My phone buzzes and I ignore it for a second, finishing up what I’m doing. When I finally pick it up, I frown at the message on my screen.
“Car’s out front, come hang out.”
It takes me a second to understand that it’s from Jackson. We exchanged numbers early on in this, since I’ll need to get in touch with him for work stuff.
I unlock my phone and type a message back. “What are you talking about?” I send.
“The crew is all hanging out, and I think you should be here.” His response comes quickly, and I bite my lip.
I don’t normally hang out with the crew. Honestly, I’m not usually invited. The script girl is considered the director’s pet, and the crew typically doesn’t mingle with that side of production. They’re afraid I’ll dime them out to Lionel or something like that, which isn’t the case at all. On past films, I just accepted that as part of the job and moved on.
“I don’t know,” I type back. “I’m tired and we shoot early tomorrow.”
“Come on. There really is a car out front.”
I sigh and stand up, heart beating fast. I go to our front door and sure enough, there’s a black town car sitting there.
“You’re crazy,” I type to him. “I can’t just walk out the door.”
“Sure you can. It’s easy. Come on, Tara girl. Come have a little fun.”
I stare at the text for a second. “Fuck it,” I say out loud to myself.
I run into my bedroom and get ready as fast as I can. Obviously I don’t have time to go crazy with it, but I get changed into something a little more casual and I manage to fix myself up enough to be presentable. When I’m done, I head outside and get right into the car.
The driver starts going without saying a word to me. I get out my phone and send a quick message to Jackson. “I’m on the way.”
“I knew you would be. Hurry up.”
I smile to myself and tuck my phone back into my little clutch. I haven’t been out at a club after work since the first year I moved out here. I have butterflies in my stomach, which is totally unlike me. I’m not normally nervous for this sort of thing.
But it’s Jackson. He makes me nervous, though it’s in a good way. I like being nervous around him. I like that he pushes me, makes me question the things around me. We’re not even close and yet he’s already making me feel good.
The car finally pulls up outside of a club that I don’t recognize, which isn’t a surprise. I don’t really go out clubbing much. I did a little bit when I was younger, but now I’m more focused on my career and I just don’t have time anymore.
My heart is beating so fast as I get out of the car. There’s a line to get in and I frown at it. There are probably fifty people waiting to get into the building, but as soon as I start to walk toward the back, I hear someone call out my name.
“Tara!”
I turn and spot Jackson grinning at me from behind the red velvet rope. I walk over and the bouncer lets me past. He grins at me and kisses my cheek, sending electric thrills down my spine.
“Glad you came,” he says.
“Yeah, well, you said you needed my help.”
He grins at me. “I definitely need you. Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the club behind him.
I can’t help but notice that he said he needs me, not my help. And he’s pulling me along by the hand like it’s not a weird thing to do at all. I’m getting sucked back into his world, but it’s hard not to be. Jackson is the kind of guy that can make you feel like you’re at home no matter where you are.
The club itself is sleek and new. There’s a wine bar, a beer bar and a liquor bar, all broken out separately. The music pulses into my ears and I’m glad that I put on a sleek black dress instead of my normal drab work clothes.
Jackson pulls me along behind him and we end up at a private booth filled with people. I recognize them all from the set. There’s Paul the lighting guy, Jackson’s assistant Marney, Rick the gaffer, Louis the cameraman, and a few other guys. Everyone welcomes me when I arrive, and Jackson pours me a drink from their bottle service, but I can tell that everyone is a little uptight with me around.
I slug back my first drink, trying to let everyone know that I’m okay and not a rat, but also trying to loosen up.
“Easy there,” Jackson grins at me as I pour another.
“We’re here to have some fun, right?” I ask him.
“You’re not wrong.” He pours himself a drink and knocks it back. “But I’m guessing you’re not much of a drinker.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.