When I look behind me, though, Lucas is already gone.
My boss takes the lingerie from me without as much as a single glance and holds both hangers up for the director obligingly, waiting for his seal of approval. “I picked this out earlier as a standby,” she explains, her apologetic smile awkward on her sharp features. Of course this is the same lacy outfit that I had suggested to her a couple hours ago, but I’m smart enough not to remind Amber of that.
The director gives his bald head a swift nod and motions to the petite blonde woman who’s reclined against mounds of pillows on the king-size bed with her legs crossed at the ankle. Pouting, she shimmies to the edge of the mattress, knocking the silky white bedspreads to the floor, and walks on the tips of her purple-painted toes over to us.
“Lucas is being difficult, Christina,” the director explains, and she tosses her shoulder length hair back. “He wants you to change clothing and—”
She jerks the lingerie out of Amber’s hands and gives the director a smile sweet enough to make my stomach turn sour.
“Anything for Lucas-fucking-Wolfe,” Christina says, drawing out each syllable and giving me a hard look as she speaks.
I avert my gaze to the floor so she doesn’t see my eyebrows shoot up.
I mean, it’s not like I’m a threat to this woman, who looks like she belongs on the cover of Victoria’s Secret. By the way she’s staring me down, though, you’d think she was five seconds from going trashy talk show on me and slamming one of the folding chairs a few feet away into the back of my head.
“It’ll look good on you,” Amber says, giving Christina a head to toe onceover. Honestly, a Hefty bag would probably look good on Christina, but when my boss clears her throat and I lift my head to see the pointed look she tosses in my direction, I murmur my agreement.
But the only good thing about Christina is that after today, as long as everything goes well, I won’t have to find lace or pleather underwear for her anymore. From what Amber has told me, the rest of this video shoot will be solely based on the band.
Knowing my luck, Lucas will complain about this costume too, prolonging Christina’s time on set another couple days so that he can continue whatever tryst the two of them have already formed.
I bite the inside of my cheek at the thought as Christina flounces away. When I start to leave to go back to my small work station, Amber shakes her head, wiggling her finger as she says, “A moment, Sienna?”
I’m by her side in an instant, and since she’s short, I have to lean down so that my ear is level with her mouth. She speaks to me in a hushed voice. “I need you to go through the costumes and come up with a few alternates in case . . .” She casts a wary glance to where the director had started chatting with one of the crew members.
In case the boy shorts and camisole don’t work for Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe.
I bob my head in understanding, but then I hear my mother’s voice telling me that nobody can hear a damn thing when I nod. I clear my throat. “Got it.”
Amber flashes me a thumbs up, her shoulders sagging a bit in relief. “Good deal.” She hands me the clipboard she’s holding and massages the bridge of her tanned nose. “And start working on the costuming for Wolfe for tomorrow.”
This is something I don’t want to do because even though Amber doesn’t directly say it, I’ll have to deal directly with Lucas, and I’m so not in the mood for that today. I’m not used to guys completely unnerving me with something as innocent as a touch or in Lucas’s case, a softly spoken command.
“Stop grinding your teeth.”
Of course, since I have no other choice if I want to keep my job, I assure Amber that I’ll take care of Lucas.
“Give him whatever he wants,” she warns me.
As I slink away, I nearly choke on my boss’s final words.
When I reach the door to Lucas’s dressing room, I waver and try to gather my thoughts. This will be simple, I tell myself. I’ll go in there, ask him what he’s looking for, and I’ll be out in a matter of minutes.
Simple . . . right.
Before I have a chance to even raise my hand or contemplate knocking, the door creaks open just slightly. A woman with short, blue and black hair stares out at me from surprised brown eyes.
Her expression quickly changes to one of irritation and she releases an exasperated groan. “Please tell me you didn’t sneak past security?” she demands, and I shake my head.
Apparently, there’ve been quite a few people trying to get into the building to get a glimpse of the band. I’d overheard a few of the security guards talking about the “girl with the tits” earlier.
“No, I’m Sienna with wardrobe. I’m just here to—”
“Let her in, Kylie,” Lucas’s low voice growls from the opposite side of the room. Kylie rolls her eyes theatrically but swings the door completely open. Tentatively, I step inside and face Lucas.
He’s stretched out on a couch with his eyes closed, and Cal, the only member of Your Toxic Sequel who hasn’t managed to freak me out today is in the armchair across from it. They both turn their gazes on me as I walk forward to stand in the center of the brightly lit room, and the stressed look on Lucas’s face seems to disappear, giving way to the sexy, mocking smile he’d given me earlier.
“I’m here to go over ideas for what you’ll be wearing tomorrow,” I say in a confident voice, despite feeling as though my heart is seconds away from beating its way out of my chest. Lucas nods his head quickly, his dark hair falling over his hazel eyes. I clench my hands around the edges of the clipboard because there’s a part of me that wants to rush forward and brush his hair back from his face, just as he’d done to me two hours ago.