“What if I went anyway?”
“I’d call Ron,” she said without hesitation.
He barked out a laugh sharp as a scalpel. “You’d tattle on me?”
Nope. She wasn’t taking that bait. “I’d do my job.”
“What if I went to a club?”
“I’d go with you.”
“What if I met a woman and we”—he raised his brows suggestively—“got acquainted in a dark corner?”
“As long as you didn’t violate local indecency laws, I’d leave you alone, but keep you in sight.”
By that point, he was looking less belligerent and more entertained. “If I did violate public indecency laws, what would you do then? Tackle me around my knees and slap a chastity belt on me?”
“I’d interrupt, and if you continued regardless, I’d call Ron.”
At the mention of her cousin, Alex’s incipient smile died.
“What if I decided to get rip-roaring drunk in my hotel room?” His chin jutted in her direction, its firmness evident even through his full beard. “What then, Nanny Clegg?”
“As long as you didn’t cause a disturbance and weren’t in medical danger, it wouldn’t be my business. I’d leave you to it.”
He paused. “What if I were in medical danger? You’d call Ron?”
“First, I’d call an ambulance or drive you to the hospital myself. Then, yes, I’d call Ron, because you’d be unlikely to show up for work the next day, and word of your stay in the ER might spread in the media. I’d also contact anyone who could help you defend yourself against Ron’s subsequent retaliation.” She frowned. What type of team did stars like him have, anyway? “You have an agent and a lawyer, right? What about a publicist? Or maybe an assistant?”
The sneer had bled away, replaced by a look she couldn’t quite interpret.
“Whoever can advocate for you, you should probably give me their numbers. Just in case.” She lifted a shoulder. “Things happen, despite our best intentions.”
He moved a step closer to her, his brow furrowed.
Funny. A man who, according to Ron, had been wasted enough to get into a bar fight only a handful of hours ago should still smell like alcohol.
He didn’t. He smelled like generic hotel shampoo. And he didn’t appear hungover either. Just injured and spent.
“I’ll give you their information before we leave the set tonight.” He cocked his head and studied her. “So … what happens now? Are we supposed to socialize in my trailer or hotel room whenever I’m not working or sleeping?”
“From what I understand—”
“I’ll braid your hair if you’ll braid mine, Lauren.” His gray eyes were sharp on hers in the warm morning light. “We can tell ghost stories by flashlight. Maybe toast a few marshmallows over the hotel room radiators.”
He was mocking her.
She shook her head. “I have no intention of socializing with you. I’m not your entertainment.”
He swayed back a bit, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that look on his face was … hurt?
No. That didn’t make sense.
“Ah. I see.” The cynical twist to his smile had returned. “You’ve assumed the role of sanctimonious bore instead. No doubt it’s the part you were born to play.”
That time, there was no hint of humor in the insult. It was a jab meant to wound.
No delightful. Just asshole.
She gazed into the distance for a moment, allowing the faint sting to fade before she responded.
“I apologize.” His words were unexpected and abrupt. Raw with exhaustion. When she looked back at him, he was frowning. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
He sounded sincere. Surprisingly so.
She nodded in acceptance of his apology, and he let out a slow breath.
“I have no good excuse.” His jaw worked. “I’m just …”
She waited, but he didn’t continue.
Instead, he simply sighed and gestured to their left. “Why don’t I show you to my trailer?”
GODS OF THE GATES: SEASON 6, EP. 9
INT. VENUS’S PALACE ON MT. OLYMPUS – DUSK
PSYCHE lies on a low couch, eyes closed and unresponsive, edging closer to death with every hour she sleeps. When CUPID enters and sees his beloved, he rushes toward her, distraught. VENUS raises a commanding hand, and he immediately stops. From behind Venus, JUPITER steps into the room, his expression fierce with rage and determination.