Chapter221 – I want something else
They hadn’t gone far before a sharp voice rang out.
“What the hell is this? You expect me to live here? No AC, mosquitoes everywhere. How am I supposed to sleep at night? You think I’m staying three months in this dump? Either you find me a proper place or I’m out!”
Xerxes was slouched in a chair, scowling, while everyone around him kept their distance.
Upton stood nearby, irritation plain on his face. When he saw Clarissa, he strode over quickly. “Ms. Clarissa, this actor is impossible. We arranged a B\&B for him already, but he wants a luxury hotel."
"The nearest ones are hours away—there’s no way to get him on set in time. He won’t listen, just keeps threatening to walk.”
It was the most Upton had ever spoken at once. Clarissa caught the tension in his voice and softened her tone. “I understand. Thank you for holding it together. I’ll handle him.”
Upton glanced at her closely. Her eyes were still hazy, her face pale with fatigue from the long flight. Yet she had come straight here without resting. He sighed.
“To be honest, Ms. Clarissa… I think we should reconsider the lead. The role requires a lot of physicality. With his attitude, he’ll rely on a double for every stunt. It’ll ruin the visuals. And frankly…”
He spoke at length, his points sharp but professional. Clarissa couldn’t deny he was right.
She, too, couldn’t understand how someone with Xerxes’s mediocre skills—and such little willingness to work—could have risen so high in the industry.
The book had described him as becoming famous after this very project. She couldn’t help but feel conflicted, knowing what was “supposed” to happen.
Just then, she felt a familiar warmth at her back. Atticus leaned in, his voice low. “Need me to handle this?”
Clarissa shook her head firmly. “No. I’ll deal with him.”
Clarissa stepped forward, stopping in front of Xerxes.“Xerxes.”
He lifted his eyes, and something dark flickered in them. The longer he stared at Clarissa, the more he thought she was breathtaking.
Her face was bare of makeup, yet flawlessly refined. The long, pale-purple dress she wore hugged her curves, accentuating her elegant figure. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, swaying lightly in the breeze…
He leaned back lazily, gaze locked on her. “Miss Clarissa, so you’re here too.”
“I heard you’re unhappy with the living conditions.”
“Miss Clarissa, just look at it yourself. Is this place even livable? It’s stifling hot, no air conditioning. Tell me, Miss Clarissa… are you really planning to stay here?”
Catching the insinuation in his tone, Clarissa’s lips curved coldly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in a nearby guesthouse myself. I don’t make exceptions.”
“Oh? Truly hard on you, Miss Clarissa.” His eyes roved over her. “A pampered young lady like you staying in a dump like this… it’s a waste.”
Clarissa’s tone sharpened. “Work is work, private life is private. As the producer, I have to set an example. No favoritism. And you—such a public figure, a contracted artist of Emperor’s Heaven—surely you wouldn’t be so unprofessional, would you?”
Xerxes’s jaw tightened. Damn woman. Gorgeous face, sharp tongue. He both hated and craved it.
Before he could snap back, his agent Tasha jumped in.
“Ms. Clarissa, Mr. Xerxes is an Emperor’s Heaven artist. We take our artists’ wellbeing very seriously. He has heavy filming days—if he can’t sleep at night, the production will suffer.”
Clarissa’s mouth curved slightly. “We’ll add mosquito nets and repellents, rent portable AC units, and upgrade the furnishings. Give it two days—it’ll be resolved.”
Xerxes’s face brightened into a smile. “As expected of Ms. Clarissa, so thoughtful—”
But before he could finish, Clarissa had already turned on her heel, unwilling to waste another second on him.
The disdain in her eyes made his gut twist with fury. Pretentious bitch. If I ever get the chance, I’ll make you regret this.
Not far away, Atticus stood waiting. The moment she approached, he asked, “Handled?”
“For now.”
He fell into step beside her, studying her calm, almost icy expression. Knowing she was holding in her irritation, he murmured, “That man’s a nuisance. Why not replace him?”
“You think so too?”
Atticus gave her a slow smile. “Clarissa, one project isn’t worth your exhaustion. I don’t care if it makes money or not—I only care if you’re happy. Money is trivial. Whatever you want, I can give you.”
Her steps faltered. She looked up at him, startled, only to find his gaze locked wholly on her, hot and unwavering.
Her heart lurched, cheeks heating. She turned away quickly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m exhausted from the flight. I should rest.”
She quickened her pace, almost fleeing. Atticus watched her retreat, a smile tugging at his lips. After all this time, she was still just as irresistible.
Their lodging was a rustic bamboo guesthouse.
When Clarissa pushed open the door, the fresh scent of bamboo leaves greeted her. The bamboo bed and rough-hewn wooden wardrobe were a far cry from the city’s sleek apartments, but she found the simplicity soothing.
She moved straight to the bed and collapsed with a sigh. “Finally, I can lie flat. My back’s killing me after that flight.”
Atticus quietly set their luggage down, then crouched before her. He slid the straps of her pale sandals off her feet.
Her delicate feet looked impossibly small in his hand, the skin smooth and luminous like carved jade, her toes soft pink, almost translucent. She was beautiful down to her very bones—he could hardly breathe.
He forced himself to set her sandals aside, fetched a pair of slippers, and placed them neatly at her feet before rising.
“I’ll leave these here. I’ll bring you some hot water to soak your feet.”
Clarissa stretched languidly on the bed, unwilling to move. “Mhm. Oh—grab the tablet from my bag, will you?”
Atticus’s lips curved with quiet indulgence. “Of course.”
The warm water, laced with essential oils, sent a shiver of relief through Clarissa as she let out a soft, contented sigh.
Atticus sat close beside her, his strong hands working slow, deliberate circles into her shoulders while she skimmed through Oriana’s work report on her tablet.
When she finally finished, she looked up to find him still there—silent, patient, simply keeping her company. Her heart softened. “You’ve had a long day too. Do you want to soak?”
His mouth curved faintly. “No. Compared to this…” His hand slid from her shoulder, traced down her side, then wrapped firmly around her narrow waist, pulling her against him. His voice dropped, husky. “Compared to that, I want something else.”
His gaze lingered on her lips.
She had barely touched up her makeup that morning, but her mouth was still as soft and lush as a fresh bloom.
Clarissa felt the heat of his stare and knew exactly what he wanted. Her cheeks flushed, but she set the tablet aside, looped her arms around his neck, and tilted her face toward him. Her shy invitation lit a fire in his eyes. The next second his head dipped, his mouth covering hers in a hungry, searing kiss.
But just as their lips brushed, a sharp knock broke through.
“Ms. Clarissa? Miss Clarissa! Are you inside? Dinner’s starting soon. You and Atticus are coming, right?”
Clarissa jolted, pushing him back. “Yes, I’m here! I’ll be there in a moment!” she called through the door.
When Oriana’s footsteps retreated, she turned to see Atticus glowering, his expression dark. “Tactless little thing,” he muttered.
Clarissa burst into laughter, unable to help herself. “It wasn’t on purpose. Come on, I’m starving. I heard the food here’s amazing—let’s go.”
She tugged at his hand, coaxing him like a child denied his candy. He glanced down at her. “Are you really hungry?”
“Of course. I’ve only had breakfast—I’m famished.”
He rose, fetched a towel, and crouched again to dry her feet.
Embarrassed, Clarissa tried to pull back. “I can do it myself.”
But Atticus caught her ankle, his grip firm and possessive. His voice was velvet, laced with heat. “Sweetheart, I like taking care of you like this.”
Kneeling before her, he wiped every drop of water from her delicate feet, then slid her sandals on with reverent care.
Watching him, Clarissa’s chest tightened. A man like him—strong, commanding, kneeling so willingly at her feet—what woman could resist?
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and her face grew hot. The moment he lifted his head, she quickly looked away, cleared her throat, and stood abruptly. “I’m… I’m really hungry. Let’s go.”
He watched her retreating figure, a sly, knowing smile curving his lips. Even when he lowered his head, he caught every twitch of her body, every shy flicker in her movements.
He tossed the towel aside and strode after her.
The door swung open, and a cool breeze drifted in, carrying the faint, crisp scent of bamboo leaves. It cooled her cheeks—but only for a moment.
Atticus came up behind her, slid his fingers through hers, and laced their hands together.
Clarissa glanced at him, caught his smile, and her pulse skipped wildly all over again. She ducked her head quickly.
Knowing she was too flustered, he didn’t tease her further—he just held her hand and led her forward.
The restaurant was already buzzing with people, and the moment they stepped inside, eyes turned toward them.
“Oh, Miss Clarissa’s finally here! Took you long enough—what kept you so busy?”
“Sit here, sit here!”
“Over here, Miss Clarissa!”
The spread on the long wooden table was unlike anything Clarissa had ever seen. She’d ordered the best local specialties: bamboo rat, a steaming snake soup, a rainbow of fiery stir-fries, and even plates of glossy, deep-fried insects.
The snake soup sat directly in front of her, fragrant steam curling upward. Everyone around her dug in with relish, but Clarissa hesitated, her chopsticks hovering. She had never eaten snake before—and the thought alone made her skin prickle.
Atticus caught her hesitation and smoothly lifted a piece of chili-drenched beef onto her plate. “Start with this,” he said, voice calm and coaxing.
She obeyed with a soft “Mm,” chewing carefully. When she lifted her gaze again, he had already uncovered the soup and was spooning it out for himself, eating with quiet, effortless confidence.
“You’ve had this before?” she asked, curiosity outweighing her queasiness.
He gave her a small smile. “Master used to take us to eat stranger things than this. It’s good. Not as frightening as you think. Want a taste?”
Clarissa glanced around at the others slurping happily, then, steeling herself, nodded. She lowered her head and sipped. The broth was rich, layered with mushrooms and herbs, savory enough to make her mouth water. But the second she thought of the meat beneath—once a writhing, scaled body—her stomach clenched. Her throat tightened. She turned sharply aside, gagging.
Without hesitation, Atticus thrust a tissue into her hand. “Spit it out.”
She did, mortified, and he immediately pressed a glass of water to her lips. His expression softened. “If you’re afraid, don’t force it.”