Page 15 of Let it Ignite
When the door finally swings open, a man pokes his head out. Grey at the temples. Red in the face. Too much booze or too much power. Maybe both.
“Cassie Royal?” he asks, already raking his eyes over me like I’m a slice of meat.
“Yes.” My voice is steady. My insides? Not so much.
“Come on in,” he says, smiling like a snake.
His office is fancy. The city stretches out beyond the glass walls, skyscrapers glittering in the sun like the set of a movie. But it doesn’t impress me. Not like the way Byron’s hands felt last night wrapped around my thighs. Or the way he pulled me onto his lap, growling into my ear how I was his. That I belonged to him.
The director—Peter something—motions me to sit across from him.
“So,” he begins, leaning back, “we had over four hundred women audition for this role. You should feel lucky.”
“I feel honored,” I say. “It’s a great role. A smart, layered woman. It would be a dream to bring her to life.”
But he just shrugs. “Sure, sure. But honestly? It’s about presence. About sizzle. You’ve got that… natural sex appeal. That’s what sells.”
I freeze.
He leans forward, eyes glued to my chest. “Tell you what, Cassie. Let’s run a scene. Do one you liked in the script.”
I start. I give it everything I’ve got—voice, posture, heart. I pretend he’s not looking down my blouse. I pretend he’s not checking out my legs when I shift. I pretend I can’t feel my skin crawl.
“Hm,” he mutters when I finish. “Let’s try something else. A romantic scene. With me.”
I blink. “With you?”
He leans forward, hands steepled, eyes zeroed in on my chest. “Chemistry test. Gotta see if you can fake it. Pretend I’m your love interest.”
My stomach turns.
Still, I stand. Because I came here for a reason. Because I’m not some delicate flower.
We start the scene. His hand finds my hip. I tense.
“Loosen up, sweetheart,” he says, smiling like a predator. “How are you gonna make a believable hooker if you won’t even let me touch you?”
His thumb brushes under the hem of my skirt.
That’s it.
I step back. “I think we’re done.”
His smile fades. “Excuse me?”
“I came here to act. Not… whatever this is.”
He stands too. “You walk out now, you’re finished. You’ll be back in your little small-town nowhere in five seconds flat.”
“I’d rather be there,” I say, my voice trembling with rage, “than here, with you.”
I turn for the door.
He follows. “You think you’re better than this? You’re not. You’re just a stupid, desperate girl who’s never gonna make it.”
I yank the door open—ready to bolt.
But I stop.
