Page 20 of The Viper
The urge to argue surged again, but I bit it back. Fighting more wouldn’t fix anything.
Instead, I escaped to the bathroom. The mirror caught me mid-movement—hair tangled, circles under my eyes, the ghost of last night still clinging to my skin. I showered, brushed myhair, painted on enough foundation to look like I hadn’t almost ruined my career twelve hours earlier.
When I came out, Hannah was already loading the car. Efficiency as penance.
“Let’s go,” she said, and I followed.
The drive to set was beautiful. Early-morning light skimmed across the water, turning it to molten glass.
The stillness soothed me, even as my nerves hummed. Somewhere out there, maybe across this very water, was the man who’d stepped in last night—gone before I could even ask his name.
Would I ever see him again?
I told myself it didn’t matter. But the truth was, I couldn’t stop picturing him—the calm precision, the way his hand had felt against mine. The quiet command in his voice. I should’ve been terrified. Instead, I’d felt … safe.
And that was dangerous in its own way.
When we arrived, the set buzzed with controlled chaos. Crew members hustled between trailers, arms loaded with cables and coffee cups. Seagulls screeched overhead. The scent of salt air mixed with sunscreen and fresh paint from the rebuilt dock.
Franklin stood near the monitors, one hand on his hip, the other cradling an espresso like it was holy water.
“Morning,” I said.
He didn’t look up. “Morning, Lexi. Let’s try to stay on schedule today, shall we?”
The words were polite. The tone wasn’t.
“Of course,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Carrie squeezed my shoulder as she passed. “You’re fine,” she whispered. “He just needs to brood.”
Brooding was Franklin’s favorite. He thrived on tension the way other men thrived on oxygen. But I could feel it—his disapproval coiled tight, waiting for me to slip.
Wardrobe and makeup were mercifully quick. A linen sundress, bare face, hair tied back. “Stripped-down realism,” Franklin had called it. “Raw and vulnerable.”
I stepped onto the dock. Benji was already there, leaning against the railing, script in hand. He smiled when he saw me, warm and easy.
“Hey,” he said. “Rough night?”
“Something like that.”
He handed me a bottle of water. “I saw the clips. People are assholes.”
I laughed softly. “You said that before about the critics.”
“Applies universally,” he said, smiling.
His kindness loosened something in me. He knew how to read my edges. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
“Anytime. And don’t let Franklin get under your skin either. He’s pretending not to be mad, which is worse than him actually being mad, but it’ll pass.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”
He grinned. “Give him a perfect take before lunch, and he’ll forget everything else.”
“Good to know.”
Benji had worked with Franklin more often than me.
