Page 13 of Enemies Off Camera
“Wait—” I raise a hand, trying to stop this train from leaving the station. “Jaxon, did you really want to choose me? You had so much chemistry with Ashley and Heather.”
He shakes his head like I’m being wildly inappropriate.
“Or…” I push on. “Is picking me your way of getting out of this as a single man? Because I don’t love you, and I never will.”
“Same,” he snaps. But it comes out low—almost a guttural roar.
Anne claps her hands together. “So, Roger—six months. They’ll do press. And in two days, the reunion.”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously.
“Yes, Zara. Or…” Anne closes her eyes and scratches her forehead. “Find yourself another agent.”
When she opens her eyes, her expression is calm—but there’s something pained in it.
My body feels light. My head tight.
Anne has never said that to me before.
“Sorry, Zara. You’re pushing me to my limit. You’re a great actress. You could bebig. I still believe that. But why the hell did you shoplift?”
She jabs a finger upward, toward the ceiling. “The camera was right there. Yousawit. I saw you look at it. And youstilltook that five-dollar face cream.”
She takes a breath. Steadies herself.
I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.
And she’s right. I haven’t had the right attitude. People love you when you’re up. But one small mistake, and they come at you with pitchforks and ridicule.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. My voice cuts through the silence like glass. “You’re right.”
I sink deeper into the corner of the sofa, refusing to look at Jaxon—who, to his credit, is staying very quiet.
“Let’s go ahead and even the score—make Zara more at ease here. Should we do it now?” the man finally says, dropping into one of the armchairs. I still don’t know his name.
“What do you mean, ‘even the score’?” Jaxon asks, suddenly finding his voice.
“You know her demons.” Roger focuses on Anne. “She deserves to know his.”
“No. No, no, no…” Jaxon mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here. Not now.”
“Agreed,” Anne says.
It’s strange how in sync she and this man are. As if they’ve sketched this out in advance.
The man turns to me, calm and clear. “I’m Roger Gordon. PR manager for the San Diego Bull Sharks.”
I arch a brow and glance at Jaxon, jabbing my thumb toward him. “He’s got demons?”
Roger raises an eyebrow. “Ever heard ofHunks of Junk Jocks?”
I snap my attention back to Jaxon, who’s now shaking his head slowly. I see it—the faint rose blooming beneath his skin, the short, jagged breaths.
I’m about to learn his soft spot.
Something he’s just as ashamed of as I am of that stupid face cream.
NINE
