Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (52 page)

Miles is going on about logistics and time count, but I’m not listening. More of the crew is trickling in, arriving back from lunch, and I watch the frenzied activity with awe.

Someone puts their hand on Miles’ shoulder and speaks softly to him.

“All right,” he says, his voice and expression serious. He reaches over to shake David Mulroney’s hand again. “It was great seeing you. Stick around for some takes if you like. We’re only a few minutes away from starting.”

I hold my breath while I wait for Mr. Mulroney’s response. When he agrees to stay, I nearly shout with glee.
Finally,
after weeks stuck in the office, I’m on the back lot. I can’t just mosey away without watching so much as one take.

I slink off to the side, to where the golf cart that carried us over is still parked, but Mr. Mulroney motions for me to follow him to video village. Nervously, I trek behind him. People press in all around me — so many people I can’t imagine there can even be enough jobs for them — and Miles comes and begins a low conference with the director of photography.

The two actors are brought to set. Along with Devin Gaughen, there’s the female lead, Marissa DeLisle. She’s smaller than she always looks in movies and pictures — so fragile, actually, that it seems like if a slight breeze were to come along, she would be done for.

The assistant director calls for quiet and the scene begins. I’m torn between watching it on the monitor and watching it play out in front of me in real life. The entire shot is the two actors hurrying up to the plane wreckage. From contextual clues — such as their tattered wardrobes — I pick up that they are returning to the scene of the crash in search of something. Cut is called, and everything reset. They do the action several times more.

I could watch all day, but David Mulroney is clapping several people on the shoulders and making his way through the small group gathered under the tent. He nods to where I stand at the back edge of the blue canopy and I follow him back out to the golf cart. We leave in between a take while the actors are being touched up by makeup artists and the director and cinematographer are talking about what needs to be changed.

Back in the SUV, I clasp my hands in my lap. “That was amazing,” I sigh.

I don’t care about acting cool and pretending being on that set didn’t blow my mind. I highly doubt I could hide my enthusiasm if I tried.

“The process still holds some of its appeal even sixty years later,” Mr. Mulroney says.

“That can’t be when you started working here.”

“That’s when my father first brought me to a set. I was five.”

“Wow,” I breathe, trying to imagine growing up in the world David Mulroney — and Simon — did. “How come you’re not still here?”

“I am, in a way. Just because I’m not physically present and my names aren’t in every credit roll doesn’t mean I don’t still make a lot of decisions.”

“Oh.” I clamp my mouth shut, wondering if my question was too invasive. I look around. We’re almost back to the office.

“Did you bring Mr. Mulroney to set when he was a kid?” I ask. “Like your dad did with you?”

His brows push together, like he’s trying to remember but can’t quite get a clear picture. “Simon didn’t have the same interest I did,” he says, then guffaws. “He liked television shows.”

“Star Trek.”

He looks at me in surprise. “Did he?”

“That’s what he told me,” I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Perhaps I’ve just given away a tidbit that will prove to be too revealing of mine and Simon’s relationship.

“I miss being like you,” Mr. Mulroney muses.

Glancing back at him, I ask, “Really? In what way?”

“I wish I could wake up every day and say ‘wow, that was incredible.’”

I giggle. “You can.”

“It changes the older you get.”

My laughter dies off. I hate how much I suspect he’s right.

“Being twenty-two isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I argue. “It can be pretty confusing. Sometimes it’s like being caught in the middle of a hurricane.”

He chuckles. “I haven’t forgotten about that part of it.”

The SUV comes to a stop and I go to open my door. My fingers slow down, curling snail like around the handle when I catch sight of the familiar sports car parked near the building’s front door.

“Look who’s here,” David Mulroney says, nodding at the car.

My breath caught in my chest, I follow him into the building. The whole place seems busier than it usually does, perhaps because two whole Mulroneys are here. Chattering emits from the few doors we walk past on our way to the office, and several people nod and smile at the older man striding next to me.

I let him go through the door first, not only trying to be respectful but also trying to hide from Simon’s line of sight. I’m having my best day in weeks, and I don’t need his sour puss face ruining it.

Dana isn’t in the office, and neither are Chuck and Daniel. Simon’s door is closed, though, and David goes to it.

I cringe as he puts his hand on the knob. If any of us assistants were to walk in there unannounced, the man in that office would have a fit.

Before David can open the door himself, it flies open. Simon stares at his father with a blank expression.

“Back to work?” the older Mulroney asks.

“I was just picking something up,” Simon responds, his voice holding no emotion. “What are you doing here?”

David stands up straighter, his chest puffing out. “Went down to see how Miles is doing.”

“Ah.” Simon’s eyes flick over his father’s shoulder and catch mine. We stare at each other for a millisecond before he looks back at the man in front of him.

“Sydney went with me,” David booms, his voice even louder than before. “I don’t know where your other assistants are, though. Sorry you can’t keep track of them.”

I cringe at the harshness of his words. I know better than anyone what an ass my boss can be, but is he really deserving of such a condescending attitude from his own father?

Simon’s jaw ticks. “They’re taking lunch.”

“Are you coming this weekend?” David asks.

“Is that what you stopped by to ask me?” The response is a half snarl, and I want to tell Simon to can it. We all have problems with our parents, but where does he get off acting so disrespectful? This is like a bad soap opera playing in front of me.

“It’s noon,” David says, ignoring the comment. “Your brother would like to see you.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it or don’t. It’s true.”

Simon doesn’t answer. His jaw just ticks as he stares at his father.

I shift uncomfortably and look over my shoulder at the hall, checking just in case someone is on their way to save me. Being privy to a family spat is not something I penciled in for my day.

“Sydney,” the elder man says and I whip my head back around.

I straighten up to my full height. “Yes?”

“What are you doing this Saturday?”

“Um, probably sleeping in and then writing. It’s kind of what I do every Saturday.”

Simon glances at me again, but this time, his eyes rest on me for a few seconds longer. Something I just said seems to have caught his interest.

“What are you writing?” David asks, turning toward me, looking authentically curious.

“Just… uh, a screenplay.” I mutter the last part, embarrassed to admit my efforts at taking a stab at film after being on one of the biggest sets in the world not ten minutes ago.

“We’re having a party at my house in Beverly Hills,” David says. “It’s a barbecue. You should come.”

I’m not sure how to respond. Perhaps I shouldn’t have let him know my weekend is free as a bird. I can’t look at Simon again, but I can pretty much guess how he’s feeling. It’s his family barbecue, after all. After last weekend, I’m not stupid enough to think he wants me crashing it.

“Thanks,” I say, avoiding giving a definitive answer. “That’s very nice of you. I’ll try to make it.”

Unless I have to wash my hair.

“I’ll have my assistant send you the address. Oh, and don’t bring a date. Simon’s cousin from New York is visiting for the week, and he’s just your age.” He winks at me, then I see Simon’s face. Stone cold. It’s a surprise the man isn’t dripping water right in front of our eyes.

“Thanks,” I repeat. “Sounds fun.”

David nods and leaves without looking at Simon.

The silence echoes in the room. I walk over to the desk and sit down, making a show of opening my laptop. Simon stands planted in the doorway, staring at me.

Finally, it’s too much.

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” I say. “Your dad is nice, but it’s no big deal. I’ll just say something came up.”

The instant I make the promise, I regret it. I just made an amazing connection with the senior Mulroney, and if I hope to snag a good job once I’ve left this office, I’ll need his help. I certainly don’t have anyone else on this lot rooting for me — other than Dana — and she’s only about a half inch above me on the totem pole.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he says and heads for the door. “See you Saturday.”

My hands rest on the keyboard. I won’t allow myself to read into that last part. Just like I’ve been working to remind myself every day, Simon is trouble. Meeting and getting into good favor with his father is an incredible stroke of luck.

Despite how often Simon makes me feel as if I’m lacking, the other Mulroney made me feel like anything but. It was the same way with Mr. Murakami, who valued my ideas.

The barbecue might be full of other people in film. Maybe Mr. Murakami and his wife will be there, or someone else I respect in the industry. I would be a fool not to seize any opportunity for networking and rubbing elbows.

And so it’s settled. Simon Mulroney has yet to — and never will — help determine the course of my life.

*

Brendan calls me on my way home from work. I glance at the phone and then drop it back into the seat, uncertain about whether or not I’m ready to talk to him.

He texted me after Friday night’s debacle, saying he was sorry if he “did something wrong.” His unwillingness to directly own up to his attitude irked me, and I never texted him back.

It’s not like I’m never going to talk to him again. It’s already become pretty apparent that I won’t be able to shake him from my life just like that. I just need a little space first. A lot of shit went down all at once, and right now, I’m being forced to deal with navigating the waters of Simon’s presence. I need a little breathing space before I can get around to figuring out my relationship with Brendan.

It turns out it doesn’t matter whether I call him back or ignore him because he’s sitting on my front steps. He catches sight of me as I come into the courtyard. I slow my walk and creep towards him, annoyed that he just showed up at my building — basically cornering me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey.”

I stop at the bottom step, looking up at where he sits about a third of the way towards the second floor. Past him, the edge of my front door peeks from around the outer hallway corner.

So close and yet so far.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He looks slightly offended. “You didn’t text me back.”

I run my tongue over the bottom edge of my teeth, giving some thought to my response. I figure it’s best to be honest. I don’t really have much left to lose in our relationship.

“I just wasn’t ready to talk yet. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to blow up on you.”

“You’re mad at me.”

I grab onto the bottom of the banister and swing slightly on it. “Yeah. I am.”

He softly claps his hands together, as if to signify my answer settles something. “Can I ask why?”

“Maybe it was just me…” I pause. “No, it wasn’t just me. I’m pretty sure you were acting possessive of me. You were making it seem like I’m still your girlfriend.”

He scratches his neck and looks down. “Yeah, I was. I’m sorry.”

His confession is surprising. I cautiously study him. “You’re not going to deny it?”

“No,” he sighs. “I’m not.”

“Why were you doing it?”

He looks up at me. “Isn’t it obvious? Because being around you again makes me miss the way things used to be. Don’t you feel the same way, at least a little bit?”

I smile softly at him. “Yeah, I have gotten a little nostalgic.” I think about just how attracted I was to him when he showed up out of the blue in L.A. I almost considered giving things with him another go.

“It can’t work out between us again,” I say, making sure I meet his eyes as I say it.

“Why?”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Because I live
here,
and you live
there.
That’s the main reason. Long distance didn’t work for us.”

“Is there another reason?”

He stares intently at me and my gaze whips to the bottom step.

Brendan speaks again. “Everyone can tell something’s going on between you and your boss. The way he looks at you…” He laughs ruefully. “Damn, the way he looks at
me —
like he’s going to tear my throat out if I touch you. I mean, he’s handsome, sure, but the guy’s a cocky bastard. Since when do you like that?”

Irritation scratches across my skin. “He’s not a bastard.”

Well, maybe he is, but that’s not Brendan’s call to make.

Brendan sighs. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” I look straight at him.

He studies my eyes. “So you’re just fucking him?”

Now I know what people mean when they say their blood boils. I have to remember to take in another breath and count to ten so that I don’t reach out and wrap my fingers around Brendan’s neck.

“I’m not fucking him,” I answer through gritted teeth.

Brendan’s eyebrows shoot up. “All right. Fine.”

“And don’t tell me someone else is cocky when you have the audacity to just show up at my apartment and start throwing accusations at me. I was getting on fine with my life, okay? And then you showed up out of the blue, and it seems to me like you came here with expectations, Brendan.
That
sounds pretty freaking cocky to me.”

His face reddens slightly, and I brace myself in preparation for the return fire.