaks across his face. "You dog." It's barely more than a whisper, but the words hit me like a lightning bolt.

My head snaps up, and I narrow my eyes at him. "What? Why would you say that?"

Chuckling, he shakes his head, his hands on his hips. "You like her." He leans close, whispering so we're not overheard. At least he knows how to be discreet. "I saw her going back into your trailer last night."

My jaw clenches. "Nothing happened."

His eyebrows jump, disbelief clear on his face.

I growl. "Seriously. Why would I lie? Nothing. Happened. And I don't want it to. She's—" I bite off the rest of the sentence.

Brady snorts, not believing a word out of my mouth. When I glare at him, he raises one hand. "Okay, okay. I believe you that nothing happened." He waggles a finger at me. "I don't buy that you don't want it to, though." His eyes flit her way. "I don't blame you." Crossing his arms again, he gives me an appraising look. "I have to admit, it is a little surprising. You usually fraternize with your costars. I'm not sure I've ever seen you hook up with one of the production crew, much less a local. What's so special about this one?"

My eyes find Victoria again—now laughing with Antony, and jealousy curls in my gut. He's pretty new to acting, having only had bit parts in some smaller films, though he's done some bigger roles on indie films. Brady said he chose him for his presence and charisma. He's young and attractive, and he makes her laugh while I only managed to make her uncomfortable.

"Dude." Brady reclaims my attention. "You need to relax. You just said you don't want anything to happen with her, but you look like you want to murder someone because she's laughing with another guy. Might wanna figure out your story or engage your acting muscles, because this isn't adding up at all." He claps me on the shoulder, then grips me and pulls himself close enough so that he can speak directly into my ear. "I know Andrea fucked you up, but you don't need to close yourself off from romantic entanglements forever."

I grunt. "I don't think my feelings for her are very romantic. And besides, based on our conversation last night, odds are she only wants to interact with me so she can brag about it to her friends."

Rocking back on his heels, Brady narrows his eyes and shakes his head. "That's not the vibe I got from her at all, and keep in mind, I've been with my fair share of people who fucked me and then sold the story to the tabloids when I was younger. I'm pretty good at spotting that now." He waves a hand. "Even if you're not looking for romance, casual sex is still on the table. You're both adults. As long as she's into it, have fun with the costuming assistant. We're here for at least a couple months, after all. But whatever you do, don't become a jealous asshole. That's not a good look on anyone."

With that, he pats my shoulder again and walks away, clapping his hands for everyone's attention and calling for people to take their places so we can film the first scene.

I do my best not to stare at Victoria the whole time, but it's difficult to tear my eyes away between takes.

She spends most of the time on the sidelines with Mia, watching us set up each take. The only time I manage to distract myself from her presence is when I'm actively in a scene. And despite my doubts about this project, immersing myself in the character of Brutus, this reimagining of Shakespeare, brings me back to the reasons I love acting in the first place. Telling these stories, bringing them to life, even altering their contexts shows how truly timeless they are.

There's a reason so many movies are remakes of seemingly old ideas. The ideas never truly get old. People are the same now, a hundred years ago, a thousand years ago, with the same types of feelings and dramas and politics. Pulling a Shakespeare play set in ancient Rome and written in the 1600s forward a couple hundred years only serves to show that even more clearly.

And when Victoria shows up to my trailer later that afternoon loaded down with all the things Mia has pulled for me to accommodate our altered schedule, I'm thrilled at the prospect of being alone with her again. I'm determined to make up for the way things ended last time. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me. And Brady's words about her not seeming like the type to only want to use me for a story have been ringing in my head all afternoon. Maybe I leapt to my own conclusions too quickly. Maybe it's worth exploring this attraction—assuming she wants to as well. Because as much as I couldn't keep my eyes away from her, I caught her staring at me quite a few times today too. And it wasn't the same as when she'd look at the other actors. No, she's attracted to me.

She offers me a polite smile, hefting the hangers in her hand. "Could you try these on so I can check the fit, please?"

Her cool professionalism throws me, and all I can do is nod, take the pile, and slip into the bedroom at the back. I have to leave the door open, but there's a curtain between the main area and the bathroom and bedroom area at the back that I pull closed since she seemed scandalized when I started stripping down in front of her last time.

When I emerge in the first costume, she barely looks at me, only paying attention to the clothes. But the way her hands smooth the fabric over my body—brushing over the shirt, tugging at the hem of my pants the way all tailors and costumers do—is exquisite torture. I've never really noticed how much touching is involved in this process before now. Or I've never been so painfully aware of it, anyway. And when her fingers graze my bare skin?

I sizzle at each glancing contact.

I'm not sure if it's because last night ended on an uncomfortable note or because of her own reasons, but she doggedly avoids my gaze as much as I find myself seeking hers.

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. I should leave her alone. She's giving off clear signals she wants to keep our relationship professional. I shouldn't try to say something or try to make her smile. God, I want to see that smile again. A real one. And I want it directed at me. Not the new kid playing Antony. Me.

But she continues all but ignoring me as she lifts my arms, pinches fabric, whips out her tape measure from time to time and scribbles notes in her little notebook. I change clothes and we do it all over again, only the barest murmured words passing between us as she asks me to change clothes or positions.

I hate this.

The thought comes out of nowhere, lancing through me with the same piercing sharpness as an arrow through the gut.

I've never cared about this part of the process before. It's routine by this point. But yesterday she was at least talking to me. I could be a mannequin for all my presence matters.

I clear my throat, wanting to say something, but words fail me, the only things coming to my mind are lines from movies, both mine and others', and I've never been that chump—quoting movies to get in a woman's pants. Disgusting.

Her clear eyes flicker up to mine, and she presses her lips together in a small, polite approximation of a smile. "Sorry," she murmurs. "Almost done with this one."

"No need to apologize." I offer her my own smile, hoping it appears more genuine than businesslike. "It's all part of the job."

She bobs her head in a nod, scribbling in her notebook again. But at least she spoke to me. She noticed me.

I clear my throat again, this time venturing a thought. "You said you have a kid?"

Her eyes collide with mine again, wide with surprise. Then she returns her attention to the notebook, finishing whatever she's writing as she nods. "Yes. A daughter."

"That's right. She's ten, I think you said?"

Another flash of surprise directed my way, another nod as she resumes pinching and tugging and smoothing fabric over my body, moving around to my back, and I'm not sure if it's because she actually needs to as much as it is an attempt to hide. Either way, her fingers at the small of my back, dipping beneath the waist of my pants, has my blood rushing south in a way I wish I could control.

"That's right," she responds, her voice low, and with her hands on me like that, engendering a sense of intimacy to the moment. "Ten going on fifteen, or at least she seems to think so." She chuckles, and the sound warms me. "She craves independence, and she's upset I won't let her run wild like some kind of feral orphan from the books she likes to read."

A grin rises to my face at the warm affection in her tone. "Feral orphans, huh? What kinds of books does she read? Sounds like they might make good movies."

That makes her chuckle, and the fact that I got a laugh out of her makes me feel victorious. "Right now she's really into Percy Jackson, so Disney's already beaten you to the movie and TV show rights. I've been reading them too so I know what she's talking about and can discuss them with her. But I just can't get over the fact that they're sending literal children to fight monsters and retrieve things for the gods." She scoffs. "I know it's just fiction, and it's written for her age group so of course the characters are going to be young, but …" Craning my head around, I catch her shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. "If Percy and his friends can take cross country bus rides at age twelve, why can't she be left unsupervised for hours and hours?" She lets out a scoffing laugh, and I chuckle along with her.

"She might not realize it now, but one day she'll be glad she has a mom who looks out for her." My parents might not have been as attentive as the ones they sometimes played in movies and TV shows, but I've always known they care and have done their best, even if it wasn't always exactly what I might've wished for. At this point, I don't even know what "normal" really looks like, so I'm not sure growing up in a town like this with parents who picked me up from school or took me to my grandparents' house daily would be better or worse. But either way, it's clear that Victoria cares a lot about her kid, and I think that's probably what matters the most.

She hums, though it's not clear if she's agreeing with me or not, her focus once again on my clothes, and I'm desperate to keep the conversation going. But before I can come up with something, she steps back and scribbles in her notebook for a second before offering me a small, professional smile. "I think that's everything. If you want to change back into your own clothes, I'll take these so I can make the necessary adjustments."

With a nod, I slip into the small bedroom in the back of the trailer, though I leave the door cracked to pass the costume out to her as I take it off. "Mia's trusting you to handle all my costumes yourself?" I ask as I remove the shirt first, holding it through the crack in the door.

"Yup. She gave me a big chunk, but nothing unmanageable given my time constraints." She sounds excited, which is good. Brady's probably right that the workload is because of all the changes in the schedule and with the costumes and not an attempt on Mia's part to load Victoria with work as punishment. Since Victoria's happy about it, it seems more like a sign of trust rather than an opportunity to hang herself. Or if it's the latter, Victoria's none the wiser and will hopefully succeed even if Mia's trying to make her embarrass herself.

"That's good." I'm not sure what else to say, and soon enough I'm out of the costume, and I can hear Victoria rustling around while I quickly pull on my track pants and T-shirt so I can get back out there before she leaves.

But I'm not fast enough. "Catch you later," she calls as I stick my head through the shirt, and even though I step past the curtain, still tugging the cotton down over my torso, it's just in time to catch the door to my trailer swinging closed behind her. She's gone.