The ford explorer glided smoothly toward the set.
Inside, Landon's thoughts drifted.
He replayed the pinch Rachel had given his waist that morning, the way she'd lifted her nose, sniffed, and the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Clearly, Cameron's perfume hadn't escaped Rachel's keen sense of smell.
Landon fudged an explanation, but he knew suspicion, once planted, would sprout sooner or later.
Cameron—he remembered the deep, lingering kiss on the dawn-wet grass, her full lips locked to his, the firm curve of her hips, the smooth thighs wrapped in workout shorts.
Unconsciously he licked his lips, a cryptic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Boss, could you not be this sleazy first thing in the morning?" Zoe's voice cracked beside him, thick with disgust.
Landon snapped back, cleared his throat, and put on a stern face: "Zoe, I'm your employer. Act like an assistant, got it? Show your boss some basic respect." Even he didn't buy the words.
Pop! Zoe blew a gum bubble in reply, then shot him a look of pure disdain.
Landon rubbed his nose and decided to let it go.
After all, yesterday at lunch she'd "worked hard" standing guard.
He studied the girl in the passenger seat.
Today Zoe's hair was a wild bundle of colored dreads, her makeup punk, black leather jacket over ripped jeans—rebellion incarnate.
Yet he'd learned that, for all her barbed tongue and casual groping, her professionalism was flawless.
Schedules arranged to the minute, communications crisp, makeup skills superb—nothing like the flaky rebel he'd first imagined.
Strip away the loud styling and she was actually a delicate little beauty, though her attitude made people overlook it.
Landon dared not think of her that way.
His life was chaotic enough; another jealous bottle of vinegar would be unbearable.
The car rolled onto the lot. Today was Landon's final day on the 24 hours set.
As expected, Elisha had arrived earlier.
The moment Landon stepped out she was staring eagerly at the entrance.
When she spotted them her eyes lit up.
Zoe climbed out on the other side, two coffees in hand, and casually passed one to Elisha with a wink.
Elisha accepted it with a sweet thank-you, hurried to Landon, and hugged him hard,
planting a loud kiss on his cheek.
Then something caught Landon off guard.
Elisha casually linked arms with Zoe; chatting and laughing, the two girls walked off toward the makeup trailer, leaving him standing alone.
He stared after them, stunned for two seconds, then chuckled.
How had they become "sisters" after a single afternoon?
And left him in the dust?
Women's friendships could bloom from nowhere.
He shook his head, amused, and followed.
Today's shoot was a breeze.
Only a handful of pick-ups remained for Landon; most of the time he sat by the monitor studying Kiefer Sutherland's work.
The veteran never coasted, every glance and line crackling with tension—an education for Landon.
After makeup he settled into a folding chair to watch.
Moments later Elisha slipped over, sat beside him, threaded her fingers through his,
and rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh.
The crew was used to it.
People passed, glanced, and moved on without a second thought.
Two eighteen-year-olds finding warmth under high pressure was everyday Hollywood—who would blink?
They knew nothing of Landon's tangled romantic résumé.
Even if they did, most would only shrug with a knowing smile.
This was Hollywood.
Marlon Brando openly acknowledged a dozen-odd kids; the unacknowledged were anyone's guess.
Next to that, Landon looked like a choirboy.
In a scene soaked in parties, booze, and pills, having dated only one girl before marriage might even be mocked as lacking charm.
Once inhibition is dissolved in alcohol, relationships can turn unimaginably messy.
To the 24 hours crew Landon Williams was unquestionably a good actor—
good-looking, solid, professional, polite to everyone.
He skipped late-night parties but showed up for dinners and chats, easy and approachable.
Had the crew voted for a "moral model," he'd have won in a landslide.
They had no clue their "model" went home to two strikingly different beauties each night and had sweet, clingy Elisha on set.
With a life so "full," who had energy for chaotic, risky parties?
During breaks, crew—lighting assistants, script supervisors, wardrobe, even actors he rarely spoke to—drifted over to chat.
Everyone knew today was his wrap day.
Thanks to that Marie Claire cover and an upcoming feature, his future looked limitless.
Exchange numbers now, stay friendly; you never know when you'll need each other.
Hollywood runs on brutal realism wrapped in courtesy; pure fairness is a myth.
A few younger actors and techs who were close to Landon and Elisha had already arranged to hit a nearby bar that night for a small farewell.
Landon had told Tracy and Rachel he'd be home late.
Near noon,
when the director called lunch, Landon could guess what came next.
Sure enough, Elisha's gaze turned syrupy; she leaned to his ear and whispered, "Let's hit our spot? Last day."
He saw naked longing in her eyes, sighed inwardly, and his body answered before he could.
He nodded.
In silent accord they slipped toward the secluded prop warehouse.
Zoe spotted them, of course.
Lunch boxes in hand, she rolled her eyes at their disappearing backs and mouthed a silent curse.
But curse or not, she exhaled, resigned, and headed for the warehouse to stand guard once again.