"Everything okay?" Scarlett asked when I returned to the set, still shirtless.
"Yeah," I feigned nonchalance. "Caruso had some pointers for the scene."
"Great," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Didn't realize the scene had changed to you kissing yourself. Of course, the actress won't need any pointers."
I chuckled at her antics before explaining, "It wasn't like that. He says the scene doesn't look good from a viewer's perspective, and apparently, it's because of me. You're some kind of genius when it comes to kissing, or so he said."
Scarlett and I exchanged grins.
"What's the problem exactly?" she asked. "Is it me? Am I just that hideous that you don't wanna kiss me?"
The real problem was that Scarlett and I weren't that close. Chemistry isn't something that happens by sheer will; you have to get to know your co-actor. All the other actresses I had filmed romantic scenes with were people I had known for years—Emma Watson, Emma Stone, even Imogen Poots.
But I couldn't tell Scarlett that.
"If you're ugly," I said, "then there aren't any beautiful women left in the world."
"Aww," she cooed as if talking to a kid and put both her hands on my shoulders. "That's so sweet."
I rolled my eyes at her, but didn't bother replying. We stayed in that position for a few moments. Her hands lingered on my bare shoulders longer than I was expecting. Soon they started trailing down my arms, her fingertips brushing my skin before settling on my back. "I've heard physical contact helps with chemistry."
"Are you coming on to me?" I asked with a grin, unconsciously inching closer. "Because it's working."
Scarlett raised an eyebrow but didn't pull back. "Isn't that supposed to be the guy's job? In all my years, it's always the guys who try to pick me up."
"Which century are you living in?" I teased.
"I'm old school," she said innocently. "Come on. Try your best line on me."
"I don't think pick-up lines work on someone you already know," I said.
"I don't care," she shot back.
I quickly brainstormed something unique. I had never needed to use a pick-up line. Most girls I could go out with already knew who I was. Pick-up lines were for guys who needed a conversation starter. All I had to do was say "hi," and that was usually enough for girls to go limp.
But if this helped with the chemistry, I didn't mind. A line I'd heard once came to mind.
"I can't sleep anymore," I began. "Thanks to you, my reality is finally better than my dreams."
Scarlett didn't look impressed. "That was terrible."
I shrugged. "There are more where that came from. How about this? I'm writing an article about the wonders of the world, and I'd like to interview you."
Scarlett laughed this time. "That was even cheesier."
"Do you have a map?" I continued. "Because I just looked at you and forgot where I was."
Hearing her laugh made me feel much better about those terrible lines.
"You're such a polite gentleman," Scarlett said after regaining some composure. "Unfortunately for you, I've heard all of them already."
"I can be naughty if I want to," I said defensively.
"Give me your worst," she challenged eagerly. "Make it dirty."
At her visible excitement to take this conversation to the next level, I conceded.
"I'm jealous of your heart because it's pumping inside of you, and I'm not."
As soon as I said it, Scarlett and I locked eyes for a few moments in silence before we both burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of that line.
"Geez," she said, still catching her breath. "I was not expecting that. Though, you shouldn't forget—you have a girlfriend."
"Hey! You asked for it!" I retorted. "And Rihanna knows the intricacies of my job. I can go to great lengths to get into character. This is pretty tame. Whatever is happening between us is limited to the set, in front of everyone. It's happening between Ashley and Kale, not between you and me."
Scarlett's grin vanished instantly, replaced by an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," I reassured her. "Now, where were we? Do you wanna practice the scene before Caruso gets the shot ready?" I waggled my eyebrows playfully, hoping to diffuse the slight tension that had crept into the conversation.
She giggled and playfully smacked my bare chest. "You're bad."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said with a teasing tilt of my head. Then, remembering something important, I added, "Would you mind if we make out for real? Caruso suggested it, but I'll only do it if you're okay with it."
"Two days ago, I would've thought about it," she replied. "Now, I don't care."
"And what changed in the last two days?" I asked curiously.
"I broke up with Josh," she said matter-of-factly. "We're both so busy with our careers, constantly moving to new places. It's hard to sustain a relationship like that. The worst part is, he wasn't willing to put in the effort to make it work. It felt too one-sided."
That was news to me. All this time, I had assumed she was in the same boat as me.
"I'm so sorry," I said sincerely. "I had no idea."
"Not your fault," she said with a weak smile. "It happened yesterday. No one knows yet. We haven't even released a statement."
As a celebrity, your publicist always recommends releasing a statement after a breakup if your relationship was public. It prevents people from assuming you cheated if you start dating—or even just hooking up with—someone new. If you get caught with someone else and only announce afterward that you and your ex had already broken up, a lot of people won't believe you. And if your fans don't believe you, or worse, think the whole relationship was a publicity stunt, that's a PR nightmare.
"Are you okay?" I asked Scarlett. "We can shoot something else right now. You can even take the day off if you want. We can film one of my solo scenes instead."
"No," she said firmly. "I've never let my personal life interfere with my work, and I don't intend to start now."
I nodded. "Okay. Just know you can talk to me if you want. I won't judge."
Before she could reply, Caruso walked over. "The shot has been reset. You can begin whenever you're ready."
At his cue, we moved to our marks.
"Action!"
Scarlett closed the distance between us, pressing her lips to mine. The ferocity in her kiss was commendable. She had just gone through a breakup yesterday, yet today, she was acting like she was madly in love with me.
I couldn't half-ass my performance when she was giving it her all. Scarlett was undoubtedly one of the prettiest girls I had ever kissed. And she was such a genuine person that I couldn't help but feel for her.
So I kissed her back with everything I had. I forgot about the dozens of eyes watching us, the cameras, the set. All that mattered was the beautiful girl in my arms, her hands roaming my back. I gripped her hips, lifting her against me as her legs wrapped around my waist. Carrying her, I walked us over to the bed without breaking the kiss for even a second.
"I have a lot of issues," I murmured in character after setting her down, hovering just inches above her. Then I leaned in and brushed a soft kiss against her lips.
"For a guy who killed his teacher?" Scarlett tilted her head in a way that was almost cute.
"I didn't kill my teacher," I growled, desire lacing my voice, before descending on her again—this time, not stopping at a peck.
There was an unspoken agreement between us because, at that moment, Scarlett parted her lips, and the kiss turned from tame to something much more intense. No words, no cues—just the two of us lost in the moment, exploring each other's mouths with growing urgency.
I vaguely registered some commotion in the background, but I didn't pull away. Scarlett's legs were still locked around my waist, which meant the scene wasn't over yet. After what felt like an eternity, the need for air finally forced us apart. I rested my forehead against hers, both of us panting.
"That… was… something I didn't know I needed after yesterday," Scarlett said between breaths. "Thank you, Troy."
"Anytime," I replied instinctively—only to freeze as I realized the implications of that promise.
Not wanting to say anything else, I stood up and turned to the director. "So, did you get the shot?"
Caruso didn't answer. Instead, he looked away.
Confused, I glanced at the First Assistant Director, but he suddenly found the floor far more interesting. One by one, I looked around at the rest of the crew, only to find them all avoiding my gaze.
"Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" I asked no one in particular.
Silence.
I did a full 180, searching for any clue—and the moment my eyes landed on the person standing there, I knew why everyone looked so uncomfortable.
I knew I wasn't in the wrong, but I could already see the unnecessary drama coming my way from miles away.
(Break)
"Stop acting like a child, Rihanna," Jay-Z said sharply. "I thought we had an understanding. I'm doing everything I can for your career. I feel like a broken record, saying the same thing over and over— the more newsworthy you are, the more albums you'll sell. We're already halfway through finalizing your next record—'Umbrella,' 'Don't Stop the Music,' and 'Rehab' are some of the best tracks I could get for you. We just need a few more, and your third album will be ready."
"Jay," Rihanna warned.
"Hear me out," he cut in before she could say another word. "I know you don't want to break up with him, but think logically. The day you performed at Troy's concert, and that leaked video hit YouTube, your album sales shot up 20% in a week. You and Troy are the hottest couple in Hollywood right now."
"That only proves my point," Rihanna countered. "Troy and I being together is good for everyone."
"Maybe," Jay-Z admitted. "But imagine how much bigger the headlines would be if you two broke up. You'd be the talk of the world. Everyone would be watching your next move, and if we drop your album at the peak of that hype, it'll blow through the roof. It could debut at number one."
Rihanna didn't respond—because she didn't want to. She'd lost count of how many times Jay-Z had pitched this stupid idea to her. She hadn't even told Troy about it.
"Don't forget, many black audiences feel alienated by you since you're dating a white guy," Jay-Z added bluntly. "If you're officially single again, it could mean tapping into that audience as well."
He leaned back in his chair, his tone turning casual. "Of course, it's your decision. But remember—you don't own any of the songs on this album. I fought with the songwriters to get you these tracks. The only reason they're yours is because of my word."
The threat wasn't spoken outright, but it was there, clear as day—if she didn't go along with his plan, he could pull his support and take the songs with him.
Rihanna loved those three tracks more than anything. Especially 'Umbrella.'
She couldn't let someone else record them.
She just couldn't.
"Think about it," Jay-Z pressed. "Don't rush into anything, but remember—the clock is ticking. I need your answer soon."
Leaving his office, Rihanna slid into her car, gripping the steering wheel as uncertainty gnawed at her. She didn't know where to go or who to talk to. But in the end, there was only one person whose advice she needed.
Troy.
It was time she told him about the dilemma she was facing.
The problem was, it was Friday, and Troy had a concert the next day. He'd be tied up all day with rehearsals and choreography, which meant she had to talk to him today—before the weekend swallowed him whole.
With that thought, she pulled out of the lot and headed straight for Paramount Studios.
That was the easy part. The problem was, she had no idea where on the massive lot they were filming. Paramount was far too big to just wander around, hoping to stumble onto the right set.
So she called the one person who could help.
"Hey, Benji!"
"Rihanna?" Troy's assistant sounded surprised. "What's up?"
"Is Troy filming?"
"Yeah," Benji confirmed. "He'll be busy for at least another hour."
"Hmm." She nodded to herself. "I can wait. I'm in the Paramount parking lot—2B. Can you come get me? I need directions to the set."
Silence stretched on the other end. Then, finally, Benji said, "It's a closed set today. They're not letting anyone in unless they're absolutely required for the shoot."
Rihanna frowned. She hadn't been in the industry long enough to know all the technical terms.
"Why? Is it to prevent leaks or something?"
"Not exactly," Benji said evasively. "Look, why don't I come meet you? We can grab a coffee while we wait."
She could tell he was dodging the question, but she let it go for now. "Sure."
The next half hour passed in a blur. Benji was sweet—too sweet. No matter how casually she steered the conversation, he never let slip why the set was closed.
But Rihanna wasn't stupid.
If Benji wasn't talking, Troy would.
Even before the hour was up, she was back on her feet, heading in the direction Benji had originally come from.
"Rihanna, we're still early," Benji called after her. "They're not done yet."
She didn't stop. Something was going on and she was going to find out what.
"Then I'll wait there," Rihanna declared, striding forward with determination. "Listen, Benji, I know you're hiding something from me. So either hurry up and show me the way, or you won't like the consequences."
Benji was clearly torn, but in the end, he relented. With a heavy sigh, he led her toward the set.
Outside the entrance, he stopped and turned to her one last time. "Ri, I really think you should wait here."
Rihanna narrowed her eyes. While she didn't have much experience working on film sets, she knew one thing: if the set was really closed, security wouldn't let them in.
"I'll take my chances," she announced before pushing the door open without hesitation.
Inside, everything looked exactly as she'd been told—just another day on set.
"See?" Benji said, sounding relieved. "I wasn't hiding anything."
"Sure, you weren't," Rihanna muttered, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. She spotted a quiet corner and gestured for Benji to follow. "Come on. Let's wait over there and not disturb Troy and the others."
Her voice was casual, but her eyes stayed locked on Troy. He was laughing at something Scarlett Johansson had said, his face open and relaxed.
And he wasn't wearing a shirt.
Rihanna reminded herself that was normal. Part of his job.
Then the director called, "Action."
She held her breath as Troy and Scarlett stepped into the scene. The moment she realized what they were filming, her stomach dropped.
She turned to Benji, who raised his hands in surrender. "I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen. The set wasn't actually closed. I just didn't want you to witness…that. Man! Troy's gonna kill me for bringing you here."
Rihanna barely heard him. She wanted to watch Troy, but she couldn't. She knew he was just doing his job. Still, seeing him with another girl—especially someone with those—felt awful.
So she looked away, willing herself to stay composed.
Then—
"Cut!" the director called.
Rihanna exhaled, relief washing over her—until she looked back.
Troy hadn't stopped.
The director had called cut, but he was still kissing Scarlett, as if he hadn't heard. And from the way Scarlett was melting into it, she wasn't in any rush to stop, either.
Laughter rippled through the set. A few crew members whistled, tossing out teasing remarks.
The director called "Cut" again, only to get the same result.
Rihanna's jaw clenched, anger burning hot in her chest. Logically, she shouldn't have reacted like she did, but in the heat of the moment, not all decisions are rational.
"Rihanna," Benji murmured, cautiously. "Don't—"
She didn't let him finish. Stepping forward, she made her presence known. The laughter died instantly. One by one, the crew turned to her, amusement fading.
Troy and Scarlett finally separated. He glanced around, confused, before asking if the scene was complete—but no one answered. They were all waiting.
Waiting for her to say something.
Then his gaze found hers. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
There was frustration in his eyes. A flicker of something like guilt. And, beneath it all, a quiet acceptance—like he'd known this moment was coming.
He shifted, about to step toward her, but Rihanna turned around and walked away.
Benji had been right. She never should have come here.
______________________________________________
AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver