Bad Romeo Christmas: A Starcrossed Anthology (10 page)

I stride across the stage, careful to avoid half-constructed set pieces and low-hanging lighting bars as I approach the group of burly men chatting and laughing near the fly ropes.

"Gentlemen, I need this stage cleared in five minutes."

The largest of the men gives me a cursory nod. "Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. Keep your panties on."

I stop dead.
Oh, no he didn't.

"What did you just say to me?"

He turns and gives me a more thorough assessment, and this time his gaze lingers on my boobs long enough for me to imagine flaying him alive before burning his carcass.

"I said, we'll get to it when we get to it." He sneers. "Now run along and yap at someone else, short stuff."

I plaster on my sweetest smile to hide the hot anger crawling up my neck. "Oh, I see. Sorry to have bothered you. By the way, what's your name, big guy?"

His demeanor changes to one of outright lechery. "It's Tom, babe. As in Tom Cat." He links his thumbs through his belt loops in a way that screams,
ME MAN. HAVE PENIS. WOMAN BE IMPRESSED NOW
.

I laugh. "Well, that's just perfect." I beckon him closer and lower my voice. "So, let me tell you how this is going to go,
Tom Cat
. You're going to apologize to me for being a nauseating chauvinist douche, right before you get your crew to clear this stage. Then, you'll set those lighting bars in record time, because if you don't, not only are you going to be fired and blacklisted by every single theatrical producer I know, and believe me, I know a
lot
, I'm also going to tear off your puny, shriveled balls and use them as the centerpiece in the finale. Are you feeling me, sport?"

Tom's eyes glaze over in anger, and I have a strong feeling this guy has definite erectile issues. "Now, you listen here, missy—"

"
No
, Tom, you shut your Neanderthal mouth and listen to
me
. As far as you're concerned, this theater is the Sacred Church of the Kickass Bitch, and I am your Goddess, so you have three seconds to do exactly as you're told or face my unholy wrath. It's your choice."

He gives me a final glare before turning back to his men. "Fuck you, lady."

"Suit yourself."

I grab my walkie-talkie and give a quick order to security before walking over and addressing his men.

"Okay, gents, here's the deal. Tom is about to be thrown out of the theater in a most ungracious fashion for being a disgusting, disrespectful stain on society. So if you want to avoid joining him, here are my rules: you do what you're told, when I tell you to do it. If you don't, you're fired. If you call me anything other than 'Miss Holt', you're fired. If you behave like anything other than
complete gentlemen
from here on out, you're well and truly goddamn fired. Are we clear?"

Tom makes a scoffing sound and gives me a condescending look. "They're
my
guys, sweetcheeks. If you get rid of me, they'll follow. Have no doubt."

I look at the men calmly. "If that's the case, no problem. You're all welcome to join Tom in the unemployment line. I'll have a new crew here within the hour. The decision is yours."

Without another word, the men scurry away to do what's been asked of them.

I look at Tom in smug triumph. "Oh, wow, Tom Cat. Your men decided to work without you. It's a Christmas miracle! Thanks for playing. Better luck next time. Now, get the hell out of my theater."

He takes a threatening step toward me, and I immediately judge the distance from my closed fist to his crotch, while calculating how much force I'd need to drop him to his knees. Looks like all of those self-defense lessons Liam gave me before he left are finally going to pay off.

Just as I'm getting ready to throw down, two security guards arrive to escort Tom to the exit. I wave to him merrily as he leaves, ignoring the sexist obscenities he mutters under his breath.

Cool. One problem down, several hundred to go.

My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a text from Liam.

<5 days>

A tingle runs up my spine. It kind of ridiculous that he can do that to me with a couple of words on a screen. I wonder if it's normal that when I read his texts, I can hear the deep rumble of his voice in my head. It gives me goosebumps.

Another text pops up.


Another shiver. I really have no time to indulge in replying right now, but God, I want to.

I sideline filthy thoughts as I head backstage to check the dressing rooms.

Liam keeps texting.

I fan myself with my clipboard, as I mentally run over the dressing room checklist. Evil man. He knows I'm working. And that I'm probably stressed out. This is his way of distracting me, and yeah, it's working.


Dear
God.
I can't remember the last time I orgasmed. I've tried a few times since he's been gone, but my body won't cooperate. It's mourning him with the passion of an Italian widow.


My face is burning by the time I check the final dressing room. To be honest, the damn room could be filled with toxic waste and a jukebox dedicated exclusively to Billy Ray Cyrus, and I'd have no clue. I can't stop fantasizing about Liam making me come.

Another text:

"Miss Holt?" I turn to see Ainsly looking at me with concern. "Are you okay? You're all red."

I let out a breath. "I'm fine. Get moving on the production riders, okay? This room should have—" My phone vibrates again.


"Miss Holt?"

"Uh—" I blink as I drag myself away from my phone to check the list on my clipboard. My vision is blurry as my brain flashes up mental images of my hot-as-hell fiancée, naked, hard, and servicing me in ways that make my legs forget they have bones.

"Miss Holt? You were saying what I need to get."

"Uh ... right. Yes. An espresso machine. And a bowl of M&Ms with all the green ones removed."

"Sure. I'll get on that. Can I also get you some water? Or something to eat? You don't look well."

She's not wrong. I'm lovesick. And Liam deprived. And orgasmically challenged. None of that is healthy, dammit.

"You're right, Ainsly, I'll grab a sandwich and be back in five, okay? You keep going on these rooms."

"Sure, I'll be here."

I almost sprint to my office. It's true I have a sandwich in my bag, but what I'm really hungering for isn't food. When I get inside, I lock the door and lean back against it. My fingers shake as I jab Liam's name for Facetime.

Within seconds, he appears on the screen.

Sweet giddy Christ, he's shirtless. It should be a crime to be that attractive.

I’ll never get used to the sight of Liam's naked chest. What's more, the roll he's playing calls for long hair, so he's wearing messy extensions and braids that make him look like the Viking God of Extreme Hotness.

It takes me a few moments to adjust to the bout of dizziness the sight of him inflicts upon me.

"Hey," he says. I know that voice. The one that means he's so horny, he can barely speak.

"You're killing me, Quinn, you know that?"

He leans closer to the camera. "I can't help it. You look beautiful, by the way. Show me your underwear."

"Liam, everything is in chaos here. I have no time to—"

"
Now
, Elissa."

Jesus. I can't argue when he orders me around like that. It's too arousing.

I quickly lift up my shirt to show him my plain black bra.

"Fuck, yes." He licks his lips. "Don't suppose you have time for a quick strip tease? Or even better, a slow one?"

"Sadly, no." His face falls as I drop my shirt. "But just for the record, are you currently naked?"

He smiles before standing to show me an elaborate pair of leather pants that are caked in fake blood and embellished with fur. "Nope. Just lounging around in my nifty thrifty killin'-pants. They're surprisingly comfortable."

As bizarre as it sounds, my blond-ish, blue-eyed hunk is playing Genghis Khan in a big-budget and historically inaccurate blockbuster.

Ahhh, Hollywood. Casting white people in ethnic roles since forever.

The only reason Liam even considered the role was because James Cameron was directing, and he's Liam's idol. I'd never seen Liam fanboy, but the day Cameron called to ask him to do the project, Liam's blush was off the charts. It was both adorable and hot as hell.

"Those are some sexy pants, Mr. Quinn," I say with a smirk. "They make your junk look even more epic than it already is."

He sits again and raises an eyebrow. "You like the leather pants, huh? Well, play your cards right, and I'll take them off for you."

Man, if only. "You have no idea how much I want that right now, but I'm behind schedule as it is. Seeing you naked isn’t going to help me focus on anything except how much I miss you."

He leans forward, and even with the low-quality satellite feed, I can see the longing in his eyes. "Liss, I miss you so much I can't see straight. I'm going insane here. It's like I've got this weird, clammy fever, and the only cure is to be with you again." He lowers his voice. "I need you. I've almost forgotten how you feel."

"I know. But the wait is almost over, right? Then we'll have four weeks of total bliss together. No theaters. No movies or publicity. Just you and me."

He smiles. "That's the only thing keeping me going right now. I can't wait."

"Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?"

"No. But trust me when I say you're going to love it."

"If I have no idea of our destination, how will I know what to pack?"

He lets out a dark chuckle. "As long as you're there, screw everything else. It's not like you're going to need clothes. I intend to keep you naked the entire time."

I slump into the chair next to my desk. "Yes, please. Naked. You. Some food and water so we can keep up our strength. That's all I need."

There's a knock on my door, and James says, "Oh, hey, Elissa. Uh ... you might like to come see the lighting designer. The entire grid just crashed. Power overload or something."

I bite back a grunt of frustration. "You have the backup drive, James. Take care of it."

"Uh, yeah, about that. I kind of forgot to back it up. Do you have a list of the cues? We'll have to program them all in again."

I clench my jaw. "I'll be right there."

Footsteps move away from the door as I turn back to my phone. "I have to go. No rest for the wicked."

The disappointment is clear on his handsome face. "I'm sorry I'm not there to help out, but the show is in good hands. You're going to rock this. And when I get back, I'll thank you by showing you all the things I've been fantasizing about for three long months. Prepare yourself."

"Well, now I'm intrigued."

Through the screen, the intensity in his gaze makes me shiver. "Good. Because not all of them are gentle."

My entire body shudders with anticipation. "Tease."

"That's on the list. And believe me when I say that even though I adore you more than anything on the planet, I'm going to enjoy hearing you beg."

There's another knock on my door. "Miss Holt? It's Ainsly. There's a problem with the red carpet, and Hugh Jackman is here for a meeting about his hosting duties." There's a pause. "Um, and George Clooney's people called to say he'll be an hour late, so we'll have to move him to later in the show. And there's someone here to see you who wouldn't give me his name but keeps telling me what to do."

"Shit," I say as my mind races. "Okay, Ainsly. I'm coming." I take one final look at Liam. His face is so close to the camera, I want to stroke it. "I'm sorry."

"Go," he insists. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay. I love you."

He gets the same wistful smile I always see when I say those words to him. "I love you more. Have an amazing show. Bye."

I hang up and sigh before pushing my hair out of my face and wrenching the door open. The previous bustle of the backstage area seems to have sped up, and when I get to the stage, I'm pleased to see that the chaos has been cleared and the set is almost done.

"Thank God."

When James hurries past me, I grab his arm. "Hey. What's the situation with the lighting?"

He looks flushed. "Uh, all good. Some guy showed up and managed to get back all the cues."

"Some guy?"

"Yeah. Brown hair. Glasses. Kind of bossy."

I freeze as a familiar voice pipes up behind me. "Man, I leave you alone for five seconds and everything goes to shit. Thank God I took pity on you and jumped on a direct flight from Sydney yesterday morning. Feel free to now express your gratitude. I'll wait."

I turn to see a most unexpected and welcome sight. Josh is standing there with a duffle bag in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. Apart from Liam, I don't think I've been more grateful to see someone in my entire life.

I stride over and throw my arms around him. He drops his bag and wraps me in a tight hug, and dammit, having him here is so comforting, I well up like a regular human, not at all like the emotionally controlled boss-lady I've spent years becoming.

Stoppit, Elissa. You cannot cry in front of your crew. You've made them fear you exactly the right amount to be useful. Don't undo that.

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