Chapter212 – We’re outside
Mark wasn’t part of this drama—he was in the middle of a commercial shoot. A rising celebrity, he had been deliberately kept on the sidelines by Clarissa until the timing was right. Oriana frowned.
“Ms. Clarissa, Mark has so much potential. Why haven’t we given him any strong resources yet? Instead, he’s stuck doing small snack ads?”
The ads were undeniably grounded, maybe even tacky. The money was fine, but they didn’t align with the high-value persona Clarissa wanted for him.
Clarissa’s lips curved faintly. “What he needs right now is steady exposure, not a sudden explosion of fame. That kind of heat can burn a man out before his career even begins.”
Oriana still didn’t quite get it, but Clarissa was nothing if not decisive, so she held her tongue and followed along obediently.
When they reached the dressing area, Clarissa immediately noticed Xerxes’s styling team sitting around idly. Her brow arched. “What’s going on? We start filming in an hour. Is Xerxes ready?”
The stylists exchanged uneasy glances before their lead answered, “Not yet… we haven’t started.”
“Not started?” Oriana’s voice spiked with disbelief. “It takes two hours to do his look. You’re telling me he’s already two hours behind? Why the hell didn’t you call him?”
“We did. His agent said there was traffic, so we were told to wait.”
“Ms. Clarissa, Ms. Oriana, please understand—it’s not that we’re slacking. Everyone else is ready. Only the lead is missing. But Xerxes is huge right now—his new drama is topping the charts. None of us can afford to offend him.”
Clarissa’s tone was cool. “Where’s the director?”
“He’s furious, but no one dares approach him.”
The director, Upton, was someone Clarissa had hand-picked. He wasn’t famous yet, but he was talented, meticulous, and serious about his craft—precisely why she’d wanted him for this project.
After a moment’s thought, she turned to Oriana. “Call them again. Push harder.”
“Yes, Miss Clarissa.”
After repeated urging, Xerxes finally showed up—three hours late.
The set was sweltering under the summer sun, the crew drenched in sweat. Yet when Xerxes arrived, he carried himself with the air of someone who owned the place. Not a word of apology passed his lips. He simply swept a disdainful look across the people waiting, then strode straight to the makeup booth.
His agent, Tasha, stayed behind to smooth—or rather, inflame—the situation. Her tone was arrogant, her expression full of disdain. “Didn’t we tell you there was traffic? And still you kept calling and calling. Do you people not understand the rules? If Mr. Xerxes’s performance is affected because of your nagging, will you take responsibility?”
“You—!” Oriana’s fists clenched, her face flushed with anger.
The crew seethed in silence, but Xerxes’s star power eclipsed them all. He was as expensive now as Sienna, the reigning A-lister. No one dared push back.
That was when Clarissa stepped forward, her voice steady, almost mild. “Funny. From what I’ve seen, traffic on your route was perfectly clear. Not a single jam.”
Tasha’s eyes narrowed, but her voice remained syrupy. “The driver had to change routes at the last minute. We’re unfamiliar with this area—it’s remote, practically a village. Naturally, it delayed us.” She scanned the shabby location with thinly veiled contempt before adding with a sneer, “You should be grateful. We’re paying double what Emperor’s Heaven offered because we value sincerity. Otherwise, with Mr. Xerxes’s stature, do you really think he’d waste time on some low-budget web drama? Don’t overestimate yourselves.”
Clarissa let out the faintest smile, one corner of her lip curling. “Of course. It’s your first day. The driver didn’t know the area, got caught in congestion, and you arrived late by accident. Understandable.”
“Yes, exactly. Finally, some sense.” Tasha flicked her hair, looking smug. Then her gaze sharpened on Clarissa. “But who are you, exactly? Do you even have the right to speak here?”
“She’s our boss, Miss Clarissa! The one running this entire production company!” Oriana snapped, unable to hold back.
Tasha froze, her face stiffening.
The boss? This young, stunning woman?
Clarissa’s lips curved faintly, though her tone was cutting. “Your driver must’ve been using GPS. That means there’s a record of the route, right? Why don’t we take a look?”
At that, Tasha’s face blanched. The crew around her suddenly found their courage and chimed in.
“Yes, let’s see the navigation log.”
“I wouldn’t think someone of your celebrity status would stoop to something as cheap as lying.”
“You—!” Tasha flushed scarlet, choking on her own fury.
But Clarissa had already taken the phone Oriana handed her and flipped through it. Calm as ever, she said, “According to my secretary’s contacts, Xerxes was spotted at a bar in Westhaven last night. Paparazzi snapped this at two in the morning.”
Oriana’s friend was a tabloid hound, always sitting on fresh dirt before it hit the magazines. It was one of the reasons Clarissa had chosen her as her secretary without hesitation—she brought priceless intel.
Clarissa’s smile vanished. Her gaze sharpened, her whole presence turning cold and commanding. “I suggest you manage your artist better and remember the work ethic you claim to have. Everyone here has been baking in thirty-degree heat waiting on him. I don’t ever want to see a repeat of today. And you don’t want to risk that shiny new public image of his, either. In this industry, stars come and go faster than you can blink.”
Her words landed like a blade. Tasha’s face drained of color, and she stumbled back half a step.
Finally, she exhaled through clenched teeth. “Fine. We won’t be late again.”
Clarissa’s expression softened into a professional smile. “Good. Then let’s look forward to a smooth collaboration.” She turned on her heel and walked away, Oriana following close, her eyes sparkling like a fangirl.
“Ms. Clarissa, that was incredible! Honestly, you should’ve slapped her with a formal warning.”
Clarissa let out a sigh. “It’s not over yet. We’ll stay here today.”
“What?” Oriana’s face fell. “Here? It’s scorching! I’m melting already. Can’t we go back to the office? Or at least check in on security?”
“No,” Clarissa said firmly. “If you can’t stand it, then go. But I’m staying.”
Oriana groaned. “If you’re staying, how can I abandon you for air conditioning?” She dug in her bag, pulled out a tube of sunscreen, and shoved it at her boss. “At least reapply. You’ll fry out here.”
Clarissa chuckled, taking it. Together they ducked into the restroom.
“Next time, bring an umbrella,” Clarissa said lightly.
“Me too. This is hot,” Oriana muttered, blotting herself with a wet wipe. Clarissa was an easygoing boss, which made their relationship feel less like employer and assistant, and more like sisters.
Clarissa smiled. “Don’t wipe too much—you’re not even sweating anymore. Come on.”
As expected, Xerxes quickly proved himself a nightmare. He whined about being tired, complained it was too hot, griped about the boxed lunches.
When it came time to shoot a princess-carry scene with the lead actress, he couldn’t even lift her for more than a heartbeat before his arms gave out.
Panting, red-faced, drenched in sweat, his makeup streaked, Xerxes stomped off to get fixed up again.
Before leaving, he shot the actress a sharp look. “Can’t you eat less?”
Oriana, standing at Clarissa’s side, nearly choked. She leaned in and hissed, “That girl can’t weigh ninety pounds soaking wet.”
Clarissa’s brow furrowed. This was the first time she’d seen a man so pathetic. Atticus could carry her for blocks, even running, without breaking a sweat.
Just then, her phone buzzed. She checked the screen—Atticus. Quickly, she answered. “Hello?”
“I’m at your office. Still working?”
“Not yet… something came up on set. It might take a while.”
“You’re outside?”
“Yes. I’ll send you the location.”
Ten minutes later, Atticus strode onto the lot, crisp and commanding even in the heat, two cups of iced fruit tea in hand.
He handed one to Oriana, then turned his gaze on Clarissa.
Oriana immediately caught on, accepting the drink with a sly, flirtatious smile. “Then I won’t get in the way of you and Miss Clarissa. Thanks for the milk tea, brother-in-law.”
With that, she happily bounced off, leaving the two of them alone.
In high spirits thanks to Oriana’s playful words, Atticus popped the lid off one of the cups and handed it to Clarissa. “Here. Extra cold, just the way you like it.”
Clarissa was parched and overheated. She took a sip, the icy sweetness sliding down her throat, leaving her refreshed to the bone. A quiet sigh slipped from her lips. She held the cup out to him. “You should have some too.”
Atticus’s gaze dipped to the faint lipstick stain on the rim. Without hesitation, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth exactly where hers had been.
Clarissa froze. Heat rushed up her neck, and color flooded her cheeks. She could feel his stare on her, scorching, deliberate, and unashamed.
Her pulse quickened, and she shifted uneasily under his gaze.
Atticus wasn’t a man who cared for sugary drinks, but he took a sip anyway before setting it aside. Then, without warning, he slid an arm around her waist and lifted her up.
“W–what are you doing?” Clarissa gasped, flustered. “We’re outside—put me down!”
But Atticus carried her straight to his car. He set her gently in the passenger seat, then crouched down in front of her.
Her eyes widened as he reached for her heels.
“Don’t—” she stammered, instinctively pulling back. She’d been on her feet all day, and she was suddenly mortified at the thought of him catching the faintest trace of sweat.
But Atticus was faster. He caught her slender ankle, firm but careful, and slid the shoe off.
Clarissa wasn’t wearing stockings—just a fitted skirt and a simple V-neck blouse, her hair tied high in a ponytail. The outfit was plain, yet on her it radiated effortless sophistication. The moment felt too intimate, too exposed. Her cheeks burned crimson. “Atticus!”
“Be good,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing. “Let me rub it for you.”
She tried to stop him, pressing her heel into the seat. But he was already frowning. “You’ve been in heels all day. Look—here. You’ve got a blister.”
His thumb pressed gently against the spot. Pain shot through her, and she squeaked.
She hadn’t even noticed it until now. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “These shoes just need breaking in.”
But his eyes lingered, fixed on her bare foot, on her delicate skin, with a hunger that made her shrink back. “You—let go! It’s embarrassing…”
Atticus’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Clarissa, you smell sweet everywhere. I love every part of you.”
Her breath caught. Her ears flamed red. “Stop it! You’re shameless—we’re in public.”
“I’m serious.” His voice was husky, heavy with promise.