The Sheikh’s American Love - A Box Set Read online

  Within an hour of sitting down, however, her headache began to set in. Riley kept her face carefully neutral, opening and closing her eyes on command, tilting her head one way and then the other, remaining as still as possible as one stylist pulled her hair tightly back and then began to weave it into a complicated style. Riley’s legs went numb from sitting as one hour became two; she got a brief five-minute break as the artists gathered up more supplies, but then she had to sit still for another hour for them to finish.

  Three hours after first sitting down, Riley emerged in costume, unrecognizable. Her head felt heavier than she would have imagined possible, weighted down with strands of extensions, and pieces of latex. Her face had been reshaped until the sight of herself in the mirror had startled her—she was almost unrecognizable.

  She left her bag in the trailer but took her copy of the shooting script with her onto the sound stage; she knew that she would have to wait a while—her scenes in the film weren’t prominent, and the director would want to get into the meat of the shooting as quickly as possible—but Riley told herself that they wouldn’t have put her in full costume and makeup if they didn’t intend to shoot at least some of her scenes that day.

  A few hours later, it was a belief that she’d come to regret; the costume made it difficult to sit down, so instead she spent hours standing around, watching the shooting progress. At first, it was exciting to see major celebrities at work, absorbing the way that they got into character, and watching the way the crew moved around on the set. She was too anxious to eat very much during the lunch break, but she managed to chat with a few of the other actors, comparing makeup and costume sessions in a playful competition to see who had it the worst.

  “All right—we need to get these scenes done today, people,” the director told the cast and crew as they came back after the break, everyone taking up their positions. Riley found the most comfortable position she could, but her head continued to pound throughout the rest of the shooting day, and when the director announced “Anyone not in scenes three, five, twenty-four, or eight, you’re dismissed; we won’t be needing you today,” she trudged back to the makeup trailer to have all of the work she’d submitted to that morning undone—and all without having been in a single scene.

  Walking back to her car, Riley thought about the offer that Alex had made her the night before; between the speeding ticket, the lack of sleep, the dressing-down she’d gotten from the floor manager, and everything else that had happened to her that day, she felt as if she’d wasted an entire day to get next to nothing in return. Resigning herself to an uncomfortable decision, she took her phone out of her purse and found Alex’s number as she climbed into her car.

  Closing the door behind her, she took a quick breath to steady her resolve and tapped ‘call.’

  “Hey Ri-Ri, how’s the first day of shooting going?”

  Riley scowled at the knowing sound of Alex’s voice. “I’ll take the offer,” she said quickly.

  “Whoa, that was fast,” Alex said. “Just to clarify—you’re going to take which offer?”

  “Both of them,” Riley replied. “I’ll feed you whatever information I can about the production in return for the five hundred thousand and the movie role.”

  “Excellent,” Alex said. “Good to hear it. You won’t regret this, Ri-Ri.”

  Riley finished the call as quickly as she could, feeling as if she’d been coated in grease. As she pulled out of her parking spot and turned towards the freeway to go home, she thought with chagrin that a year before, she never would have thought she was capable of breaking her first big movie contract less than a month after signing it. Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of the way they do things in Hollywood, she thought, trying to soothe her stinging conscience.

  EIGHT

  “Thank God it’s Friday,” someone said a few feet away from Riley’s elbow.

  Riley smiled briefly, turning her attention onto the food spread out in chafing dishes and on platters. She yawned, wincing at the way the movement pulled at the skin along her hairline. I have never been more aware of the muscles in my face than I have this week, Riley thought absently.

  As she browsed the table, Riley thought about how different her first week on set had been from her expectations. Having been on sets before, albeit for TV and advertising, she’d known that she would probably spend a lot of time standing around waiting, but in the entire first week, she had shown up early each morning, sat through hours of hair and makeup, and found herself spending the entire shooting day with nothing to do but wait around. She tried to tell herself that at least it was a step above the lower-budget productions she’d been on, where minor talent was expected to help out the crew; but the difference between being a star on Galaxy Wars 3 and having a minor role was no less glaring.

  Beyond the stress of grueling makeup and hair sessions every day, the early calls, and the strain of standing around in costume, waiting for the possibility of one of her scenes coming up in the schedule, Riley’s anxiety had grown daily thanks to near-constant calls from Alex. In such a small role, so early on in the production, she was in no position to gather any information that would be remotely useful for her ex-boyfriend. Still though, at least nine times a day her phone buzzed in her pocket, and during her breaks she saw not only missed calls but text messages. What have you got for me? You picking up any good gossip? What’s going on at the set? The most she’d been able to give him was gossip about one of the actors possibly flirting with a member of the crew—and even that she hadn’t been sure of anything. Wouldn’t it be great to have sold my career and integrity and then find out that I can’t even come through on my promise?

  Riley carefully scratched the end of her nose as she continued to peruse the catering selections, trying to keep one ear open in case she might overhear something that she could actually pass on to Alex; but the chatter around her had nothing at all to do with the production. Everyone was talking about what they wanted to do with the weekend, or just making small talk. If I don’t come up with something to tell him soon, Alex is going to… Riley didn’t want to imagine what Alex might do if she couldn’t find a piece of information that would let him do his job; he’d take the offer back, of course—but would he try and punish her as well?

  A tap on her shoulder jerked Riley out of her morose thoughts and she started, almost colliding with the table in front of her. Taking a quick breath to collect herself, she turned around to see who was trying to get her attention, hoping against hope that it wasn’t the floor manager who had berated her on the first day.

  Mercifully, instead of the irritable man with the clipboard, Riley’s gaze fell on the handsome, dark-skinned crewmember she’d seen at her audition. Up close he was even more gorgeous than her brief moment of eye contact with him had prepared her for: his irises had a golden ring around the hazel, and his clothes—unpretentious jeans and a tee shirt once again—fit his broad, toned frame perfectly.

  “I was hoping I’d run into you,” the man said, smiling warmly. He had a faint Middle-Eastern accent, and a deep, baritone voice that sent shivers down her spine.

  “Oh hey! I’m surprised you recognized me,” Riley said, gesturing to her costume and makeup. “Or maybe you’re mistaking me for someone else?”

  The man’s smile broadened. “Oh no—I couldn’t mistake you anywhere,” he told her. “You’ve got a really distinctive look.”

  “It’s the hair,” Riley suggested, gesturing to the complicated coiffure the makeup and costume techs had given her. “Everyone notices a redhead.”

  “There’s something in your face too,” the man said, peering a little closer and somehow managing to do it without leering at her.

  “My face isn’t even my face right now!” Riley grinned. “It’s more latex than skin at the moment.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” the man pointed out. “I mean—do you think anyone is going to be able to recognize half the lead actors?”

  “
Well, they’ll know what to look for,” Riley said with a shrug. “It’s easier to make out someone’s face if you know you’re going to see them.”

  “I’m sure the production company will be pleased to hear that,” the man told her.

  “I’m Riley, by the way, what’s your name?”

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m Mansour,” the man replied. He extended a hand and Riley shook it. “I work in production.”

  “I figured as much, seeing you at the casting,” Riley said, smiling shyly. “What brings you over to this side of the set?” She pointed to where the production team was seated, having lunch in a tight cluster.

  “Change of scenery,” Mansour told her with a shrug. “I like to check on how the actors are doing, make sure everyone has what they need to do their job.” Riley nodded, and guessed that Mansour was some kind of liaison—maybe not highly placed, but almost certainly making more money than she was. “Besides,” Mansour added, leaning in a little bit closer, “sometimes it gets really boring listening to people talk about budgets and expenditures all day long.”

  Riley laughed, momentarily forgetting her irritation at the slow, grueling process.

  “So is the food better over on that side of the world, or are you looking to make sure the extras like me aren’t pilfering silverware?”

  Mansour chuckled. “Everyone’s getting fed the same, I can assure you,” he said. “I guess maybe some of the higher ups go out for their meals, but everyone who eats here gets the same.”

  Riley was surprised at how comfortable she felt, talking to Mansour, even though they’d only just met. After asking about her hair and makeup experiences, and suggesting the seafood entrée instead of the pasta one, Mansour glanced around briefly and then leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any plans for this evening?”

  “I hadn’t made any beyond go home, take a shower, and watch TV,” Riley admitted. “This first week has kind of wiped me out.”

  “Ah,” Mansour looked almost disappointed.

  “I mean—I’m not like, against making plans or anything; I just haven’t made any,” she told him quickly.

  “Would you like some company for dinner? We might knock off early, since everyone seems to want to make the most of the weekend.”

  “Are you asking me out to dinner?” Riley said, looking Mansour up and down speculatively.

  “I am at that,” Mansour said, smiling. “What do you say?”

  “Sure!” Riley tingled from the top of her skull to the tips of her toes, her heart beating faster. “What time did you want to meet?”

  “I’ll pick you up,” Mansour suggested. “Can I get your address?” Riley hesitated for a moment and then told herself that if he balked at dating her because she lived in a cheap apartment building, he wasn’t worth trying to impress. She gave him her address and watched him type it into his phone. “Can I get your phone number too? Just in case I get stuck in traffic—I’d hate for you to think I’m standing you up.” Riley gave him that detail as well, and Mansour gave her hand another quick shake before glancing at the tables full of production crewmembers with a grimace. “I’d better go back,” he said, smiling ruefully.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Riley told him, smiling more warmly.

  “Absolutely.”

  Riley took Mansour’s advice and got the seafood entrée, along with some crusty bread and a big iced green tea to wash it down with. She snagged a tiny plate with a brownie on it and strode towards the tables taken by the minor cast; about half had already finished their meals, and everyone was relaxed, chatting amiably.

  She took one of the only open seats, next to another bit player named Jessica. Riley had gotten to know the woman a little bit over sessions in the hair and makeup trailer over the course of the week, though she wouldn’t exactly have called Jessica a friend just yet. The blonde had a slightly larger role—though she had spent almost as much time hanging around waiting as Riley had—and she was full of gossip and information about their fellow cast members.

  As Riley sat down, Jessica stared at her in abject shock, shaking her head.

  “What? Is the seafood bad or something?”

  “Girl—don’t you know who you were just talking to?”

  Riley shrugged. “His name’s Mansour,” she replied. “He said he works in production.”

  “I’ll say he does,” Jessica said sharply. She shook her head again and laughed out loud.

  “What? I figured he was some kind of talent liaison or something.”

  “Didn’t you do your research at all?” Jessica’s eyes widened as she looked at Riley. “That was Sheikh Mansour bin Shariq.”

  Riley met her gaze and took another bite of her plate of seafood. “Okay…” she said as Jessica’s silence stretched out.

  “He’s the executive producer!” Jessica pitched her voice low, but she was no less obviously stunned. “And you were over there flirting with him like he was a gaffer or something.”

  “He asked me to dinner,” Riley said, nearly dropping her fork as the significance of that information filtered through her mind.

  Jessica shook her head again, giving Riley an envious look. “You have all the luck,” she said, sighing. “Going out to dinner with the executive producer, my God.”

  Riley glanced over in the direction that Mansour had gone off in, the importance of what had just happened registering in her mind. Jessica went on in a low voice about how incredibly lucky Riley was, and how she’d better make the most of the evening out—try and get a better part, or more pay, something to try and get ahead in the production.

  All Riley could do was stare in shock as it dawned on her that she had made plans to go to dinner with the most powerful man on the set—more powerful even than the director. Oh God. Oh God, I’m going out with the executive producer of the movie I’m being paid to sabotage.

  Riley looked down at her plate as her stomach twisted inside of her and realized she had suddenly lost her appetite.

  NINE

  By the time she got into her car to drive home, Riley was giving considerable thought to canceling her date with Mansour. A date with the executive producer. This could either make my career or destroy it.

  She turned the music up on her stereo as she pulled out of her parking spot, shaking her head at what she’d learned about her date for the evening. “Oh God—what if he’s one of those sleazy guys who hits on all the actresses?” Riley shuddered. She’d met her fair share of producers who traded “a little time in the office” for a part—and although her career had struggled, Riley had managed to avoid it so far. But a date is different, she thought firmly. A date implied that Mansour was interested in more than just a quickie, didn’t it?

  For once, Riley was grateful that none of her scenes came up during the day’s shooting; after hearing from Jessica about who Mansour was, any ability to deliver her few lines in character had completely abandoned her. She wasn’t even certain she could have remembered the lines, and as the day wore on she became more and more anxious about Mansour and about their date that evening. When she’d been released to the makeup trailers to undo all of the makeup and costuming she’d taken on that morning, Riley had felt relief for all of a few minutes before her mind returned once more to the stressful knowledge of whom she had made plans with.

  Throughout the drive home, Riley’s mind refused to settle on an answer; at one moment she thought she should take the earliest opportunity to message Mansour—who had sent her a text earlier in the day to confirm that he would pick her up at 8—and tell him that she was just too exhausted to go out. The next moment, she would remember the startling, strange instant of connection she’d felt with him, both at the audition and when they’d spoken at the craft services table.

  “He can’t be a bad guy,” Riley reflected out loud, sighing as traffic on the freeway slowed to a near stop in front of her. “I mean, if he was anything like Alex, he’d be swaggering around wearing suits, flashing his jewelry every chan
ce he got. And both times I’ve seen him he was in jeans and a tee shirt. He must be pretty humble, considering how powerful he is.”

  Riley finally managed to get off of the highway and make her way towards her apartment building, her heart beating faster in her chest as she checked the time and saw that she would have a little over an hour and a half to get ready for her date. Normally that would be more than enough, but Riley thought that she could take an entire day at the spa, being styled and beautified, and still feel intimidated by this particular date.

  “He asked me out when I was in a bunch of special effects makeup,” she reminded herself, parking her car and shutting off the engine. “He’s not expecting a Kardashian.”

  Riley hurried to her bedroom as soon as she got through the front door of her apartment and plunged into preparing herself for the date. She took a quick shower, stepping out as soon as she had her hair clean and her skin scrubbed, even though the aches in her neck and back made her want to stay under the flowing hot water for just a little while longer. As she showered, Riley remembered Alex—and her deal with him.