Chapter 2
The crew erupted in whistles and applause while Olivia melted into Ryan’s embrace,
playing shy.
“Oh guys, stop! There’s nothing between Ryan and me,” she gushed. Ryan just held her tighter, saying nothing.
I bit back a groan, pushing away the metal rigging that had slammed into my leg, yanking out a jagged piece that had buried itself in my calf. I hobbled away to patch myself up. By
the time I made it back to set, everyone had ghosted.
The mountain darkness stretched forever, punctuated by coyote calls.
I huddled against a massive oak, clutching a broken branch like a lifeline, my injured leg throbbing. No sleep, just pure adrenaline keeping watch through the endless night.
Dawn finally broke, and I started my shaky descent. Halfway down, my phone caught
signal.
Ryan’s voice exploded through the speaker: “What’s your deal, Emma? Dodging calls,
slacking off! Olivia got eaten alive by bugs during the night shoot. Get your ass to Walgreens
and grab her some cortisone!”
Everyone in Hollywood knew Olivia James as America’s sweetheart – the A–lister who famously did everything herself, no entourage required. But the public didn’t know Ryan secretly managed her life, with me as his ghost assistant.
When I didn’t respond, he snapped: “Emma, are you deaf? Thirty minutes. Get back to set.
Now!”
“I’m still on the mountain,” I said quietly.
The line went dead silent before his voice returned. “You spent the night up there? Alone?”
Scanning the trees, I could’ve sworn I saw amber eyes watching me, waiting. Something in
me cracked. Delayed terror hit me like a tsunami, tears burning my eyes.
11:25
Too late to Say Sorry
72.0%
Chapter
Ryan’s voice softened. “Don’t move. I’ll come get you. Give me an hour.” The sun climbed higher, hours crawled by. But Ryan never showed.
I dragged myself back to set on my mangled leg. When Ryan stalked into the trailer, I was finishing a call with a potential new assistant.
with
His eyes zeroed in on my phone, suspicious. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody you know,” I said flatly.
Ryan assumed spam call. He didn’t push, I didn’t explain.
“Figured you’d be starving,” he muttered, dropping a takeout container on the folding table.
The box reeked, leftovers visible through the cracked lid.
Ryan snatched it back, clearing his throat. “Maybe there are catering mix–up.”
Hah. With the kind of people who dined at the same table as a famous actor like Jacob, how could possibly take the wrong box?
I rolled over on the cot, facing away. “Whatever. My DoorDash is coming anyway.”
Ryan’s face darkened. “Since when do you order out? Emma, how many times do I have to say it? There’s nothing between me and Olivia. It’s all PR, creating buzz for the show. Why are you being so dramatic?”
I kept my voice ice–cold. “I’m not being dramatic.”
The truth only pissed him off more. He trashed the takeout box. “Then why isn’t Olivia’s medicine here? You know I can’t hit up CVS without getting mobbed. It’s not rocket science, Emma. Why are you making this so difficult?”
Picking up meds was simple enough. But what about the other demands? Olivia’s “germaphobia” meant all her/designer stuff needed hand–washing.
Last winter, shooting in Montana’s negative temps, Ryan had me washing her cashmere in ice water. When my frostbitten hands bled on her Hermès scarf, Ryan kicked me out of the heated trailer. Made me wash everything in the snow wearing just my thermal. All because Olivia casually mentioned, “Ryan, my aromatherapist says snow’s great for circulation.”
72.4%
Chapter
I’d always been Ryan’s perfect little puppet, dancing to his every command. Five years of being his shadow servant had burned me out.
1 yanked the blanket over my head. “I’m sick. I don’t want to go.”
The trailer fell silent before Ryan stormed out. That night, #RyanAndOlivia broke Twitter.
*
The viral clip showed Ryan carrying Olivia bridal–style into Cedars–Sinai, yelling for help.
The comments exploded:
[OMG is this THE Ryan Mitchell finally going public???]
[Bridal carry! Dead. My 200lb ass could never]
[Wait why emergency room tho??? Is she ok???]
[Set insider here – girl had like a slight temp and mans SPRINTED her off her massage table straight to the ER]
[MY SHIP IS SAILING Y’ALL]
Mid–scroll, Ryan called.
Before I could speak, he rushed in: “Emma, Olivia mentioned feeling feverish, I only took her to get checked because we can’t delay production. The Twitter storm means nothing. There’s nothing between us.‘
“Got it,” I said simply.
11
My casual response left him hanging. “What did you say?”
“It’s just promo for the show. I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the press.”
