Haven
I had the god of all hangovers. I could tell without even opening my eyes. I turned over and came face to face with a snoring Ash. I pushed my palm against her face. “Get away from me if you’re going to sleep.”
Ash opened her eyes and grinned at me.
“You fucker. Were you trying to wake me up by fake-snoring?” I asked
“You fall for it every time, Rapunzel,” she replied.
“You are evil. I can’t believe how much we drank last night.” I lay on my back, ready to dissect the night before, like we’d done a million times. And then it came back to me. “Oh. My. God.” I sat bolt upright and my brain knocked against my skull. I grasped my head in an effort to soothe the pain. “Shit, we bumped into Harry last night!” My stomach churned and I wasn’t sure if it was my half memory of seeing Harry or the twenty-nine bottles of wine that I had consumed last night.
“Yes we did.” Ash giggled. “You referred to him as licky as I remember.”
I slumped back down into the mattress. “Kill me now. I’m going to have to resign,” I said. How embarrassing.
“Well, as long as you’re not overreacting. That’s the main thing.”
I didn’t think I was overreacting at all. Harry might have seen bitchy Haven, but that was professional compared to drunk, out of control Haven. “We were wearing our pajamas from what I remember. Of course I’ll have to resign.” Just as our working relationship had improved, now he was going to think I was such an idiot. I wanted him to see that I was good at my job, not some silly, drunk girl who wandered around London giggling in her pajamas. I covered my eyes with the palms of my hands.
“It was the only way you’d come with me to replenish the wine supplies,” Ash said.
“What, if we went in our pajamas?”
She nodded.
“Oh god. What must he think of me?”
“Why do you care? I’m sure his girlfriend fucked his brains out last night, so he won’t remember anything this morning. Don’t worry about it.”
My stomach flipped at the thought of him with Millie or whatever her name was. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to think about her. I thought women like her only existed in magazines. “I can’t believe you’re a medical professional, coming up with theories like that. I’m not sure that’s how human biology works. She was a total glamazon, wasn’t she?”
Ash laughed. “Yes, but probably crap in bed. Those model types always are. It’s girls like you and me that have it going on in the bedroom.”
“Is this the moment in time to point out the fact that you and I shared a bed last night, and that I’m wearing pajamas with flying pigs all over them?”
“Nope,” Ash replied.
“Yeah, didn’t think so.”
Luke came into the room carrying a tray of tea.
“You are my hero,” Ash said, beaming. “Promise me you won’t stop making me tea when we’re married. You’ve got to work to keep the magic alive.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “In this fictitious scenario where we’re married and I’m bringing you tea to cure your hangover, will you still share my sister’s bed?”
“Absolutely. I’ll still make you earn my physical affection. And I will demand that she sleeps over every Saturday night. Licky can come too, if he wants.”
“Ash, that’s gross. I don’t want to hear any more about you and my brother.”
I leaned over to the nightstand to retrieve my phone as Luke plonked himself at the end of the bed.
“Oh, my god,” I said, reading a text from Harry.
Harry: I was right about you with your hair down. It looks good.
My belly twisted and I started to chew the inside of my mouth. I wasn’t sure what to make of his comment. I was embarrassed to find that I hoped he was being genuine. I wanted him to think my hair looked nice down, but it hadn’t—I’d had drunk girl in pajamas hair.
“What?” Ash asked.
“Nothing. My bank balance. Horrifying.” I didn’t want to tell her and have her say she thought he was being sarcastic. If I kept it to myself, it could be real.
There were two texts after the first.
Harry: Can you let me know you got home safely?
Harry: Haven, seriously, let me know you’re not in a ditch.
All three had been sent last night. Before or after he was having his brains fucked out, I wondered. I turned away from Luke and Ash, I didn’t want them to see my grin spilling out as I replied. I liked that he was worried for me and that he was kind enough not to mention my pajamas. I quickly typed out a response.
Haven: Not in a ditch.
“I have to get in the shower. I feel like I slept with a tramp last night,” I said, leaving Luke and Ash to their flirting.
I pulled my phone from my bag to text to Harry. He hadn’t replied to my not in a ditch comment yesterday, but I hadn’t expected him to. Now, I needed to be back in work mode.
Haven: I’ll rearrange our next set visit. Can you let me know when you will next grace us with your presence?
I tried to immerse myself in the Sandy research, to get my head in the game, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Harry’s texts to me over the weekend and our conversations the previous week. I was like a teenager, playing it over and over in my head. It was embarrassing to admit, even to myself but I liked the attention. He was different. He didn’t take my bullshit, but he cared enough to call me on it. Millie, from what I remember of her, was exactly who I would put with someone like him. Tall, beautiful, head to toe designer everything. I would have to run into him dressed in pajamas. How mortifying. And as if I didn’t have enough to be embarrassed about, I’d actually called him “licky”.
I kept checking my phone, but no reply. He was clearly doing something far more important than worrying about his day job. Or texting me.
It was gone seven when he finally texted back.
Harry: Sorry, busy day. I’m around Thursday and Friday if that works. Glad you’re not in a ditch.
I grinned and set about making the arrangements for later in the week.
I arrived at the studios almost half an hour before Harry and I had agreed to meet in the parking lot. I hadn’t wanted to leave the engine running, so I was gradually getting colder and colder in the car. I’d resorted to covering myself with a blanket that Luke made me keep on the back seat for emergencies. I’d closed my eyes for only a second when tapping on the window jolted me awake.
“Did you sleep here?” Harry asked through the glass.
What? I threw the blanket off me and got out of the car. Why did he always catch me in the most embarrassing situations?
“You looked comfortable. How long were you there?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Am I late?” he asked.
“No. I’m just always early.”
“So you can nap when you arrive?” He started laughing at me.
“Shut up,” I snapped. “Where’s your car?”
He thumped the roof of the car next to mine. Now it was my turn to laugh. “Did you rent the Aston Martin? Trying to impress your date? Did it get you laid?”
“Fuck off. It’s at home. I have two.”
I opened my mouth to call him spoiled, but he put his hand across my mouth. “I know, I’m a spoiled little rich boy. Don’t be so predictable, Haven. Think of something new to say.”
“Jesus, someone’s touchy,” I replied when he took his hand away.
“I just don’t want to deal with your crap today.” He was scowling at me. I must have misread his texts over the weekend. I’d tricked myself into thinking that maybe he liked me, that maybe he was flirting with me. I’d got it all wrong. I was mortified at my mistake. Better to be angry than hurt, I lashed out.
“My crap? My crap? I’ve said barely a word. You’re the one who’s giving me crap.” I poked him in the chest and he grabbed my hand. I twisted my fingers to try and break away, but he held them firm.
“Stop, Haven,” he said. He wasn’t taking his eyes off me.
My heart was racing. “You’re the one that started it this morning—”
“Stop,” he said again, his gaze boring into me.
“Let go of me,” I said, my anger dissipating as his eyes roamed my face, but I didn’t struggle and he didn’t let go. There wasn’t much space between us and he took a step toward me, closing any gap. Instinctively I moved back, but my ass hit his car. I had nowhere to go.
I tilted my head up, and his mouth crashed against mine, pressing into me. I couldn’t quite process what was going on. He was kissing me and he felt good, warm. And he smelled like . . . sandalwood, heat and clean laundry. I relaxed back against his car and his hands cupped my face and he pressed his body against mine. I was trapped, deliciously so.
His tongue trailed across the seam of my lips. I gasped and he pushed through and against my tongue. He was surrounding me, overwhelming every sense I had. He was passionate and urgent as if he’d been saving all this up. I reached up and he moaned as I threaded my fingers through his dirty blond hair. He pulled back slightly and took my lower lip in his mouth and bit. It was my turn to moan. Christ, no man had ever bitten me before. And then his tongue was against mine again. I was melting under his touch, pliant and relaxed and burning hot.
Even through our coats, his hard-on pressed against me. Instinctively, I twisted my body under him. “Fuck,” he whispered into my mouth as he pushed his hips against me. I wanted him. I really wanted him.
From somewhere I heard shouting, and I tensed beneath him. He pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against mine, looking at me and breathing heavily. He held my head between his hands, and I could still feel the warmth of him on my lips.
I placed my hands on his hard chest and gently pushed him away. I scrubbed my hands up and down my face while he stood, bent over, his hands on his knees.
“Come on, we’re going to be late,” I said.
I collected my bag from the passenger seat, he grabbed his camera gear and we headed silently toward Stage Three.
Jake
I willed my hard-on under control. Thankfully it was winter and I had my coat on. When I’d seen her sleeping, she looked so peaceful. I realized that I kinda missed her and her smart mouth. And then when she started giving me shit about my car I remembered how infuriating she was, and somehow the only solution to it all had been to kiss her.
“We should go,” she’d whispered breathily. “Someone might see.”
My body had been pressed against hers and as I moved, the loss of her warmth against me was unexpectedly wrenching, as if unnatural. I wanted to stay there and kiss her, dive into her and explore her.
Walking to the studio, thehe smell of her lingered around me. She smelled sexy, if that was possible. She hadn’t resisted, in fact she had kissed me back as if that was what we did all the time—kiss passionately in parking lots. It had been unexpected: the kiss, her response, my response. I liked that she gave into me, submitted to me as I touched her. Like somehow I’d found the key to taming her, discovered what she needed.
Now there was just silence between us as we walked toward the studio.
The security guard gave our passes a cursory glance and pointed at nowhere in particular. We followed the signs toward Stage Three.
Sandy’s manager Phil, came scurrying toward us with his finger across his lips. He had nothing to worry about. We weren’t speaking. This room seemed smaller, but probably because the set was bigger. It was like some kind of formal ballroom, there were loads of actors dressed in evening wear. The atmosphere seemed tense. Phil still had his fingers on his lips as he backed away from the two seats he had ushered us to. We took off our coats and unpacked our bags. I kept stealing glances at Haven, but she was strictly focused on firing up her laptop.
I took a few shots, but there was nothing much for me to do. I wasn’t allowed to capture the images of the actors on set, so my busiest time was during breaks in filming.
I leaned into Haven. “You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded but didn’t look at me.
“You sure?” I asked. Was this no big deal for her? Had she not felt what I had during that kiss? I was used to a different reaction from women than the one I was getting from her.
She turned toward me and raised her eyebrows and nodded again. She seemed completely unfazed by our encounter. Maybe it was guilt that was generating her response. She hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend, but she might have one. Something deep in my belly exploded. I wasn’t sure I liked that idea.
Haven was tapping away on her laptop. I couldn’t understand what she had to write about. I heard Sandy before I saw her. She came bouncing over.
“Harry!” she said, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me into a hug. I turned to Haven, checking for her reaction. She shrugged. What was with her? I’d never seen her this relaxed before. Well, apart from dressed in pajamas in the street, drunk off her ass.
“Hi, Sandy,” Haven said.
Sandy, her arms still around my neck, turned to Haven and said, “Hey. Nice to see you. Let’s chat later.”
“So, what’s going on?” I asked. “Things seemed a little tense up there?”
“I think the director is going through the menopause,” she replied. “He’ll be fine now. Those last scenes went well, don’t you think?”
How was I supposed to know? I just nodded.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” Haven said, smiling at Sandy.
“Thanks! They literally had to pour me into it, it’s so tight,” she said as her eyes darted to mine and her hands skirted her silhouette. I forced a smile as Phil came up behind her and pulled her away.
“See you later,” she said, following Phil and leaving us behind.
I turned to Haven to find her smiling and waving at Sandy. She went back to her laptop.
A little later on, the mumbling from the crew increased and everyone seemed to relax a little. Sandy was still on stage with Bobby, the male lead. They were talking to the director and some other guy.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked Haven.
She turned to me and narrowed her eyes. “I’m trying to find an interesting angle to this piece. I’m worried about it. I haven’t spent much time with her and I’ve got nothing to say. I think Jenny’s wrong about Phil—there’s no way Sandy’s banging him.”
“Right.”
“I think I might ask if you and I can have lunch with her. It’s just, she’s so distracted around you,” she said.
“I think that’s how she is,” I said.
“Distracted?”
I nodded. “I mean, I don’t think it’s personal toward me.”
“I don’t know. I think she’s pretty available to you.”
Was she trying to gauge whether I was interested in her? “Again, I don’t think it’s personal,” I replied.
“Harry!” She opened her eyes and mouth wide in mock shock. “Are you saying our star is a slut?”
I laughed. “No, and don’t quote me on that.”
She smiled at me and went back to her laptop.
“So you weren’t thinking about earlier?” I asked.
“Earlier?” she asked as if she was genuinely unclear what I meant.
“In the parking lot earlier,” I said.
“Oh, you mean, am I worried about the chlamydia thing? Don’t worry, I’ll get tested and get antibiotics if I need to.” She grinned at me.
“Haven?” She was funny, but it was killing me. I wanted to know what she was feeling. Her reaction, or lack thereof, to our kiss had been completely unexpected and it bothered me. I wanted her to tell me that she wanted it to happen again.
“What?” She sounded exasperated.
“Should we talk about it?”
“What, that you can’t keep your hands off me? No, we should not talk about it.”
I tried to think of a witty comeback but I couldn’t. So I didn’t say anything.
Haven managed to secure lunch in Sandy’s trailer with her manager. Hopefully, it would give her the time with her that she needed.
“So, it’s so exciting to be on a movie set,” Haven said, smiling at Sandy. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, I’m having such a great time. I’ve always enjoyed shooting music videos, but this is different but super-fun. But obviously it takes way longer.” Sandy was in a good mood and I was pleased for Haven.
“Do you have a lot of creative input into your videos?” Haven asked.
“Sure, loads. The one for Shout If It’s Love, I completely styled myself and I worked with the director on different ideas before we started shooting,” she replied.
“Is it tough, not having the same control in a film?”
“No. I trust the director.”
“You grew up singing and dancing. You’re first public performance was at the age of three. Did you ever want to do anything other than what you’re doing now?”
Sandy narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she was trying to process the question. “I can’t remember there ever being a time when I didn’t want to be famous, to perform, to sing. I love it. There’s never a time when I don’t feel incredibly lucky to have had my dreams come true, but I knew it was going to happen for me, like it was my destiny or something.”
Haven smiled at Sandy and nodded.
Sandy turned to me. “And did you hear that we’ve got the date for Paris? You’re coming to that Harry, right? Spring in Paris is so romantic.”
“So, it’s the first Tuesday in April, for three days, two nights” Phil explained. “You don’t have to come for the whole shoot, or at all if you don’t want to. It’s to film the proposal scenes.”
“It will be so fun, Harry! Promise you’ll come,” Sandy said, whining.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” I looked at Haven and she shrugged. She clearly hadn’t known about it either. “We’ll have to check the schedules. I may be in the US. It depends on a few things.”
“Please try.” Sandy was pouting.
“We’d love to come, and we’ll make every effort,” Haven said. It seemed to placate Sandy, for the moment. “Paris is beautiful. You must have travelled all over the world. Do you have a favorite place?”
“Dubai, I think. The Atlantis Palm hotel is completely amazing. I loved it there, didn’t I, Phil?”
Phil nodded. Of all the places she’d been to, she picked a hotel. She reminded me of Millie.
I got the feeling that it wasn’t the answer that Haven had been wanting, but she was pretty good at covering it up. Better than I’d expected her to be in any event.
“Do friends and family join you when you’re touring?” she persisted.
“Of course. Phil here is like an uncle to me. And Patricia comes with me everywhere.” Sandy replied. “I’m very lucky to have them.”
“Patricia?”
“My assistant. You’ve met her, right?”
Haven shook her head.
“Phil, can you introduce Patricia to Haven?” She turned back to Haven. “She’s lovely. We’re so close, we’re like sisters. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“It’s good to have someone who has your back.”
Phil excused himself to take a call and was soon ushering Sandy out of the trailer and back to the set. Of course, we followed.
“Holy crap,” Haven said as we took our chairs in our designated spot. “I can’t exactly write about what a lonely, vacuous existence she has, can I? This is Rallegra, not the fucking Times, but that’s the bit I find fascinating. That’s what I want to write about.”
“Paris might help,” I replied.
“I doubt it, I’m not sure Sandy’s the problem. Robert might not even let us go,” she mused.