Page 60 of Backed By You
“All the more reason.” I reach for the laptop, pulling it closer. “Come on, show me. I want to see everything you’ve made before you made it big.”
She smiles, unable to hide her pleasure at my interest. “Fine. But you don’t get to laugh at my terrible acting.”
“No promises.”
Her laugh has me grinning.
“After this, we should watch the first two in the trilogy,” she says. “I’d hate to spoil the ending for you at the premiere. Oh, and I did play one of the early victims in the first movie.”
I raise a brow. “You starred in one of your blockbusters?”
“It was fifteen minutes max,” she says smoothly while pulling up another video, this one titled:Nightmare Office: Deadline. “In this one, I play the secretary who gets possessed by the ghost living in the copy machine.”
“Naturally.” I chuckle, bringing her against my side.
As the film begins, I’m struck by the strange twist of fate that brought us together—a stray bullet and a strong determination to keep the world at arm’s length.
Now, I’m falling. Hard. Fast. With no end in sight.
“You’re staring at me instead of the movie,” she murmurs without looking away from the screen.
“Better view,” I reply.
She turns to me then, her expression soft in the blue light of the laptop. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says quietly. “I know this isn’t your scene at all.”
I brush my thumb across her cheek. “I’d follow you anywhere, sweetheart. Even into a ghost-possessed copy machine.”
She laughs, the sound captivating. “Good to know you don’t have limits.”
I pull her closer for a kiss, the movie forgotten. This might be another world, full of expectations I can’t begin to understand, but she’s still the same woman who stole my heart in my hometown.
And for the next two weeks, I’ll make damn sure nothing and no one hurts her.
Twenty-Two.
Beau
Callietwistsherhandstogether in her lap, her eyes closed as the makeup artist does her thing.
I lean against the wall of the green room, arms crossed, watching the controlled chaos unfold around her. Six people hover in her orbit—makeup artist, hair stylist, wardrobe assistant, the production assistant, Ellen, and someone who keeps offering water no one asked for.
“Five minutes,” Ellen announces, her attention split between her tablet and Callie. She’s exactly what I expected—efficient, polished, mentally juggling seventeen tasks at once. “They’re getting Jack mic’d up now.”
I’ve been briefed on Jack Turner—lead actor, up-and-coming Hollywood golden boy, three blockbusters in the last year alone. The way Ellen said his name, slightly hushed like it might summon him, tells me everything I need to know.
“And we’re absolutelynotdiscussing the Vanity Fair piece,” Ellen continues, scrolling through her tablet. “I’ve made that clear to Monica, but if she tries to pivot there, just redirect to the film’s themes.”
Callie nods slightly, careful not to disturb the makeup brush sweeping across her cheekbones. “What about the screenplay nomination rumors?”
“Fair game, but downplay expectations. ‘Too early to speculate’ is your line.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Duke—a video of Hulk playing with Olivia. I move closer to Callie, showing her the screen. Her entire face transforms, tension melting away as she watches the clip of her dog gently playing tug-of-war with the little girl.
“Aw,” she coos softly.
Ellen clears her throat. “Two minutes, Callie. Let’s go over the talking points for the creative process questions one more time.”
I step back, tucking my phone in my pocket and resuming my position against the wall as Ellen rapid-fires potential questions and Callie’s suggested responses.
