The Sheikh’s American Love - A Box Set Page 16

  Riley shrugged; that made sense, but she still couldn’t think of how information about the filming of Galaxy Wars 3 would help.

  “There’s an Empire State flick scheduled for release in the same week as your project, and the word from above is that Galaxy Wars needs to flop.”

  “Okay…but I’m still not getting how me telling you anything about filming would make that happen,” Riley said.

  “The director has a temper,” Alex said with a shrug. “One of those brilliant but tempestuous directors who takes offense if you suggest he shave off ten seconds of a scene. If enough information gets out, we predict he goes postal and cancels filming—or at least throws enough of a tantrum that the release goes off-schedule.”

  Riley stared at Alex in shock. She had never so much as gotten a parking ticket in her life; not only would what he was suggesting be a breach of contract, but she thought there were probably laws against it. More to the point, if word got out about her sabotaging the first ever major production she was lucky enough to be involved in, her Hollywood career would be over before it even started.

  “Thanks for the drinks,” she said, knocking back the last of her cocktail. She picked up her jacket and purse and stood to leave.

  “Wait,” Alex said, reaching out and grabbing at her wrist. Riley raised an eyebrow and Alex sighed gustily. “I’m authorized to give you another offer, if the promise of the role isn’t enough.”

  “Tell me what it is,” Riley said, not quite sitting down.

  “If you agree to act as my company’s mole on set, I can offer you five hundred thousand for it,” he told her quickly. “Think of it as a thank-you from the higher ups.” Riley felt a chill work down her spine. “That’s in addition to a real role in one of our next productions, something you’ll actually be visible in.”

  Riley pressed her lips together, pulling her hand free of Alex’s grip absently. The role was one thing; even if she didn’t get much traction out of the Galaxy Wars part, just having it on her CV would bump her pay grade in the eyes of other producers. But the promise of so much money was almost more than she could resist. She had been living paycheck to paycheck ever since coming to LA; half a million dollars was enough to pay her bills for years, with enough left over to devote herself completely to getting ahead in the industry. With that kind of money I wouldn’t have to wait tables for years. I could go on auditions every day of the week until someone hires me. But fast on the heels of those thoughts, Riley remembered the heavy agreements she’d signed, the legalese outlining what could happen to her if she was caught in breach of contract.

  “I need to think about it,” she told Alex. “Give me some time.”

  “Twenty-four hours,” Alex said, and though he tried to look as smooth and slick as ever, Riley caught the unmistakable relief in his eyes that she was even considering the offer. “After that it’s off the table.”

  Riley nodded and turned away, carefully walking towards the employee exit with her thoughts spinning.

  SIX

  When she finally parked in her assigned spot outside of her apartment building, Riley was feeling so out-of-sorts, she was surprised she hadn’t gotten into an accident on her way from the restaurant. It was still early; but any thought of meeting up with her friends was gone. She climbed the stairs up to her apartment slowly, thinking about the offer that Alex had made her. Can I really trust him on this? It would be just like him to pretend to be more important than he is, and throw me under the bus at the first opportunity. On the other hand, he’d looked as though he was doing better for himself—a big shot in production, even; and he had known about her casting—that was the kind of information only someone well-connected would have at their disposal.

  She stepped into her apartment and locked the door behind her, throwing the keys absently into the bowl on the kitchen counter.

  “Of course this happens when I have good career news,” she said out loud to the empty apartment, throwing herself onto the couch.

  Riley sighed, staring up at the ceiling. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it as she played Alex’s words through her mind for the tenth time since she’d left the bar. On the one hand, no one had ever offered her that much money for anything; and she was fairly certain that unless something changed drastically in the course of her career, no one ever would. On the other hand, the mere idea of being involved in such a risky scheme made her feel cold all over.

  That’s assuming you can even trust Alex’s offer, she reminded herself, sitting up and pulling herself off of the couch. She stripped down to her underwear as she walked into the bathroom, nearly tripping as her jeans gathered around her ankles. If Alex wasn’t just dangling fool’s gold in front of her, then his offer was something that any actress in her right mind would jump at. Riley washed the makeup off of her face and brushed her teeth and hair, examining her reflection in the mirror. She was beautiful; no false modesty prompted that evaluation. But beauty wasn’t enough. Talent wasn’t enough. There were dozens—hundreds—of beautiful, talented actresses in the city, all of them vying for whatever parts they could get. With an edge like what Alex was offering, Riley could get ahead; she could turn her struggling attempts into a real career.

  “Right,” she told her mirror-self. “And then, after you’ve gotten the starring role in a vehicle film and everyone has pictures of you on their lockers, someone will come out about how your big break came from sabotaging a major production company.”

  Riley sighed, rinsing the soap off of her face and groping for her towel. She walked into her bedroom and found an oversized tee shirt in her pajama drawer. She threw it over her head and sat down on the edge of her bed. As soon as it got out that she had sold out one production company to another, her career would be in ruins faster than it had risen; no director, no producer, would ever want to work with her again, and no one in the viewing public would have any sympathy for her.

  Even though she was exhausted, as Riley curled up in her bed, she couldn’t put her whirring thoughts to rest. In the short term, she wasn’t sure she could afford to turn down Alex’s offer; even if the pay she got from the film was good, it was little more than enough to keep her afloat during the filming, with maybe a month or two after that. The half million Alex promised would keep her housed, fed, and living comfortably for at least five years. She couldn’t help thinking that as crass as he’d been, Alex wasn’t entirely wrong; the Galaxy Wars role would boost her earnings, but it wasn’t big enough to guarantee her any good roles after it; it could very well be the high point of her career.

  She debated the two sides back and forth, tossing and turning in bed until she fell into an uneasy sleep, sometime after midnight. Riley hadn’t come any closer to a decision, but she finally pushed it to the back of her mind with the knowledge that if she didn’t get to sleep, she’d miss her six a.m. alarm call.

  When her alarm ripped her out of the light sleep she’d managed to achieve, Riley fumbled for her phone, tapping the ‘snooze’ icon and groaning at the heavy feeling behind her eyes, the ache in her shoulders and hips that told her she’d definitely not gotten enough sleep. She told herself that as soon as the alarm went off again, she’d get out of bed and get moving, no matter how tired she felt; but the next time she heard the alarm, Riley had the uncomfortable feeling that it had been far longer than seven minutes. A quick look at her phone told her that the instinct was right: half-asleep and unaware, she’d somehow managed to shut off the alarm three more times.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  She leaped out of bed, nearly twisting her ankle in the process, and rushed to the vanity where she’d laid out her clothes before going to work the night before. Even with the extra thirty minutes of sleep, Riley still felt as if she was trying to move through molasses. She tugged her clothes on and padded into the kitchen.

  “Coffee,” she muttered under her breath; there was no way she’d be alert enough to make it to the set if she was half asleep. Fortunately,
Riley had a stockpile of instant coffee packets. She poured a packet into her water bottle, and filled the bottle from the dispenser in her freezer door. She added milk and a drop of syrup she’d scavenged from the restaurant, and collected the rest of her things as she shook the bottle hard.

  A few moments later she was downstairs, walking out to her car and taking the first swig of her coffee concoction. Riley grimaced at the taste of it, shuddering; it was like jet fuel with a creamy aftertaste, neither sweet nor light enough. She shook off the impression and climbed into her car, resisting the urge to peel out of her parking spot.

  She’d hoped that, early as it was, there wouldn’t be quite so much traffic on the highway. Riley’s foot pressed on the accelerator steadily and she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, checking the time on her stereo every few moments. The freeway wasn’t quite as jam-packed as usual, but Riley knew she had to make up for lost time, and she nudged the car above the speed limit every few moments, panicking and slowing until the need to make it to the studio on time overtook all sense of caution.

  Riley had made it about halfway to the set when she saw the flashing lights in her rearview mirror. “God,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. For just a moment, she hoped that the cop was after someone ahead of her; but as he slowed to following distance she knew that he had flagged her speeding, and there was no way around pulling over.

  Riley slowed and tapped her turn signal to let the cop behind her know that she was aware of him, and was trying to comply. She pulled onto the shoulder and groaned, her eyes stinging with the beginnings of tears as she saw that it was 5:50—she had ten minutes left before she needed to be on the set, which was another twenty minutes away.

  The police car came to a stop behind her and the siren cut out, though the lights continued to flash and spin. Riley scrubbed at her face and took a deep breath, reaching into her purse for her license and insurance card. Please, please let him just tell me that my taillight is out, or something. Riley turned the volume down on her stereo as she saw the officer emerge from his car and begin walking towards her driver’s side door.

  She rolled down the window and looked out of it as the man took the last steps to her door.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” the officer said after looking at her for a moment. “Is there some kind of emergency?”

  “I’m running late,” Riley said, making her voice as apologetic as possible. “I’m supposed to be on set in ten minutes, and the studio is twenty minutes away from here.”

  “Well, you’re going to be even later now,” the officer told her, giving her a firm look.

  “I know—I’m sorry,” Riley told the man. “I’ve never had a ticket in my life, I just—I’m so panicked I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Give me your license and insurance card, please,” the officer said, seemingly unmoved by the repentance Riley showed. She handed over the two cards and the man looked them over for a second. “I’ll be right back with you.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned forward until her forehead came into contact with the steering wheel. “I haven’t even agreed to his stupid proposal and already Alex has me breaking the law,” Riley grumbled. If he hadn’t popped up in her life Riley would have gone to sleep at a reasonable hour, gotten up when her alarm went off, and wouldn’t be in the situation she now found herself in.

  The cop seemed to take an hour doing whatever it was officers did in their patrol cars with peoples’ documentation, and every minute that passed made Riley more anxious. She fidgeted in her seat, clenching and unclenching her teeth, checking her rearview mirrors every few moments as she waited. Finally the officer emerged, clipboard in hand.

  “Since this is your first offense, I’m going to do you a favor,” the cop told her when he came to a stop at her window. “You were going fifteen over the speed limit; I’ve written you a ticket for nine over the speed limit. You have the right to contest it if you feel like it, pay the fine, or attend traffic school to avoid points on your license.” He ripped the ticket free of the pad and handed it to Riley along with a pen and her ID cards. “Sign the bottom to acknowledge I’ve informed you of your rights; I get the bottom copy, you get the top copy.”

  Riley did as she was told and stuffed the ticket, along with her cards, into her purse.

  “Thanks for giving me a break,” she said, trying to keep any trace of bitterness out of her voice.

  “For future reference, I want you to think about the fact that you’re going to be later now than you would’ve been if you’d not decided to speed,” the officer said, giving her a significant look.

  “I will definitely keep that in mind,” Riley told the man, nodding her acceptance of the lecture.

  “All right. You can use the shoulder to get up to speed. Don’t make me pull you over again, okay?” Riley gave him a sheepish smile and nodded, and the cop went back to his cruiser.

  She remained cautious the rest of the way to the set, checking her mirrors every few moments as she went, dreading the possibility of another officer pulling her over. The speeding ticket rankled; Riley knew that she’d earned it, but she thought bitterly that of course the one day she’d really needed to be on time, she found herself later than usual—and all because she happened to speed in front of the wrong cop.

  SEVEN

  Riley finally made it to the studio, but even after parking as close to the sound stage as possible, by the time she clocked in it was 6:30—half an hour after call. Sighing, she checked the roster to see where she was supposed to report. Hair and makeup, trailer six was scribbled in next to her name. Riley steeled herself against the recriminations she’d get from the makeup crew for being late and started in that direction.

  “Hey you—you there, carrot top!”

  Riley wheeled around at the sound of the calling voice and saw a guy she assumed must be the floor manager striding across the set towards her.

  “Me?” She felt her cheeks starting to warm up.

  “What’s your name? Where are you supposed to be? This is a private set—if you’re some snooping journalist…”

  “Riley Townsend,” Riley said quickly. She noticed that everyone else moving about the sound stage seemed to have slowed down—if not stopped—their work to glance in her direction. “I—I’m heading to makeup and hair, like the roster said.”

  “Townsend…” The man looked down at his clipboard and when his gaze came to a stop he frowned. “It says here you had a six o’clock call. Did you just get here or have you been hanging out at craft services for the last thirty minutes?”

  He looked up from the clipboard to scowl at her and Riley couldn’t tell which of the two options would make him angrier. She decided to go with the truth.

  “I got pulled over trying to get here on time, and I just signed in a few minutes ago,” she admitted.

  “Look, I know this is probably your first big movie set,” the floor manager said, settling his weight and planting himself firmly in front of her. “But you can’t pull this kind of shit and expect to ever get another part in your life. This isn’t the college drama club; this isn’t even your acting class in Santa Monica. Time is money here.”

  “I know,” Riley said, her cheeks heating up even more.

  “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to you,” the man told her sharply. “I know—I know. You figured that since there are so many people on set no one would notice you showing up late. Or because it’s not a starring role it doesn’t matter.” Riley glanced around furtively and saw that everyone was watching even more intently now, not even pretending to continue their work. “I don’t care if you’ve got scenes already shot— if you’re late again, I’m going to kick you right off this set myself. You’ll have your contract voided and be on your ass looking for infomercial work the next day. Got it, carrot top?”

  “Yes,” Riley said, her eyes beginning to sting. She took a quick breath and struggled to keep her composure. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
>
  “It better not,” the floor manager said. He turned away and Riley felt certain that for the moment at least, he had completely dismissed her from consideration. She turned back in the direction of the hair and makeup trailers and clenched her teeth, breathing in and out slowly to push down the urge to cry.

  “Get back to work!” the floor manager shouted behind her.

  Riley’s whole body twitched and she hurried her steps, hoping against hope that her day would improve from there.

  The lead makeup artist gave her a significant look when she came into the trailer, but to Riley’s relief the crew seemed more interested in making up for lost time than in further humiliating her.

  “This is the look we’re going for,” the makeup artist at her chair said, showing Riley the concept picture. It was impressive; Riley thought she wouldn’t even be recognizable after they were done, which was exciting. When she sat down in the chair and the artists converged on her, Riley told herself that it would take time, and she would have to be patient.