Then Jeff’s voice cut between them again with, “It’s a wrap. Great job.”
And everyone started clapping.
Chatter broke out around the cave, voices echoing. One of the crew offered Giselle’s robe. Troy sat back on his heels, took the robe, and passed it to her. She was still shivering with pent-up need, while Troy was rolling to his feet.
“Great shoot.” His tone was as cold as his gaze was hot. All the concern and sweetness and charm he’d shown at the beginning of the scene were gone. Now he was just flat and distant. “Hope this role gives you that leg up you want so badly.”
He climbed from the ledge, grabbed a water bottle from a crewmember standing nearby, his shirt from another, and exited the cave.
Giselle held the robe to her naked body, dazed, her heart throbbing against her ribs, staring at the passageway he’d just disappeared through, and realized not only didn’t she know him anymore, she didn’t even recognize any part of the man he used to be in the man he’d become.
Giselle had been on the road for so long, different places and different faces had become her normal. She’d learned to make small talk with everyone from the hostess at the local breakfast spot to the CEO of a prospective record label. She’d learned to work a party the way she worked an audience. And while she didn’t always want to be at every event she needed to attend, she rarely felt out of place anywhere.
But this was one of those rare places.
She stood at the window of yet another concierge room, this one at the Venetian, surrounded by the cast and crew of Full Throttle, where everyone had gathered for some food and a viewing of something called the dailies.
She’d done her due diligence as far as socializing was concerned, making the requisite pass around the room, chatting with the various producers, production assistants, directors, assistant directors, other crew members, major cast members…. Movies employed one hell of a lot of people. While everyone had been polite and gracious, it hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes to realize that these people were more of a working family than coworkers, just as she and Brook had noticed at the mixer. And for the first time in a long time, Giselle was an outsider.
Beyond the window, the Mirage lit up the Vegas skyline, her face splashed across the hotel’s top ten floors. That couldn’t have been easy for Troy to look at every night. Not that it gave him the right to hurt her in retaliation…
“It had nothing to do with revenge. I’ve never wanted revenge.”
She lowered her gaze to her club soda and lime. She was exhausted after a day of filming and performing, and all the emotional drama surrounding Troy sucked her dry. She hadn’t even stopped back at her room to change after her concert, still wearing a black halter dress far too sexy and too revealing for this setting. After days and days and days of relentless stress, she felt snappish. And as if her body was trying to tell her she’d reached her limit, tonight after her concert, she’d come down with a sore throat.
So she was using it as an excuse to take some downtime from socializing, because she really wasn’t in the mood to put on a happy face and pretend everything in her world was perfect.
Troy¸ on the other hand, had no problem doing just that.
Across the room, raucous laughter filled the space, turning every head. Troy was sitting on the arm of a chair, long, jean-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. With his long-sleeved black Henley pushed up on his forearms, a drink in one hand, and a joyous smile splitting his face over something his fellow Renegades were talking about, Troy had never looked happier.
The star of the movie, Channing Tatum, who was also one of Giselle’s favorite male actors and just as charming and sexy in person as he was on screen, wandered over to the group and said something that made them all break out in laughter again. Channing fistbumped Troy.
Giselle had learned over the course of the day that Troy was stunt-doubling Channing in the movie, which demonstrated just how far Troy had come. He was as big a performer as Giselle, just without all the fanfare. He moved through the various groups at the party with ease, with the ability to talk to everyone on all levels with comfort. He was secure with who he’d become, and it showed in every relationship. Which was a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree shift from seven years ago and the immature, insecure guy forever out of place at industry parties with no one to talk to and nothing in common with the guests.
His frustrated, jealous behavior had only made the existing animosity between him and other members of her team worse. In the end, the festering animosity had led to the end of their relationship.
A
nd now, here he was, seven years later, the life of the party, fitting in with everyone.
She shook her head at the irony of it all and glanced around the room. Brook and Keaton were over in the corner talking and laughing where they’d been most of the hour. Chad was busy schmoozing with the movie moneymen since they’d walked in. And standing there alone, while everyone else had a connection to someone in the room, Giselle got a glimpse of that awkward feeling Troy must have felt all those years ago at the parties surrounding her gigs. If she multiplied that by at least a hundred, she might have a good idea of what he’d suffered on a regular basis. Because the big difference between those parties and this one was that everyone here treated Giselle with respect. Troy hadn’t been afforded the same courtesy.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Troy push to his feet and saunter to the bar. He leaned on the counter, waiting for the bartender to make him another drink, and Giselle saw her opening to break this burning ice between them.
She took a deep breath and moved through the room to his side. “Hey.”
His dark eyes slid toward her, then away.
Anger prickled up her spine like hackles. She bit the inside of her lip to remind herself to be patient. When the surge had mellowed, she said, “I wanted to tell you—”
“Hey, handsome.” Casey, the makeup girl, slid into place on Troy’s other side, her hand roaming intimately up his bicep. To the bartender, she said, “White wine, please.” Then to Troy. “Can’t wait to see those clips of you in the cavern today.”
Troy turned toward her, leaning one elbow on the bar and giving Giselle his back. Hurt and fury blended into a fiery cocktail all its own.
He laughed, the sound cocky and flirty. “You just want to see your cover-up job on my tat.”
“I’ll take any excuse I can get to look at that hot body of yours.”