Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(55)

I parked my truck on the outside of the Pit, in a spot marked for CAST, a bit of excitement passing through me. Cole’s red monstrosity was in his personal spot, his name labeling the parking lot so that anyone with a vendetta against him would know exactly where to go. So stupid. So egotistic. I climbed out, my new flip-flops hitting the hard asphalt, newly redone because Hollywood can’t park on cracked pavement, swinging the door shut and pushing my new cell phone into the back pocket of my shorts.

“Nice of you to dress up, Country.”

I looked over my shoulder. Cole stepped out of the door of the closest trailer—Don’s—and trotted down the steps in a white button-down and slacks, polished black dress shoes carrying him in my direction.

I swallowed, looking down at my khaki shorts and the loose blouse I had pulled the tags off just that morning. “Ben said—I thought…” A meeting, that was what I was coming in for. To run over the schedule and introduce me to my acting coach. Ben had promised me that it didn’t matter what I wore. I had still shopped for the occasion, my newly padded bank account causing me to swipe my debit card at JC Penny with ease.

“Ignore him,” Don called from the open door. “He’s been doing press in that monkey suit. Let him sweat like an * for it.” He waved an arm to me and flashed a friendly smile. “Come on in.”

Cole laughed, undoing the cufflinks on his sleeve. “Easy there, Summer. Someone might figure out that you don’t belong here.”

I ignored him, my shoulder bumping his as I moved past, toward Don, smiling brightly up at the man who had saved me. “The air-conditioning working in there?” I asked.

“You know it.” He smiled at me and held open the door. “You ready for next week?”

I nodded, stepping into his trailer, which was set up entirely different than mine. His was a workspace, a conference room on one end, a secretary’s desk and separate office on the other end. Ben had already showed me the place where they reviewed daily footage and did the real work. I had reached out to touch a dial and had about four people jump to stop me. Now, in Don’s space, I kept my hands to myself, just to be safe.

“Head on into the conference room,” he directed. “Pam and Dennis are already in there, they’ll introduce themselves.”

Pam ended up being in PR; she ran me through a calendar of media training that would be happening in between filming. I smiled and nodded and took everything she passed to me, enough reading material to choke a horse. Dennis was introduced as my acting coach; he stood up from the table and gave me a hearty hug. I gripped his large girth and immediately felt at ease. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised.

“We both will,” Pam joined in. “Think of us as part of your team.” She smiled, and I felt ten times better. They informed me that my assistant, Mary, would arrive on Monday. I did another round of nodding and wondered what on Earth I would do with an assistant.

My back was to the door when Cole walked in, but I could tell you the moment his foot hit the carpet. My nails dug into my thighs, and I nodded at whatever words were coming out of Pam’s mouth—something about YouTube and a trailer—every sense focused on the man who was moving closer. Pressure hit the top of my chair, and I glanced over to see his hands gripping the back, his knuckles white as he leaned on the plastic.

His hands tight on my ass, his pumps fast and quick and barely controlled, the perfect rapid rhythm pushing me to a place—

“Excuse me,” Cole said warmly. “But I need to borrow Ms. Jenkins.”

“Of course, Mr. Masten.” Pam stalled her YouTube plans and stood, her hands quick as she gathered up her materials, Dennis following suit, his retreat slower, his heft out of the chair more cumbersome. I smiled weakly at him, waiting for the door to close behind him before I was out of my chair and away from Cole.

“Easy, Country.” He smiled, still in place, his weight still resting on the back of my chair.

“Stop calling me that.” I kept my voice low, well aware of the cheap construction of these trailers.

“What, you can call me City Boy, but I can’t call you Country?”

I said nothing. It was ridiculous to try and have a logical conversation with this man.

“Are you ready for next week?”

I met his eyes. “Of course I am.” Of course I wasn’t. I would never be ready to step in front of a camera with him.

“You know that we won’t film in chronological order.” The statement was said without a dose of *, and I shifted my weight to my other hip, my hands sweaty on Pam’s pages.

“No, I didn’t know that.” But it made sense. I had a flashback to Ben’s and my preparations, how we would book a week at one plantation or location. Of course. They’d film all of the spots at those points at once. It made sense.

“We’re working on a shooting schedule today. I’ll have a courier bring it over to you tonight.”

“Thank you.” I rubbed my bare arms, the room suddenly cold. The air conditioner really did work.

“Cocky tried to crow this morning.” His voice was sheepish and held a hint of pride.

“Who?”

“Cocky. That’s his name. Our rooster.”

Our. That hit hard, in a strange place in my heart. “He’s yours,” I blurted out. “I gave him to you.” Cocky. I would have asked who names a rooster, but I had names for every one of the Holdens’. Cocky’s mama was named Matilda, even if I was the only person who called her that.