Two
There was nothing essential to do right now. You had the opportunity to lounge around in your house so you took it. Later, you would have to get ready for an event you were invited to. You loved dressing up and attending events. They made you feel like an important person, but you loved being comfortable even more.
You stayed in bed thirty minutes after waking up just scrolling through Instagram and TikTok. The edits fans made of you on red carpets or in movies always warmed your heart. You remember being one of those fangirls and how much getting recognized by one of your idols would mean to you.
Stella called you about five minutes after you got up to use the bathroom. She was calling to tell you that she has more information. You were going to play a Russian spy that falls in love with an American soldier during world war two. “And you’re getting paid a million dollars upfront as well as one percent of the total box office revenue. You are one lucky son of a bitch,” Stella laughed.
“Stella, you know I don’t like it when you say stuff like that,” you playfully scold your agent over the phone.
“Sorry, but it’s true. Anyways, you have a table ready to do tomorrow so please don’t get shit-faced at the event tonight. I know you like to party, but we can’t have another New York Fashion Week incident,” Stella remarked.
You were invited to New York Fashion Week two years ago and were never invited back. At the after-parties, you had one too many drinks, and the next thing you know, photos of you sleeping on the sidewalk were all over social media. Luckily, it only took two weeks for the media to forget about the whole incident. Let’s just say New York City is a place you don’t go unless you absolutely have to.
“I’m a good girl, Stella, I’ll have a few shots at the after-party and I’ll be on my merry way. No more sleeping on the sidewalk for me.”
“Fine, I’ll see you soon.”
You hung up the phone and sighed. Other than Stella, no one really ever talked to you. There were a few people here and there, but they were only interested in furthering their careers. There are shallow and fake people in Hollywood and you’ve definitely met a few. When you move to a city like this it’s almost inevitable. It’s like high school but worse.
You pushed the loneliness aside and turned on the television. There was never anything good during the mornings so you just settled for the regular old news channel. The two news reporters provided you with sufficient background noise to get you through the day.
Around two in the afternoon, your hair stylist, make-up artist, and stylist came over. The type of event you were attending tonight was a fashion show and then the after-party. You were the brand ambassador for the fashion house so you had to look your absolute best as you sat in the front row.
Your hair stylist and make-up artist did quick work on your already beautiful features. Your make-up artist went with a very natural and glowy look that would make you look ethereal. Your hairstylist lets your natural hair out and loose. Tonight you were just going for a simple yet classy look and you felt like doing an intricate hairstyle would take away from your face. Your stylist put you in the brand's latest design and complemented the way you looked in it.
You checked yourself out in the mirror and you were completely blown away by your beauty. This usually happens when you get all dolled up for a premier or an event. The last time you checked your phone it was two thirty, now it was five twenty-three and you needed to leave soon. You thanked everyone that enhanced your beauty today and waited for your driver.
The event was in the heart of downtown. Thirty minutes of sitting in the back seat of a limo with only the sound of you and your driver breathing was going to drive you insane. Thankfully, you made it to the event alive.
The designs on the runway were beautiful and camp. The fashion house had already showcased its ready-to-wear line last winter and was working on bringing in younger designers for some fresh ideas. You were paid to be here so you had to look interested and intrigued by the designs. You saw some pieces that you wanted and some that you absolutely loathed but by the end, you were ready to party.
The after-party was being held at some mansion in Beverly Hills. You don’t know how you got there, but does that really matter? Right now, you were doing shots in Beverly Hills of all places. Shot after shot after shot. The burn disappeared after the third one anyway.
You know you promised Stella not to get shit-faced again, but sometimes promises were meant to be broken. You were twenty-six after all and you were never going to be twenty-six ever again. Luckily, you weren't the type of drunk to get on the table and strip, but you were still sort of embarrassed by your state. It’s not your fault alcohol tastes so good.
Outside by the pool, you lay on one of the tanning chairs. You’re facing the night sky while also trying not to throw up. Your eyes are blinking slowly. You mentally fight with yourself not to fall asleep. You can’t fall asleep now!
“You okay there?” A voice asks. The voice came from the left of you. You turn your head to see who was talking to you and you’re faced with one of the most majestic beings ever. His face is chiseled to the gods and his voice is smooth like butter, but also harsh like rocks. It’s hard to explain but it definitely does something to you. He looks like Adonis reincarnated.
“I’m fine. I think I just had too much to drink,” you slur your words a bit but they’re still understandable.
“Ya, I can see that,” he chuckles. He takes in your tired frame. Your make-up is a bit smudged from a night of partying but you still look beautiful nonetheless. “How about I take you home,” he offers.
“Woah there mister, you are obviously very attractive but I don’t just go home with people. I don’t even know your name,” you sat up. You must have sat up too fast because soon your head was pounding.
“Miguel,” he said, “Miguel O’Hara.”
You must have sobered up enough to get your act straight. This was Miguel O’Hara, the director you would be working for for the next few months. You couldn’t let him see you like this. You didn’t want him to think that you were just some drunk party girl that doesn’t take acting seriously.
“Oh, Mr. O’Hara. I’m-” You tried to introduce yourself but he just waved his hand causing you to shut your mouth.
“I know who you are,” he said, “Now, I don’t want my actors to show up to table reads with hangovers so I think it’s best if I take you home.”
You didn’t want to argue with him so you followed him to his car. It was a modest black Range Rover with a black leather interior.
“My address is-” You started but once again he interrupted you.
“I know where you live. Stella gave me your address after I told her that you were drunk.”
You groaned, “Stella’s going to kill me. I promised her I wouldn’t get drunk.”
Miguel just smirked at you and pulled away from the house in Beverly Hills. As the two of you drove, you couldn’t get over the fact that you just decided to trust Miguel so fast. He was technically your boss for the next few months so you had to listen to him.
Miguel’s letting the radio play. He’s playing a station that plays old cumbia music but it does the opposite of its purpose. Instead of making you want to get up in dance, it lulls you into a deep and peaceful sleep.