Page 65 of Forced Proximity

Doc: Between us, he does that at work, too. It’s annoying. But remember, he’s temporary.

Doc: Listen. The only thing anyone wants to do is keep you safe. OK?

At the studio, I push through the office glass doors with Zane and the temporary bodyguard at my heels. I haven’t been to this wing of the corporate office since I chatted with Ivy at the club. Two days ago, even though I felt like a total dick, I pulled one of my A-list cards and told Zane that Ivy needs to be removed from the front desk when I’m there. I know, I know. I already said I felt like a total dick, but she was damn near relentless at the club, and it makes for a hell of an awkward situation. When Zane put in the call, the studio told them Ivy had been fired for inappropriate behavior. Before the guilt could sweep me away, thinking it was because of me, Zane said Ivy had shown up uninvited at a director’s house after getting his address from a form.

Inside the brightly lit lobby, two security guards approach Zane and my temporary bodyguard and ask for a private word. It doesn’t take a CIA interrogator to read the stern, flatlined lips of the guards.

‘Sir, please take a seat on the couches,’ guard number one says.

The serious voice prickles my neck. ‘What’s the hell’s going on?’

‘Just do what they say.’ Zane puts their hand on my chest. ‘I’ll find out and let you know.’

In the corner, the studio security speaks in hushed tones. Zane’s eyes grow wide and dart from the security to the bodyguard and back to me. A few moments pass when Zane closes their eyes with a deep frown, and worry lines crease their forehead.

What the hell? With Zane’s collapsed smile and abnormally rigid posture, whatever the security team is telling them is not good. I scratch the side of my arm. This is bullshit. Clearly, they’re talking about me. I leap up to find out what happened when the assistant, Amanda, from behind the desk rushes me.

‘Hi, Mr Greenwood—’

‘Just Justin, please.’

‘Of course, Justin.’ Amanda nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Please follow me to the prep room.’

Amanda’s smile is bright, cheery and definitely should be used as a disarming mechanism. I throw my hands up at Zane before following Amanda down the hall. A second security guard follows so closely behind me that I catch a whiff of his aftershave.

Once Amanda makes sure I’m sorted with refreshments and leaves, a security guard stands outside the room, and I slump into the couch. My bouncing leg forces me up. I pace, check my watch, try to read the news. What the hell is taking so long? My body fires on all cylinders. Prep rooms are normally a quiet, cozy space to relax before a meeting. Today it’s a prison.

Finally, Zane opens the door.

‘What the hell is going on? If I hear that an exec preyed on these women coming in today …’ This happened nine years ago with one of my films. I had no idea the producer of my film victimized the women I read with at the auditions and was sick about it for months.

‘No, no. Not that.’ Zane sits on the couch with heavy shoulders. ‘A package was delivered here for you.’

So? I get packages all the time. Costumes, scripts, pictures I autograph for auctions, books, gifts … ‘Okay?’

‘It’s fine, and the studio security handled it.’ Zane tugs their lower lip between their teeth. ‘It was just, well, disturbing.’

The dark tone is completely out of character from Zane’s normal chipper, sarcastic self. My chest turns hot. ‘What was it?’

Zane sucks in the side of their cheek. ‘They thought it was a jar of blood with two severed fingers.’

The fuck?

‘But it wasn’t! It was a prop.’ Zane sucks in a breath and releases. ‘There’ve been more incidents than you know. And Anthony will probably kill me for telling you this, but we have to stop hiding this from you.’

More incidents? ‘Are you guys keeping things from me?’

‘Yes.’

Zane’s answer is so quick that my stomach flips. Other incidents? Wait … what the hell? Am I actually in danger? I thought everyone was being overzealous. No one told me, at least not really. They said some fan is being creepy, but that’s all. A ringing starts in my ears, low and disorientating. I can’t believe Doc withheld all of this. What else are people not telling me?

Zane grabs the script off the vanity and hands it to me. ‘I’m sorry, but we have to talk about this later. We didn’t want you to freak out. People are crazy sometimes, right? So, let’s try and let it go. You’re gonna get through these auditions today, they’ll cast your new co-star soon, and we’ll get in line with the production schedule.’

A jar of blood with fucking fingers? Prop blood or not, fake fingers or not, that is freaky as hell. Not ‘man jumping out of the bushes wielding a machete freaky’, but still unnerving. On the way home, I’m grilling Zane about every other incident they’ve kept from me.

A knock sounds on the door, and I flinch. The hair on my arms stands up when I tiptoe from the room. As I walk down the hall, I slap the script against my palms and check twice that no one but the security guard is following me.

The co-star readings, dinner and drive home are a blur. Zane’s words haze in the SUV, and mindless scrolling through social media does nothing to ease the fire in my gut. It’s after eleven when I get an idea. I call an emergency meeting with Zane and Anthony.