A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) Read Free

we?” says another. “We can go back to the network to discuss it, at least.”
    “What’s the damage?” Kevin walks up to the group, and they all turn to welcome him into their ranks with smiles and claps on the back.
    I slip away. It’s better if I don’t start crying right then and there. I reach the car that’s waiting for me and ask the driver to take me to the gym rather than home.

    In the gym changing room, the clack of my boots against the tile floor adds to the cacophony of lockers slamming and water splattering in the showers. The air is moist, and I change as fast as I can, then go to the front desk to book a private exercise room, to which I escape and proceed to take out my stress on a punching bag. I land two good kicks, and then the tears start. Heedless, I kick and punch some more, and land hit after hit while saltwater streams down my cheeks.
    Millions of dollars are on the line, and I am going to go down in flames . I’m out of my depth. I can’t play a twenty-six-year-old, I can’t garner more of an audience than Jason Vanderholt, and I definitely can’t work while the rest of the cast and crew are against me. My show is dead in the water before it’s even begun.
    I kickbox until the insides of my forearms and my shins sting and sweat trickles down my back. It makes no difference to my mood. I am in way over my head.
    “Veronica,” barks that familiar voice. “You want this room for another hour or what?”
    I pause mid-kick and hop sideways to catch my balance before I turn and face him. Devon. He isn’t dressed for work anymore. His hair is wet from a shower and his T-shirt is tight enough that I can see his six-pack. I turn away fast so that he doesn’t see my tearstained cheeks.
    “I think I’m good.”
    “All right, princess. We’re actually closing in ten minutes. Think you can shower that fast?”
    They’re closing? “How long have I been here?”
    “Long enough. I’m the one closing up, though, so if you want to keep beating the crap out of a canvas bag, it’s all good by me. Provided you don’t take half the night to do it.”
    Show confidence , I think. “You got a conquest to make?” I look at him over my shoulder before I remember my undignified tearstains and wish I could slap myself. Why can’t I land a single verbal punch on this guy?
    “Something like that,” he says. “What about you? Gotta get your beauty rest, right?”
    The correct response is to say, “No, I don’t need any,” or turn the comment around and say, “Clearly you’d know nothing about that,” then look him up and down and snort in disgust. That’s how Kyra deals with him.
    I don’t have the energy. I hunch my shoulders even though I know that’ll give him the upper hand. Without looking at him, I slink on past, through the door, and into the dark hallway beyond.
    “Lizzie?” His voice is so soft that I can barely hear it.
    But I do hear it, and I stop and turn. He never calls me by my real name.
    “You okay?” He leans against the wall, and his arrogance isn’t gone, but it’s toned down. He talks as if we have more than snarky arguments in our history, like he’s an old acquaintance who never became a friend but will never be a stranger either. Like he’s someone I really could talk to. “If there’s anything you need, you can tell me, all right?”
    I open my mouth then shut it.
    He waits.
     

 
    I STAND IN the dimness. The only light is from the room where Devon still stands. He walks up to me, making me feel shorter and more ridiculous with every step he takes. I brace myself for him to get inside my personal space or fire off an insult, but he doesn’t. He just stops and says, “Can I ask you something?”
    I shrug, too thrown by this change of demeanor to answer coherently.
    “Why are you here by yourself, at night? Don’t you have people? Handlers?”
    “N-no, not really.”
    “But you’re an actress. You had your own show.”
    “Right, and I used to have