“I just want to go up to my room.”
“All right.” He put his hand under her arm. “Get her a glass of water, will ya?” That was said to Tanner, who went to the kitchen.
And then I was alone. The bad guy, once again. If I told Ford off for being a prick, that was fine. If I cuffed my brother on the arm when he was a jerk, that was fine. But if I yelled at an inconsiderate, entitled young woman for being inconsiderate and entitled, that was apparently a federal crime these days. It didn’t matter that I was right and she was wrong. All that mattered was that no one ever be allowed to upset a pretty young thing.
Or at least my two best friends seemed to think so.
Ford and Tanner appeared in the basement just as I was finishing up on the treadmill. They might have time to go for a run during the day, but I sure as hell didn’t. I’d chosen a punishing pace and worked up quite a sweat. I mopped my brow with a towel—not a dishtowel that would offend the princess upstairs, but a regular one.
Then I loaded weights on either end of a barbell to bench press now that someone was here to spot me.
“So, are you ready to talk yet?” Tanner asked.
“Talk about what?” I growled, dropping the loaded barbell onto the rack at the back of the bench. It practically made the whole house shudder.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Ford said as he came over to stand behind me. I lay down on the bench and lifted the heavy bar into the air above my chest. I lowered it smoothly, held it in place for a moment, and then pushed it back up. After the third rep, I spoke up. “Remember that guy, that asshole I worked with a couple of years ago?”
“Could you be more specific?” Ford asked.
“He was an older guy from my second movie. Nelson or Wilson or something.”
“Oh yeah. The one who didn’t pull his punch and gave you a shiner,” Tanner said.
“Right. He had a mean right hook for an old dude. My face hurt like hell, but I went to makeup, got it covered up, and was filming again twenty minutes later. Because it’s my job. Because I’m a professional. Like she should be.”
“We know you’re a pro, Aiden. No question,” Ford said.
“He questioned it. That guy, Wilson or Nelson.”
“I think his name was Elliot,” Tanner said.
“Whatever. He thought I was just the flavor of the month, that I’d be washed up by the time I was thirty. I proved him wrong. I proved everyone wrong. If this gig were just about the muscles and a good body, then Tanner would be a star.”
“Ouch,” Ford commented, but Tanner waved him off. He knew what I meant.
“The point is, I’m a professional. I take my work seriously. So should she.”
“She doesn’t even have much work,” Ford pointed out.
Tanner looked at me shrewdly. “Which ‘she’ are you talking about?”
Shit. “Ronnie, of course.”
Ford’s face was upside down to me, but I could still see the contemplative expression on it. “You haven’t spent more than an hour or two with her.”
“But let’s take stock here. She’s twenty-five. Pretty. Spirited. Does that remind you of anyone else?” Tanner asked.
“No,” I said at the same time Ford said, “Yes.”
Fuck.
I could see the moment it clicked in Ford’s upside-down eyes. “Sierra.”
“No,” I growled. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“Let’s see,” Ford said, warming to the theme. “Ronnie’s done nothing more than exist—”
“And disappear tonight,” I grumbled as I hefted the barbell into the air again. “Did either of you contact Mac?”
Tanner nodded.
“Don’t change the subject,” Ford scolded. “Ronnie’s done nothing to you, while your last exchange with Sierra got you reprimanded by the director.”
“Because she kept fucking up!” I dropped the barbell onto the rack so abruptly that Ford jumped back. Sitting up, I turned on him. “She didn’t know her lines, she missed her cues, and she froze up every damn time I came anywhere near her. She wasn’t being a professional.”
Ford cocked an eyebrow at me. “Which is what you just accused Ronnie of, even though she seems to be between professions at the moment.”
Tanner spoke in a voice meant to calm me down. Sometimes it worked—and sometimes it didn’t. “You’re punishing Ronnie for something Sierra did.”
“Something you think Sierra did,” Ford added.
That was easy for him to say—he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t had to endure take after take with an actress who was too timid to do any acting. “So what? Ronnie’s punishing us for something Mac did when she was a kid.”
“It’s not the same,” Tanner said.
“She’s not punishing us, she’s just hurt,” Ford added.
“Then why the fuck did she come here if she hates us and Mac so much?” And where the fuck was Mac, anyway? He was Ronnie’s blood relation, not us. Why were we left to deal with this mess?