PRODUCTION CREWS HAVE the worst hours. I have to be there just as the sun rises so we take advantage of all the daylight, and I have to be there until the sun sinks down. Getting up at four in the morning will take some getting used to.
After I finish showering and getting dressed, I head downstairs, looking for something quick to grab for breakfast before I leave. When I step into the kitchen, I’m surprised to find the lights on and Zayn hard at work, cooking breakfast while Dobby sits on the floor next to his feet. It’s clear Dobby is waiting to clean up any messes falling his way.
Zayn’s gray eyes flick to mine, and then he goes back to work stirring his eggs in the pan like he doesn’t even want to look in my direction.
“Good morning,” I say out of obligation, even if he will not acknowledge me. I squeeze around his large body to grab an apple from the bowl on the counter before I begin my search for an Uber ride to work.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Zayn’s deep voice growls at me, catching me off guard.
Since our encounter at the pool and then with his friend Beckett, Zayn and I haven’t spoken. I kept myself busy in my room, reading on my Kindle and watching Netflix on my phone. I can entertain myself anytime with stories, so it doesn’t bother me one bit to be locked in a room alone for hours on end.
“I’m not a huge breakfast person,” I respond to his question. “The apple should be fine.”
“An apple is a fucking snack, not breakfast. Here,” he says and then grabs another plate from the cabinet. “You can have these eggs, and I’ll make me another batch.”
“That’s okay. You don’t—”
Before I can argue any more, Zayn plops the eggs on the plate and then pushes them in front of me. His eyes lock on me, almost as if daring me to refuse him.
It would be rude of me to turn him down, so I pick up the fork he’s set next to my plate and dig in. I have to admit, they’re delicious, and it’s a gracious gesture. It’s been a long time—not since my grandma was still alive—since someone has made me breakfast. My parents were too busy working and partying to do stuff like cook when frozen dinners and prepackaged food worked just fine if they ever had to cook for me.
Zayn quickly whips up a new batch of eggs for himself and dumps them in the pan.
I study him as he works, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his forearms flex. Zayn’s body is a machine—a beautiful machine—that I have to admit I enjoy looking at. It’s attractive when a man takes care of himself.
He glances up, catching me watching him, and asks, “Do you want more?”
I shake my head. “No. Thanks. This is plenty.” He flips the cooked eggs onto his plate and then grabs some to flip down to an eagerly waiting Dobby. “Do you always get up this early?”
His chin jerks up as he nods. “Yes. I like to get my workouts in first thing in the morning.” He takes a seat at the bar across from me. “Does your job start today?”
“It does.” I tap my red fingernail against the glass of my phone while a thought pops into my head about my ride to work. “How can my Uber driver get through the gate to pick me up…or do I have to walk to the gate?”
His brow furrows. “You need a ride to work? I can take you.”
“Oh, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already letting me stay here, and I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”
“Honestly, trying to figure out the best way to get an Uber through the security at the front gate would be a bigger hassle than just taking you myself.” He shovels his eggs down in four quick bites. “Let me go get some shoes from my bedroom, and we’ll head out.”
It doesn’t take long before I’m buckled into the passenger seat of a gray Jeep, and Zayn is cruising out of the neighborhood. At the gate, the old guard at the shack waves to Zayn as we pass by. I wave too, making sure the old man sees me, so I have no more trouble when I try to come back this evening.
Guess the old man’s suspicions about me actually knowing Zayn are squashed now that he’s seen me in his car.
Zayn notices I waved too and chuckles. “Don’t be too hard on Cliff about him not wanting to let you through the gates the other night. He has to put up with a lot of shit working out in front of my neighborhood.”
“Like, what kind of shit?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Crazy fans, mostly,” he says as he follows the GPS to my work. “A lot of the guys from my team live here, and fans are always trying to weasel past Cliff to get close to their favorite player. Most fans are harmless, only wanting pictures and signatures, but a select few are crazy obsessive—like break into your house and fatal attraction your ass.”
“Do people really go that crazy over football players?” I ask, honestly curious.
“Hell yes, they do. You wouldn’t believe some of the crazy shit people have done to the guys on my team.”
“What’s the craziest thing someone has done to you personally?”
His eyes dart from the road to me, then back again. “Everyone knows about that one.”
It occurs to me he believes whatever he’s referring to is common knowledge, but I’m clearly lost. “Sorry, but not everyone. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His lips twist. “It’s been all over the internet and ESPN.”
I shrug. “Sorry. I steer clear of social media unless it relates to books, movies, or television shows, and I have no interest whatsoever in ever watching a sports channel, so you’re going to have to fill me in about this crazy stunt your fan pulled.”
His long fingers flex around the steering wheel. “A few months ago, I started getting these crazy emails from a woman who claims we’re soul mates. It progressed from emails to handwritten letters and then packages being delivered to my home with candy, stuffed animals, and a bunch of other shit. At first, I thought it was harmless, but after I stopped responding to the woman, her gifts turned a bit…dark.”
“Like how?”
“She started sending baby dolls with the eyes ripped out, saying I’m killing our future children by ignoring her, and from that point on, I just started sending every piece of mail I didn’t recognize back to the sender. From there, things escalated quickly, and honestly, it’s something I’m still dealing with to this day.”
“She still bothers you?”
He shakes his head. “The police are involved in everything now because the woman managed to find out what hotel the Devils were staying in during an away game and booked herself a room. She then found a tabloid journalist hanging out in the bar and concocted a story about me drugging her and taking her back to my room.”
“Holy shit!” I exclaim. “Is she accusing you of rape?”
Again, he shakes his head. “That’s the crazy thing. She’s adamant to the news outlets and police that I didn’t touch her, only gave her drugs. It’s like she wants me in a little bit of trouble, so I have to acknowledge her, but not so much trouble that I’ll have to go to jail.”
My brow lifts. “Wow. She sounds certifiably insane. Did you tell police about all the stalker-type shit she’s done to you before she made the accusation?”
He nods as he takes another left, getting me closer to my job. “I did, which is why the league didn’t suspend me. Typically, when questionable shit is going on in a player’s life, the league will bar them from playing until things are settled, but being this claim doesn’t seem legitimate, they aren’t going to punish me over the shit an insane fan is doing.”
“That’s good then. It would suck to lose your job over something beyond your control.”
Speaking of job… this conversation has been an excellent distraction to keep my anxiety at bay about starting a new job. Yesterday, after the way he snapped at me to keep my clothes on, I thought the guy was a real dickhead, which is why I kept my distance, but now, this morning, he seems much more personable.
We finally turn down the street where the filming location for this reality show is, and I can’t help but notice these beach houses on Amelia Island are nowhere as grand as the home Zayn lives in. Zayn really must be worth a lot of money.
We pull up in front of an older white home with a large front porch. Several people gathered in front of it are carrying or holding equipment, so I know I’m in the right place.
“Is this it?” Zayn asks as he puts the Jeep in park.
“Looks like it.” I turn to face him. “Thank you so much for the ride. I appreciate it very much.”
“What time do I need to be back to pick you up?” he asks.
“Oh, I’ll just take an Uber back,” I tell him.
“Fuck that,” he growls. “Do you know how expensive an Uber will cost to get you back to my place?” I open my mouth to say I’m not sure, but he cuts me off. “Too fucking much—that’s how much. Seriously, I’ll pick you up. I don’t have anything else going on today other than my workout routine. It won’t be a problem.”
I should turn him down for the simple fact he’s already given me too much—a place to stay, breakfast, and now a ride. That’s quite accommodating of him, considering I’m an unwelcome houseguest. But the fact of the matter is I don’t have much spare money to be throwing around on an Uber. Robert said we were going to buy a car when we got here with the money he has in his savings, but he’s not here so that plan is down the fucking drain just like our relationship.
I would be a fool if I didn’t accept the help Zayn’s offering.
“They told me they would need me until they stop filming, which is scheduled to end at seven tonight.”
“Damn, that’s a long-ass day. I’ll be here to pick you up.”
I open the door and turn back to him. “Thanks again.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his handsome face. “No problem. See you at seven.”
I climb out of the Jeep and head out to start my very first day in the television industry, excited to see what the day brings me.
By nine, I think I’ve gotten all the higher-ups on the set coffee at least twice each, and I have yet to be given any real substantial task. Being a glorified gopher isn’t what I had in mind when I accepted this job, but working here is way better than being a server in Robert’s family’s restaurant.
I hand a coffee, along with the credit card she gave me, back to Brenda, who has been appointed as my boss. “Here you go. Anything else you need me to do?”
Brenda is a slender woman with black curly hair and bright red lipstick that causes her wide-framed black glasses to pop in that nerdy-chic kind of way. She gives off the vibe that she’s not one to be fucked with, so I’ll do my best to stay on her good side.
She eyes me carefully. “You can go help Bella in wardrobe. She needs to hurry up and get the rest of the cast dressed and on set for the next few scenes.”
I do as I’m told and head to wardrobe in the hunt of whoever Bella is to assist her in any way I can. I have zero experience with dressing people for the camera, but as I’ve quickly learned around here today, the only way I’ll ever learn is by jumping directly into the fire.
The moment I squeeze inside the trailer parked along the curb marked as wardrobe, my eyes widen at the mass chaos going on inside. Everywhere I look, a girl is tugging on clothes or getting her hair and makeup touched up. There are way too many people in this tiny space.
“That’s the wrong top, Gia. You’re supposed to be in the blue one,” a beautiful, light-skinned Black girl with long, dark curls calls to a skinny strawberry-blond girl with humongous boobs—boobs which are currently spilling out of the pink tube-top she’s squeezed herself into. “Harry will shit a brick if you walk out onto the set like that.”
Gia rolls her pretty green eyes and huffs, “A little skin is good for ratings. I think we should try it and see what happens.”
The other girl folds her arms. “I’m head of wardrobe, so it’s my call. Now, stuff your fat tits into the blue top and get your ass on set. We don’t have time for your bullshit today.”
“Damn, Bella. Calm your ass down. No need for the fucking attitude. I was only making a suggestion.” Gia yanks a blue piece of fabric from the back of a chair. “I’ll wear the ugly-ass top you want me to.”
“Thank you,” Bella calls in a sign-song voice from over her shoulder.
Gia rolls her eyes as she complies and then does one last double take in the mirror before she passes by me at the door of the trailer without so much as a glance in my direction.
It occurs to me as the woman passes me that her face looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen her before.
“Can I help you with something?” Bella calls to me as she finishes zipping up the back of another girl’s dress.
I give her a small wave. “Hi. I’m Vivi, a production assistant. Brenda sent me over to help you.”
“Thank God.” Bella sighs. “I’ve been drowning over here for the past hour. It’s about time they sent someone. Grab that dress hanging in the green garment bag and take it back to Lindsey, who’s changing in the back room.”
With no question, I do exactly as Bella asks, and soon, I’m caught in the whirlwind of all the action going on inside here. Then, like a flash, everyone clears out except for Bella and me.
“Whew.” Bella plops down in one of the hair and makeup chairs, and I take the seat right across from her. “That was a complete shit show. Thanks for jumping in and helping.”
“No problem. Sorry, I wasn’t more helpful.”
“Girl.” She waves me off. “I couldn’t have gotten them all dressed in time if it wasn’t for your help. This fucking low-budget project only allows a wardrobe department that consists of me prepping close to thirty people. It’s an insane and completely unrealistic expectation. I should’ve known better than to take this gig.”
The way she’s talking makes me wonder how much experience she has in the business. “Have you worked on a lot of projects?”
“A few, but this is the very first one where I’m solely in charge, and of course it has to be one working with Gia Whitt.” Bella rolls her eyes. “We worked together on my last project, and she was a complete asshole to me, ordering me around the entire time. She’s kind of a bitch.”
“Kind of?” I raise my eyebrow in question and grimace, remembering how nasty she was to Bella earlier.
Bella bursts out in laughter. “We’re going to get along just fine, Vivi. I can already tell.”
The slight extension of friendship makes me already like Bella, and even though I don’t want to work on this side of the industry, it’s good to learn all facets of the business because it can only help to have that knowledge when I become a director and write my own screenplays someday. I’m down to absorb any parts of wisdom Bella would like to impart on me while we’re here.
The rest of the day rushes by in a blur, and other than running around helping Bella with whatever she needs, I don’t do much but observe how things work on an active set. It was a complete eye-opener and made me realize school only taught me the basics, and I still have a lot left to learn.
“See you tomorrow, Vivi,” Bella calls to me as I leave the trailer and head to the area where Zayn dropped me off this morning.
True to his word, Zayn’s gray Jeep is parked next to the curb, waiting for me as promised.
A flutter in my stomach comes alive as I spot Zayn sitting inside the vehicle. Even I have to admit how insanely attractive he is, and though I am not a football fan and know nothing about the game itself, Zayn’s sex appeal alone would make me a fan of his too.
