The Siren, KATHERINE JOHN [positive books to read .txt] 📗

wood-block center island, and a royal-blue backsplash complemented the white cabinets. Through the picture window above the farmhouse sink, the azure sea sparkled beyond palms rustling in the breeze. “I didn’t know we were doing this scene today,” Stella complained, sidestepping a light stand. “It was supposed to be my scene with the other nanny, when she tells me Olivia is coming.”

Brian looked up from the camera for just long enough to catch my gaze and smirk behind her back.

I cracked my knuckles, irritated. “It was in the email with the call sheet last night, and I left a message with Felicity just to make sure you were clear.”

“She didn’t tell me.” Stella crossed her arms. “I’m not ready.”

I wanted to smack her. “And what do you suggest we do then, Stella?” I smiled through my teeth.

Jackson was avoiding us, staring over Brian’s shoulder at the controls on the side of the camera as though they held the secrets of the universe.

“I don’t know.” She scowled. “That’s your job.”

“Okay, great.” I beamed like a crazy person. “Well, I’ve decided we’re doing that scene. So go get ready.”

“Jackson—” Stella protested.

It was at this point that Madison sailed into the kitchen, her phone outstretched before her. “Here’s everyone, getting all set up to shoot my first scene today,” she trilled into the screen. “Soooo exciting.”

We looked on in horror as she extended her arm to sweep our unsmiling faces with her camera, live streaming to a gazillion fans, no doubt. I couldn’t help myself; before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the phone and hit stop on the record screen. “Taylor!” she cried. “That was—”

Still holding her phone, I threw up jazz hands. “Your adoring fans, I know.” By this point, everyone was staring at me like I was holding a bomb. “But this is a movie, not a TikTok or a Snapchat story.” I was vaguely aware that I was speaking to her like she was a not-bright child, but unable to stop myself. “If you want to shoot on set, you’ll need to obtain written approval from production.” I pointed at myself. “That would be me. Capisce?” She blinked at me, a deer in headlights. “That goes for photos too.”

“Oh my God.” She rolled her eyes. “This is so stupid.”

I slammed her phone to the counter, blood rushing in my ears. “I know you’re desperate to be famous, but have a little common sense.”

“I am famous!” she cried. “I have more followers than anybody here except Cole.”

“For fuck’s sake, life isn’t all about likes and followers,” I snapped.

“Really?” She snorted. “Well, they’ll all do what I say, so if you want me to tell them to watch this movie, you should show me a little more respect.”

“If you want to keep your job, you should show me a little more respect,” I retorted.

“Yeah,” Stella piled on. “I really didn’t appreciate that picture you posted of me sleeping on the boat.”

“You should have,” Madison taunted. “It got over a hundred thousand likes, which is more than the number of followers you even have.”

Stella gasped.

“Enough!” I shouted. “No more posts of the set or anyone on it without their approval, Madison. Or you will be fired. Do you understand?”

She crossed her arms and jutted her chin out. “Fine. But it’s only gonna hurt you. You’ll see.”

“Okay, okay.” Jackson stepped between us. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, giving me a subtle look that said to stand down. “Madison, there are reasons we don’t want anything shared without approval, so please, don’t do it. And we will all”—he looked from her to me to Stella—“respect each other. Okay?”

It was all I could do not to strangle the bitch, but I swallowed the rage constricting my throat, clenching my fists.

I looked up to see Price standing in the entry to the kitchen, bewildered. “Now then, ladies.” I forced enthusiasm, clapping my hands. “Price will take you to wardrobe. You can run lines while you get ready.”

Wordlessly, Madison and Stella followed Price out of the kitchen, studiously avoiding looking at each other. Jackson peered at me from beneath a knitted brow. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, knowing it was fairly obvious I was anything but okay.

“Maybe you should take a walk,” he suggested.

I nodded. “I’ll be back in—”

“Take your time,” Jackson said.

“You’re gonna shoot the scene on the schedule, though—”

“Yes. I can handle it. Go get some air.” He pointed toward the door. “Breathe.”

Brian was fiddling with the scrim as I squeezed past it, and his mirthful eyes caught mine. “That was kinda awesome though,” he whispered. “You said exactly what I was thinking.”

“Thank you,” I mouthed.

Feeling out of body, I walked out the back of the house and down the grassy hill to the beach, where I shed my shoes and rolled up my jeans. The sun was too bright, the air too humid. I didn’t know what had gotten into me. I’d never snapped like that on set before in my life, and I’d been in far worse situations, dealt with much bigger egos.

I picked my way across bits and pieces of broken shells to stand at the shoreline, staring across the blue dappled ocean. The warm water rushed over my ankles, excavating the sand from beneath my feet as it returned to the sea. Thunderheads gathered way out on the horizon, turning the morning’s glassy surface choppy.

Why was I so on edge today? Maybe I was hormonal. I blocked the month in my head. I should be getting my period this week, and that often made me bitchy. But not psychotic. More likely it was the strain of the past few months finally taking its toll—at the very worst moment, of course. My therapist said it was okay to be angry with my father; the danger was in allowing that anger to bubble over into other parts of my life.

Fifty yards out, a giant brindled gray bird dive-bombed the clear water, coming up with a silvery fish in its