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Harsh started to laugh, the whole situation too ridiculous to comprehend. He got to his feet, batting away the helping hands from the AD and the spot boys who’d rushed over.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, sitting down beside her, still gawking at her like he’d walked on to her film set.
“I thought I’d come see what my boyfriend’s workday looks like.” She sat on the edge of her seat, like a little owl, in cargo pants and a tank top, her long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. In direct contrast to him, she wore absolutely no makeup.
“You thought?”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “The families thought. But it was a good idea. Now, I have all this blackmail material.”
“Blackmail.” Harsh pretended to shudder. “What would I ever do if people found out that I wear makeup? News flash, Viper, they already do. Every actor wears makeup.”
“But does every actor pout when they put his lipstick on?” She made an exaggerated duck face.
“You’re a liar.” Harsh glared at her. “I don’t do that.”
“A liar with proof.”
She popped the p in the word proof and he found his eyes drawn to her lips. Her no-lipstick lips.
“Harsh,” his director called out.
Harsh tore his gaze away from Raashi and looked across the set. His director mouthed ‘pack up’ at him and relief tore through his body. This shitty day was finally over.
“Oh damn,” Raashi said. “No more ‘Lights, Camera, Action!’? I was looking forward to that.”
He gave her some side eye as he stood. “Were you? Were you really?”
She got to her feet and stretched, her tank top riding up to expose a toned belly. Harsh glanced away, swallowing hard. Weird things were happening to his body, and he was not down with it.
“There’s a family dinner,” she said now. “At your home. We are supposed to arrive together. The press will be waiting.”
The weird feelings disappeared, like they’d been stomped on by an elephant. Of course, there was a family dinner. Of course, his family told an outsider that before they told him. Of course, they were still expecting a command performance from him. And of course, the press would be waiting.
Welcome to the Harsh Kodela life.
“So, let’s go Make Up Nancy.” Raashi did a little bounce on her toes, slapping her hands together. “Time to bounce.”
His side eye got wider. “Time to bounce? How old are you? Seventeen?”
Her smirk disappeared. “Anything but seventeen.”
Harsh watched her, noting the tense lines of her face and the nervous twining of her fingers. He’d touched a nerve. He just didn’t know what exactly he’d blundered into. What exactly had happened when she was seventeen?
“Let’s go,” he said abruptly, signaling his security over.
“Aren’t you going to wash up?” she asked, drawing circles in the air around her face.
“No, Ms. Judgy. You, me and my face are going to leave now.” He caught her swirly hand and started pulling her towards the exit. It felt surprisingly tiny and fragile in his own bear paws. Bird bones, he thought, she had bird bones.
“So, your face is like a whole third person now?”
And a tongue like a serrated blade, he reminded himself.
“Sure,” he answered easily, leading them out of the studio. “My face is my fortune and all that.”
“Face and body, I’m guessing.” She was still taking the whole bustling scene around her in, her head practically swiveling on her neck like something out of a horror movie.
“You noticed my body, Rash?” Amusement filtered through his voice as her head swiveled towards him.
