Page 52 of Romance Is Dead

Chloe gave me a curious look, and I decided to press further.

“What are people saying?”

“Do you really not know?”

“No!” Now I was getting frustrated. How had everyone on this production heard a rumor that hadn’t existed six hours ago?

“Ok, well. . .” Chloe leaned closer, lowering her voice. “After you and Mara left last night, Brent was really upset. He kept taking shots and got super drunk, and then he started saying you’d accused him of killing Trevor.”

“He what?”

“He told literally everyone at the bar. Us, the crew, complete strangers.” She gave me a look of pity. “Sorry.”

“Great.”

Before I could ask any follow-up questions, Natasha strode to the middle of the room, clapping her hands loudly once and then twice. “Listen up, everyone. We need to have a little chat.”

I tried to catch Teddy’s eye as we all gathered around. Spotting me, he maneuvered through the crowd to stand by me.

“We’re totally fucked,” I whispered. I was still less than pleased about his teasing the night before, but the possibility of the killer—Brent or otherwise—knowing we were onto them trumped my annoyance.

Teddy glared at Brent. “I knew I hated that guy.” He reached down and squeezed my wrist. “We’ll figure it out.”

I appreciated the reassurance, but I was starting to think that wasn’t a possibility.

“It’s been brought to my attention,” Natasha began, “that a certain rumor has begun floating around set.”

Standing on the other side of me, Chloe bit her lip. Audrey peered around the crowd as Brent stood skulking at the back of the group. Crew members hovered nearby, obviously trying to eavesdrop. Scott studied us from across the room, a curious expression on his face.

“Let me be clear.” Natasha made stern eye contact with each of us in turn. “These rumors will not be tolerated. The police were very confident in their findings that what happened to Trevor was an accident. It was tragic enough, without someone”—she paused as her eyes landed on me—“spreading insidious untruths.”

Teddy raised his hand like he was in school and trying to get a teacher’s attention.

Natasha waited, but when he didn’t speak, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Teddy. What is it?”

“I don’t think they’re trying to be malicious. The person saying these things.” He looked down at me, a beatific smile on his face. He may be trying to do me a favor, but the extra attention couldn’t be helping my case.

I stomped on the side of his foot. “Shut up.”

“What?” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’m helping.”

“Are you?” I covered my face with my hands. If everyone didn’t already know Natasha meant me, Teddy had just confirmed it.

“Regardless,” Natasha continued, “I don’t want to hear anyone speak a word about this again. Not a single one.” She glanced at Teddy. “Malicious intentions or not. Now let’s get to work.”

As we filed onto set, I understood why Natasha wanted to squash rumors. As director, she didn’t want anything to distract us from what we were here to do: finish the movie on time and within the budget. But as I got into place to start blocking the scene, something nagged at me.

If there was a possibility that someone had been murdered on her set, shouldn’t she want to find the truth?

And if not, why?

Chapter Sixteen

Despite the rough start to the day, filming began smoothly. I had the afternoon off, but I still reported to set after lunch to watch Chloe and Teddy do the scene he and I had rehearsed the night before. I should have spent the time mulling over what we’d learned about Brent, or trying to squash the newly sprouted rumors, or—quite frankly—taking a nap. But instead, I tagged along, eager to watch from the sidelines.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Teddy sauntered across the living room, all smirk and swagger as his boots fell heavily on the floorboards. “Isn’t it dangerous to be here all alone?”

Chloe watched him approach from where she stood near the fireplace. She looked gorgeous—her blonde hair hung in long, loose waves, her lips were painted red, and her body looked insane in pajama shorts and a snug tee-shirt.

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