Page 81 of The Casting Couch

“Jesus Christ!”he yelped.“Is this a robbery?!”

“No!”I barked, just as Riley whipped her jacket open and for a terrifying second, I thought she was going to pull the knife.Instead, she just pointed furiously at Bradley.“He owes me!”

“Jack,” I said firmly, stepping in before anyone got stabbed or offered another camera test.“Bradley had to leave before he could get his check earlier.And this woman—this terrifying, armed woman—is here to collect.Bradley owes her a lot of money.”

Nessa scoffed.“Classic Bradley.Shady twink with good bone structure and questionable morals.I warned Liam about hiring you!”

Then she turned to Riley again, eyes smoldering.“You ever just wake up and know someone could choke you the right way?”

“Out!”Jack barked at her.“Nessa, please.Go.”

She made a wounded noise, but did a dramatic little turn and stormed out—though not without one last, slow glance at Riley.It was equal parts judgment, lust, and aggressive market research.

Jack opened a drawer, pulled out a check, and squinted at it.“Yup.Twenty grand.One of our highest single-scene payouts.Japanese market’s wild.”

He held it out to Bradley—who reached for it—but Riley snatched it first.

She glanced down at the number, her face softening for a half second.“Well, well.Looks like we hit the jackpot.”Then she looked around.“Pen.Pen!Someone give me a goddamn pen!”

Jack fumbled on the desk.I handed her one before she could stab someone with her voice alone.

Riley slammed the check against a folder, scribbled something across the back, then turned to Bradley with a feral smile.“Sign it over to me.”

Bradley sighed, took the pen and signed the back of it.

“And just like that… the debt is fully paid.”Riley pocketed the check, then she spun on her heel, headed toward the door, and called over her shoulder without even looking back:

“Congrats on the porn thing, Bradley.Hope I never see your face again.”

The door slammed behind her like the period at the end of a sentence no one wanted to read.

I stood frozen for a moment, adrenaline still ricocheting through my ribs like a loose bullet.

Then I turned to Bradley, who hadn’t moved.

“You okay?”

He nodded.“Yeah.”

But he didn’t look okay.Bradley looked like someone had scooped his insides out and filled the cavity with shame.“Today I shot my first porno, almost missed my appointment with my parole officer, and every fucking penny I made from being humiliated on camera is gone.”A tear snaked down his cheek, and I grabbed his hand.

“You’re coming home with me.”

ChapterNineteen

Bradley

The door to Nico’s apartment creaked open and warm light spilled out onto the landing.I followed Nico inside like a ghost who didn’t know he’d died yet.

The apartment was… beautiful.That was my first impression, but I couldn’t hold on to it long enough to care.It had exposed brick walls, high ceilings with those metal pipe beams that rich people called industrial, and a sleek kitchen in the corner that looked like it belonged in a Netflix show about a baker who only used oat flour.There was art on the walls—real art, not prints—and a massive shelf lined with records and books and weird little figurines I didn’t have the brainpower to process.

But none of it mattered.

I could’ve been standing in a penthouse or a jail cell and I don’t think I would’ve registered the difference.

My limbs felt like wet sandbags, and my chest was hollow and echoing, like someone had scooped out everything I had left and forgotten to refill it.

Nico said nothing.He just touched my back gently and guided me forward, like he could sense that if he gave me a single decision to make, I’d collapse right there on the rug.

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