6
Somehow I got through the rest of the day’s filming. There were several scenes shot on the beach, including a particularly heated kissing scene between Ben and me. Thankfully, Manning was true to his word and Marc was nowhere in sight. I was probably imagining it, but I felt like I was being watched—which was an extremely silly way to feel given all the crew were doing exactly that. I couldn’t have cared less about them. It was Marc’s attention that unsettled me. Although I couldn’t see him, I wondered if he was skulking in the shadows somewhere, keeping an eye on me.
By the time we were done, the sun was low in the sky and I felt like I’d had enough UV exposure and salt air for one day. I joined the crew and climbed up the steep stairs to the parking lot, listening to their conversations without participating.
When we reached the top I saw Marc waiting for me with his back to the dark nondescript sedan he drove. He pushed away from the door and walked toward me. He stopped when he saw me hesitate and shoved his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned back in the direction I’d come from.
Manning’s blue eyes appeared concerned. “Are you OK?”
Resisting the urge to glance behind me, I nodded.
Manning dropped his hand. “I know this . . . arrangement is unusual, but we’re worried about you, Lena.”
I grimaced. “I know.” I wasn’t angry or upset with Manning. It was the production company that had made the decision, not him. “I guess it would be nice not to have to act all the time, that’s all.”
He sighed. “Yes, I know, but I’m told he’s the best.”
I was getting sick of hearing that. “I’ve heard,” I drawled, then immediately regretted it. Manning didn’t deserve my sass.
He didn’t seem to notice. “The man’s reputation precedes him. I’d only ever heard the name until now. He’s helped a lot of others in the industry but you’d never know it. He keeps an extremely low profile.”
“That will be hard to maintain if he’s in the limelight with me,” I said softly as a few more of the crew walked past us. “Not to mention he’s not an actor.”
“Actors aren’t the only ones able to play a part.”
I looked Marc’s way. He hadn’t moved. I couldn’t see his eyes because he wore dark sunglasses. The sun reflecting off the Pacific Ocean appeared to make him glow and his tall frame cast long shadows across the ground. If Marc was playing the role of a good guy, it certainly didn’t seem that way.
I swallowed a feeling of unease and returned my gaze to Manning. “Maybe. I’d better go. We’ve got another big day tomorrow.”
“We certainly do,” he agreed. “Try not to think about things too much, if you can.”
I nodded again and watched Manning walk off. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my protective detail or the stalking.
I walked toward the man waiting silently for me. He was like a chiseled statue amid the buzz of activity surrounding us. The crew was still busy packing up, while cars full of the cast and extras were already leaving. In the distance, I could make out a small crowd of people standing near the parking lot entrance. Most likely locals and passersby trying to get a glimpse of one of us. They were unable to come any closer due to the line of security blocking their way.
When I arrived in front of Marc he simply nodded and gestured for me to walk to the car.
Instead of getting into the driver’s seat, he went around and opened the door for me. I wasn’t sure why the action bothered me so much, but it was enough to make me pause.
He tilted his head and waited.
For some reason, his silent patience only added to my annoyance.
Don’t let him get to you, Lena. The gravel crunched underneath my feet as I forced myself to move again.
“Lena! How does it feel to be working on a production that isn’t Duncan’s? Are you enjoying the freedom?”
I swung around to see a balding man striding toward us with a determined look on his face.
Before I could open my mouth, Marc positioned himself between me and the stranger. His back was so close I was sure he could feel my erratic breathing tickling his neck.
“Stop.” His words were quiet but there was no mistaking the menacing tone.
The balding man, who I now recognized as a reporter I’d seen on another occasion, shot Marc a withering look and went to push past him.
I sucked in a sharp breath as Marc, in a flash of movement so fast I almost missed it, twisted the guy’s arm behind his back.
The man cried out in pain and struggled against Marc’s hold, but Marc only tightened his grip.
“Ow. Let me go! This is assault, you asshole! I’ll have you fined. I’ll have you—”
I cried out in surprise as the man hit ground with a loud thud.
Marc knelt over him. “I’ll tell you what this is,” he said in a voice so low I could barely hear it. “This is a secure area, you bastard, and if you ever attempt to pull a stunt like this again, you’ll have me up on more than assault charges. Do you understand?”
The man was obviously winded and he nodded, his eyes wide with shock.
“Good.” Marc stood up and didn’t spare the reporter a second glance. He came to my side. The hands that had only a moment ago effortlessly tossed a man onto the ground like a rag doll rested gently on my hips and guided me to the car.
When I went to open my mouth, he shook his head.
“Get in the car, Lena.”
I allowed him to escort me the rest of the way, then slid into the passenger seat. Marc closed the door firmly. A crowd had formed nearby and I caught Chloe’s concerned look as she watched the production company’s security men lead the reporter away.
I kept my eyes firmly on my lap and didn’t say anything when Marc got in the driver’s seat. I didn’t feel like acknowledging the group of onlookers waiting near the entrance to the parking lot. I had no idea if any of their smartphones had captured the altercation on camera, but I didn’t want to think about it.
When we were cruising on the highway, I cleared my throat quietly. “He was just a reporter.”
A muscle in Marc’s jaw twitched. “And you’re just an actress? Give me a break, Lena.”
I frowned at his brittle tone. “Well, yes, I am an actress. I’m just doing my job and so is he.”
“What? So you think what he did back there was perfectly acceptable?”
I didn’t answer immediately and turned to look out the window at the ocean, golden in the setting sun. “He was just doing his job,” I repeated eventually.
“And I was doing mine.”
I bit my lip and kept my gaze locked on the horizon. He did have a point, not that I wanted to admit it. “And violence is part of your job?”
“Sometimes. When it’s necessary.”
“I’m not sure it was necessary back there.”
“Is it necessary for you to wear bikinis or do sex scenes?”
I blinked and turned back to him but his eyes were on the road. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. It’s part of the job so you do it whether you like it or not.”
“I might like it.” I bit back a smile as his palms tightened on the steering wheel. What was it about this man that made me want to rile him? It was so unlike me.
“And I might have liked to punch that guy’s lights out.”
Touché.
I hid another smile as I turned toward the window again, but it faded as his earlier words haunted me. “And I’m not just an actress.” As much as I loved my career, I was more than who I played on-screen—something my ex had never seemed to appreciate.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, to my surprise. “You’re an award-winning actress with one of the largest social media followings of any actress worldwide. You’re a household name. Young women either long to be you or despise you because they’ll never be like you. Men fantasize about you. And you don’t need me to tell you that most of those fantasies aren’t pure. You’re not just an actress, Lena. You’re an icon. Which is why I assumed that guy was more than just a reporter, and I’ll continue to do so while you’re under my protection.”
I fell quiet, glad for the distraction of the view, but it didn’t stop my whirling thoughts. Award-winning actress. Icon. Household name. I closed my eyes, bitterness tugging at my heart. I loved my job more than anything. What it did to the people around me, less so.
“I’m more than an actress,” I said with that soft note of steely persistence I’d become respected for. I’m a person, I wanted to say. A human being.
Instead, I held my tongue, feeling weary of everything: the long day of filming, the unexpected reporter, and my public persona that seemed to follow me around even in private.
“Yes, you are,” he agreed. “A lot more.”
Judging from his lecture, I doubted we meant the same thing, but I didn’t bother to argue my point. We rode in silence for the rest of the trip.