Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance
I knew it, I knew it!" She said this last bit in a sing-song voice. I knew she was doing her obnoxiously endearing happy dance in the tiny closet space and the thought made me reluctantly happy.
    "Lydia, calm down. It's not like he's going to rip my clothes off the second he sees me."
    Lydia guffawed. "He isn't called Wilde for no reason, Liv," she replied. "I have a lot of friends who have worked on his sets. You really never know what he's going to do next."
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    WILDER
    I was sitting in my canvas and wood folding chair with my name embroidered into it. I'd dreamed as a kid of having this kind of chair on set with my name on it. Truth be told, these things are uncomfortable as shit for a guy as big as I am.
    They were sort of comfortable when I'd first started out, but as I'd drastically changed my body shape through weightlifting and copious amounts of calories, I resembled more of a bear than a skinny, fit guy. And these chairs always felt like they were two seconds away from snapping.
    Hailey's chair was about ten feet away from mine. She was having her nails painted as she yapped incessantly into her iPhone. The main makeup artist on set, a woman I'd worked with before named Beverley, was touching up some of the makeup covering my tattoos.
    My short-sleeved black-fitted shirt that I'd be wearing for this scene showed all of my arms. This meant a ton of work for Bev, but she didn't seem to mind.
    "You got a new one since the last film we were on together," Bev said to me, pointing at a black four-leaf clover on my bicep. When I didn't respond, she followed my eye line over to Hailey.
    She rolled her eyes. "I bet that's awkward for you, huh hot stuff?"
    I just shook my head. "That was a long enough time ago that it doesn't matter."
    "Really? I saw online that you all were together like last week.”
    “Yeah, well she sort of just showed up. Apparently that’s her new thing.” I clenched a fist and tried to push out of my memory the sloppy sex that had happened with Hailey that night. I’d been drunk, and she’d been, well. Hailey .
    Bev laughed. “My daughter still sings that Fuck You song she wrote about you. The radio edit, obviously," she added with a smile. "It's catchy as hell."
    "Thanks," I grunted sarcastically. "I think that song is more well-known than all of my films put together."
    "It smashed like a dozen Billboard and radio play records. What the hell do you expect?" Bev snapped the jar of liquid makeup shut and rubbed the tip of the brush onto a white cloth. "Get over it, big boy." She slapped me on the arm. "You know what they say in the biz: all publicity is good publicity." She walked away just as Fox showed up to call everyone onto the set.
    "Let's get together, people. I want this scene to be shot from three angles which means three takes. No extra takes for sneezes or for phones ringing or for actors forgetting their damn lines ," he added with a meaningful look at me.
    I saw that Hailey was still on her fucking phone. I felt anger boiling up inside of me and I marched over to her, grabbing it out of her skinny, pale hand and shutting it off. I slammed my hands down onto either side of her, resting my palms on the thin wooden arm rests.
    "If I have to fucking work with you, you're going to make this as smooth as possible, princess," I said to her.
    She looked taken aback but only for the briefest of moments.
    "Handsome," she whispered to me. "I'm running the show here. You can be assured that I won't take up any more of your time than is necessary." Then she pushed me off of her and walked over to the set, where wardrobe fluffed out the bottom of her skirt as she sat down at the small bistro table.
    All of the extras were sitting in their 1950s garb around a makeshift coffee shop patio, a waiter with a tray standing in the doorway.
    "We're all just waiting for you now, Wilde," Fox called out.
    Jesus Christ. I opened my mouth to retort that this was only because Princess Hailey

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