Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(15)

“The slap was certainly an improvisation,” Howie teases, but it doesn’t take a psychic to read between the lines. Looks like there are about to be some script changes that lead to me getting slapped quite a bit during this movie.

I should probably be pissed about that slap, but…I’m not. In fact, my dick’s halfway done setting up a campsite in my fucking pants.

“I’m… Oh God… I’m so sorry,” Birdie mutters, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

Howie is quick to reassure her. “Trust me, Birdie, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m sure there’re a lot of jilted women out there who are thankful for that slap, and the four of us will never forget it.”

I roll my eyes. Funny ha-ha, asshole. Still, as far as Birdie is concerned, his words do nothing to ease her discomfort.

“Um…do you mind if I take a quick moment?” she asks, her voice wavy with nerves again.

“Of course,” Serena says. “Take all the time you need.”

She doesn’t have to tell Birdie twice. She’s out of the office doors between one breath and the next.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Nell Franz shoves back in her chair, a smile on her face. “I think it’s safe to say we found our Arizona Lee.”

Yeah, I think we just did.

And holy shit, am I in trouble.





Birdie



Fantasizing about kicking someone in the balls is bad for your health.

Or, in my case, bad for your career.

Holy hungry hippos at a Sunday barbecue, I have no idea what happened back there.

One minute, we were rolling through the scene, and the next, Andrew was going off script and I was…getting pissed. Really pissed, actually.

What kind of jerk improvises a scene in the middle of an audition with someone he knows damn well has no prior acting experience?

Was he trying to freaking sabotage me?

The last thing I remember is watching my hand meet the side of his face. I doubt they were expecting an assault when they asked me to audition, but by God, they got it.

Sweet baby kittens in a wicker basket, I think I’ve gone crazy.

Apparently, Andrew Watson brings out my inner she-devil, and she’s not afraid of doing a stint in the slammer.

Too embarrassed and way too worked up, I know I can’t go back into that room yet—if ever. I may very well need a lifetime to get over what I just did back there.

Down the elevator and into the lobby, I find a door that leads to a pretty outside terrace, and I plop my ass down on a marble bench.

It doesn’t take long before my phone is pushed to my ear and I’m calling my sister.

Thankfully, she answers on the second ring.

“Oh my God! How did it go?” she asks, voice far too cheery for this moment in time. “Tell me everything!”

I cringe and summarize my current situation in three words. “I screwed up.”

“What?” Confusion fills her voice.

“I. Screwed. Up,” I repeat. “I slapped him in the face.”

Good God, it sounds worse when I say it out loud!

“Hold up…you did whaaaaat?”

“I slapped Andrew Watson in the face.”

“Like, on purpose? Or…?”

I sigh and shut my eyes. “We were in the middle of this scene where Cal and Arizona are in a fight and they end up kissing. But that bastard took it upon himself to go off script, Billie! It’s like he was trying to screw me over, and before I knew it, I was slapping him really hard across the face.”

Seriously. The damn thing had so much power, it echoed off the walls.

“And I take it that wasn’t in the script?” she asks, and a deep sigh escapes my lungs.

“Nope. Not in the script. At all.”

“I mean, I wasn’t there, but it kind of sounds like you did your own improvisation…”

Her words are meant to make me feel better, but they do the opposite.

“Oh yeah,” I comment through a snort. “I certainly improvised. With violence, Billie. They probably think I’m a lunatic!” I throw my free hand in the air and lean my head back to let the warm California sun wash over my face.

Good God, so much for breaking into Hollywood. Any minute now, security is probably going to come down here and escort me off the premises.

“So…did you guys kiss? Or did the scene kind of end after you slapped the shit out of him?”

“I didn’t slap the shit out of him. It was one only slap,” I snap.

“Okay, okay. Jesus, calm down,” she responds, but also, doesn’t hesitate to push further. “And the kiss? Did it happen? Or…?”

God, that stupid kiss.

Stupid kiss? Pretty sure your wits are still scattered up there on William Capo’s marble floor…

Instantly, my fingertips move to my lips, tracing over the still thrumming spots where Andrew’s mouth was pressed against mine. Ugh. I hate how good that kiss felt. His lips are like God actually made them just for kissing.

“Hello? Earth to Birdie?” My sister’s voice yanks me from my wayward thoughts.

“The kiss was…okay, I guess.”

Liar.

“Just okay?” she questions on a laugh. “You kissed Andrew freaking Watson, this year’s Hottest Man Alive. Women literally take off their underwear for him in the middle of the street so he will autograph their panties. Surely, it wasn’t just okay. I mean—”