Page 92 of Breaking Free

“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.”

Chapter 23

THE CALL SHEET FORthe following day drastically changed with her scenes cut back significantly. When she settled into the salon chair for hair and makeup, the reason for it surprised her; Dirk had called out sick. Rumors abounded, the predominant one that he was in a snit and pouting over the amount of direction he required to get through the scene the day prior.

Piper had other concerns. “What are his symptoms? He had his tongue in my mouth less than twelve hours ago.”

Vicki, the hairstylist working on her “Marlana updo,” put her mind at ease. “I’ve had that man in my chair off and on for three years. He might get hungover, but he doesn’t get sick, and he brags constantly about his high-priced Hollywood holistic healer-to-the-stars who he credits for his impervious immune system. His words, not mine. The only time he’s ever missed a day of shooting that I know of is when his tiny little prima donnafeewingswere hurt.” She said the last part in an exaggerated singsong voice, complete with a petulant pout.

Piper met the older woman’s eyes in the mirror. “Why does anyone hire him if he’s such a pain to work with?”

With a can of hairspray in hand and a rattail comb in the other, Vicki shrugged. “I hear he works cheap. Maybe it’s because of how he is. But the camera loves him, and for all his flaws, he has a great head of hair.”

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