Page 56 of The Actor: Harrison

I stare at the driveway in front of me, taking a moment to think about what’s about to happen. My career will be completely turned upside down and, now more than ever, I need this movie to get the recognition it deserves. The problem is, I have no idea how to convince Sienna that she needs my help. We both need it.

A freaking private plane. Apparently when you fight with Harrison, he does everything to make it up to you. Including a private plane for a trip to Aruba for the weekend. I’ve never been outside California, except for a trip to Las Vegas once, let alone leaving the United States.

It’s been ten days since our discussion about the money and we’ve had four dinners, five lunches, and countless make-up sex sessions. But I know this trip is not just to set the record straight about what we should do with the budget. He fired his manager, finally, and I’m sure this trip is to celebrate that too.

I’ve never seen Harrison so happy and relaxed about such a life-changing decision, and I’m happy for him. He deserves better than what that leech was giving him. His manager is one of the reasons that make me hate Hollywood: for him, everything is about money. He even threatened to sue Harrison for firing him.

“This private jet is a very bad idea. We should have used a commercial flight. Do you know how bad it is for the environment?” I ask Harrison while I finish chewing my lunch and sip from my glass.

He turns toward me and pins me to my seat with a challenging gaze. “They don’t serve caviar and champagne on commercial flights, nor the salmon you moaned about fifteen minutes ago. Or the lemon tarts you just finished. Are you sure you want to fly commercial?”

I feel guilty because I have to admit, I really enjoyed my meal on this plane, and it didn’t cross my mind that, maybe, I’m spitting on something that normal people don’t have the chance to experience in their entire life. Still, this private flight makes me feel guilty for different reasons too. Or maybe it’s not the flight at all that makes me feel uncomfortable.

“You’re right,” I murmur. “I think I’m just grumpy because I should be at the studio supervising the movie, not on a beach out of the country while other people do their jobs,” I confess.

Harrison grabs my hand from the other side of the table in front of me and squeezes it. His smile is reassuring and the bit of tension I feel deep inside my stomach lessens its grip.

“It’s for two days. They don’t work weekends and you’ll be back on Monday,” he reasons.

“I know, but what if something happens and they need me?” Even my voice isn’t convincing on this argument.

“Need you for what? Something life threatening? Because otherwise, there’s no reason not to give them an answer on Monday. And if it’s a life-or-death situation, literally, they should call 911, not you,” he points out.

I know he’s right, everything is going fine. I pay a film editor do this job, and he’s a great one. He even told me to my face he doesn’t want me there. So why am I feeling like I want to jump out of this plane and go back to LA?

“Do you know what the problem is, I think?” Harrison asks me after a long moment.

I shake my head and smile at him. I’m curious to hear his theory.

“I think that you’re not used to taking a break, that you feel guilty for doing nothing a couple of days in your life. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

I frown because I have to think hard about it. “Never, I think. I don’t remember going somewhere for an extended period of time.” Not even staying at home doing nothing, for what it’s worth.

Harrison seems surprised by my response but doesn’t remark on my inability to take a break. “See? You need it. You have to get used to relaxing and recharging between jobs.” He winks at me.

It’s easy for him to say something like that. He doesn’t have to worry about money like I do. Sometime the money I get from the movies is barely enough to survive until the next job a few weeks later. But I don’t tell him that. He’s genuinely trying to make me enjoy this gift and I don’t want to spoil the mood more than I already have.

***

“Are you kidding me?” I ask and Harrison chuckles.

It’s maybe the tenth time since we landed that I ask him this question. First, when he told me we were staying at the most exclusive resort—for privacy reasons, he said—then when a flock of pink flamingos strutted around us like they owned the world. I’m pretty sure those fancy-colored birds will conquer the world someday soon, with their I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-superior-than-any-of-you attitude. I’m in awe of every tiny luxurious detail I’m not used to.

Right now, I’m gushing about our bedroom, or rather, stilt house over the Caribbean Sea. The bedroom has a wall window that opens to a patio on the water. The color is so blue it looks painted.

I stare open-mouthed at the view, while Harrison tips the guy that brought our bags. I thought those pictures you see in the magazines were photoshopped to lure tourists to book their dream vacations. I couldn’t be further from the truth. We even have the colorful bucket of flowers and fruit on the bed facing the sea. Basically, you wake up in the morning and stare at this blue paradise. I could get used to it.

“So, what do you think?” Harrison asks, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“I could live here. To hell with my job and the hot, stuffy apartment in Los Angeles,” I blurt out.

Harrison barks out a laugh and tightens his grip.

“We should do it,” he whispers in my ear, biting my lobe and making me shiver in pleasure. “We should stay here forever, naked all day, and fuck watching the blue sea,” he adds, slipping a hand inside my shorts and cupping my mound over my panties.

“You sure know how to convince a woman.” The words slip out breathlessly from my lips.

I close my eyes and bask in the pleasure his expert fingers are giving me, applying the right amount of pressure over my clit. I spent my flight here admiring Harrison’s perfect face and the flirty looks the flight attendant gave him. Strangely, instead of being jealous, I was turned on. I can see how he has eyes only for me. He didn’t even acknowledge the woman’s attempt to get his attention. And there is something powerful in knowing that I have his undivided attention.

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