Chapter 9
Billie
“Take off your clothes.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“Take off your clothes.”
I wake up with a gasp, my stomach churning, and jump out of bed. My feet hit the floor, and I take a couple of breaths before my heart rate finally calms down. The words from tonight circle like a cyclone, pushing and pulling, making my brain dizzy. God, I wish Carter was here.
If he were in bed next to me, I wouldn’t have these nightmares. I know he’d chase them away. But that also means he’d probably want to hurt the men who humiliated me, too, and I can’t have that. This is my life, and this audition could be the break I need.
Of course, it was uncomfortable and degrading, almost, but it’s Hollywood. Everyone knows this is how it works. I just need to suck it up and get through one more audition before I can get onto the reality show that could earn me a spot on an actual soap opera.
Then I could get money, go get my mom, and bring her back here with me, and she’d be so proud of me. That’s why I’m doing this. For her. She needs to know that everything she risked to get me out of that hell was worth it. I guess I have to be willing to put up with sleazy men looking at my body if it means I get what I want in the long run. I never thought about it before, and I don’t really want to, but I keep telling myself that it’s only a starting point.
I just know I won’t be able to fall back asleep, so I slide my feet into a pair of slippers and shuffle to the kitchen.
Grabbing everything I need, I start making a batch of cookies. It’ll calm me and keep me busy. But most importantly, it’ll keep my mind off how gross I feel.
As I’m kneading the dough, I envision the end result. I imagine myself on a TV screen and how all the women stuck in their houses in miserable relationships will take a few minutes of solace. Because that’s what my mom did.
Usually what would happen is my dad would pass out during the day, so on days that I didn’t have school or over summer break, she’d come to my room, and we’d get lost in an imaginary world.
And it was during one of those shows that my mom told me the reason she ended up how she did was because her father died of lung cancer when he was only forty-five and that left her mother to raise her on her own. She struggled to make ends meet and eventually turned to drugs. My mom was seventeen and alone when she met my dad.
She said he treated her nice at first. Got her a job at the factory where he worked… but then she got pregnant the same time he hurt his back. He went on disability and got addicted to the pain pills. It went from bad to worse after that.
I never understood why she didn’t just leave him. I’ve also been confused as to why she didn’t leave with me, but after remembering the way she told this story, it hits me.
She felt obligated. She felt scared. She felt guilty. After all these years and after the horrible words and the fists and the broken bones and bruises, she still felt too many things to justify leaving him. And maybe, just maybe, she stayed so I’d always have a place to go back to.
I roll the cookie dough into balls and set them on a sheet, then pop it into the oven. The questions keep rolling through my head, and I sit cross-legged in front of the oven and watch as the dough rises, then falls.
She had what I have with Carter. Maybe not to the full extent, but she had happiness with my dad at one point and for some reason can’t or won’t let go of it.
I don’t need a timer to tell me the first batch is done, so I take the hot tray out, and then slide the second onto the oven rack.
The sound of a lock sliding makes me jump. Spatula in hand, I step back and raise my arm as the hinges creak. Carter walks in and I’m thankful we traded keys, because I love seeing him walk into my place. When he sees the absolutely ridiculous state I’m in, he shuts the door with his foot, flicks the locks, then comes directly to me.
Carter
Something is wrong. Not only the fact that she’s not at my apartment gives it away, but also the fact that she’s up and making cookies at two in the morning. But it’s the sadness in her eyes that’s the real tell.
“What are you doing here?” she asks with her face buried against my chest.
“Missed you.”
Her hands tighten on my shirt. “I missed you, too.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head but doesn’t verbalize.
“Honey, what happened?”
She finally looks up and gives me her pretty blue eyes, lingering tears making them shinier than normal. Her bottom lip quivers. “I had to take my clothes off,” she cries. “I stood there in front of seven men in my bra and underwear and sandals while they stared at me to see if… if I had the right body type.”
“Say that again?”
“I had—”
“No, don’t,” I interrupt, my hands shaking with contained rage. But I can keep it together for her, as impossible as it seems. “Don’t fucking say that again.” Jesus Christ, I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone. I thought about sending one of the guys with her because I couldn’t be here, and fuck, I was right. Dammit.
“It’s probably normal, right?”
I’m able to unclench my jaw enough to say, “For you, it damn well isn’t. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“You are.” It’s a miracle this hasn’t happened already. Unfortunately being in the security industry, I see and hear a lot of shit that’s disturbing, and one of those things is this type of bullshit.
I lead her to the couch and sit down, needing a minute to calm myself down. She had to take her clothes off and stand in front of a group of men while they stared at her. My fucking woman… hell, no. Fuck no, this shit isn’t happening.
“I’m supposed to go back.”
“You’re not.”
She lifts her head, and I love that I can look into her eyes when she speaks. “I feel like it’s Hollywood, and a lot of women started out by doing things they feel are degrading.”
“Just because it’s Hollywood doesn’t mean you have to be practically naked to be seen in this industry. I don’t care if you’re a porn star, no man should ever make you feel uncomfortable like that. It’s your body, and if you didn’t want to stand there like that, letting them…” I shiver. “No. It’s not okay. Nowhere in the stuff they sent you did it say you’d have to strip down to audition, did it?”
“No. But he said—”
“He lied.” I cup her face in my hands. “That is not how it works. That is not how you have to get your start. And that is not something that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? You’re never going to an audition alone again, and you’re not going to go back for another round.” I drop my arms and run a hand through my hair.
“But I have the script I’m supposed to study in my purse. They already decided I had the right body type, so they’re not going to make me take my clothes off again. Carter, I’ve never gotten this close before.”
I tuck some strands of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to go. What they had you do is not okay, and I just have a shitty feeling about it. But I’m not interested in controlling you, so if it’s something that you feel you have to do, I’m going with you.”
“Really?”
“Of course, really.” How can she not know that I want her, and I want to keep her safe? I’ll do anything and everything in my power to make sure she’s protected. The whole scene screams scam to me, and as soon as I figure out more details, I’ll get to the bottom of it. But for now, I’ll placate her because she is not going back. “Take a couple of days and think about it. Let me know if you decide to go, and I’ll come with you.”
“But you might be working.” You won’t be going regardless… but, of course, I won’t tell her that out loud.
“When is it?”
“In three days at seven in the evening.”
I pull up my calendar on my phone. “Nope. I’m good then. On the night before, I have to attend a charity dinner for the senator.”
“Charity dinner… fancy.”
“Political and boring, but all part of the job.”
She leans forward and kisses my cheek, then runs her finger along the scar on my chin. “Thank you, but I really don’t want to wreck your plans.”
Stubborn girl. “I’ve got my plans in my arms right now, honey. Nothing can wreck that.”
She jumps off my lap and runs to the kitchen. “Shit.” She waves a potholder in front of the open oven door where smoke is billowing out. “They’re burnt.”
“Why are you making cookies?” I reach above her and flick the oven vent on.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“So you made cookies?”
She shrugs. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
If she hadn’t just gone through what she did, I’d have something to say about that. But instead, I force my dick to chill. “Come on, let’s go to bed. I’ll hold you so you can fall asleep.”
I link my fingers with hers as I lead her to bed and get us settled in. I flick the lights off as I walk to her bedroom and kick my shoes off and take my jeans and t-shirt off too. When I settle in the bed, fear that what she went through will force her to distance herself from me takes root, but then she crawls next to me, and I sigh, holding her tight until her breathing evens out.
Knowing she trusts me this much, that she feels safe enough to let her fear go while she’s in my arms, makes me the luckiest asshole in the world. I eventually nod off too, but visions of what she went through and what I’m gonna do when I find these motherfuckers wake me up short minutes later. But as long as she’s resting, all is well. And as long as I have her right where she is, that’s all I’ll ever need.