Breaking Free (Breaking Free #1) Read online

  Claire was amazing. She'd gone into this wanting to show America she could play something edgier, and she was killing it.

  "Done yet?" Chris asked flatly. "Can I join the pity party, or is it only for you?"

  Claire let out a short scream and threw a wine bottle at the wall behind Chris.

  It was Sophie's cue to leave her bedroom.

  "I'm done," Claire croaked. "You sicken me. I can get the goddamn money myself."

  Blowing out another breath, Sophie descended the stairs and paused when her "parents" turned to look at her. Claire broke out in more tears, Chris hung his head, and Sophie surveyed the damage in the living room. Sadly, it wasn’t unfamiliar to her. She'd been through this when her real parents divorced.

  "Fighting again?" Sophie kicked a bottle and moved closer to the couch that stood in the middle of the space. "I'm shocked."

  "Go to your room, Anna," Chris ordered tiredly. "Your mother and I have some things to settle—and put some damn clothes on. You're not going out like that."

  Sophie let out a sharp, dark chuckle and sniffled, refusing to let her folks see she hated this. "As if I can't hear you settling things from my room." She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie and smirked at Claire through her tears. "You gotta calm down, Mom. We both know you'll be happy as soon as you've stocked up the liquor cabinet."

  "Anna…" Claire's face fell.

  Sophie shook her head and moved toward the door but came up short when her sister stumbled in, drunk as a skunk.

  "Oh—" Kelly straightened and grinned blearily. "Don’t mind me, I'm just packing an overnight bag."

  Chris gnashed his teeth together and checked his watch. "It's not even seven, and you're wasted already?"

  "Ha!" Sophie spat out. "That’s rich, coming from Captain Morgan himself."

  "And cut!" The set buzzed with activity as Tennyson joined them on the stage and gave out orders to the cameramen. PAs came over to offer water and scripts, and Brooklyn's right-hand woman was there to touch up makeup.

  "Sophie," Tennyson said, walking closer. "Next time, less despair. It was good, but we're saving that for when Kelly disappears."

  "Oh, okay." Sophie bobbed her head in a nod and carefully rubbed her eyes. Getting used to contacts wasn’t easy.

  Tennyson walked off, telling Kelly he wanted a longer pause between her first two lines. More discomfort, more tension.

  Work continued.

  Chapter 3

  Tennyson had to be physically nudged in the right direction by his PA before he called it a day, and for a movie set, seven PM was ridiculously early. But he had that godforsaken dinner with Sophie, so he reluctantly refrained from lashing out at his assistant.

  The actors had been off for a couple hours already, and Tennyson enjoyed the quiet of going through the raw footage with his closest crew members. He'd have to watch the rest of the dailies tomorrow instead of around midnight as he usually did—unless he could cut dinner short.

  That would be incredible.

  Technically, he could refuse to be part of this insane farce, but he couldn’t let go of what the studio's publicist had said about creating a buzz. The script was brilliant, and Tennyson wanted the whole world to know it. For that, he depended on PR—as fucked up as it was. A film could be breathtaking, but that meant nothing if nobody had heard of it. So with his bruised ego, Tennyson was ready to give this stunt one try. One.

  Disappearing into his trailer, he took a shower and then ended up hesitating in front of the fogged-up mirror. He drew a hand over his beard, knowing it was too long to shave. To hell with it. He trimmed it a bit, but he was already late, so the rest would have to come off later. Or never.

  He'd had a beard for as long as he could remember, but perhaps having it trimmed wasn’t all that bad. He looked less…unkempt.

  Boxer briefs, a standard pair of jeans, and a gray button-down came on. He could live with neater facial hair and leaving his University of Michigan cap and shades at home, but he wasn’t becoming some dress-up doll.

  He squinted at the bathroom light, cursing his eyes. He'd suffered from light sensitivity since he was a child, and in this business it had given him plenty of headaches. His PA had thankfully booked a restaurant with dim lighting, though.

  After rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he pocketed his wallet, keys, and phone, then walked out into the nice June evening. A car with tinted windows was waiting for him in the parking lot, and he spent the entire ride on the phone. First with Noah then with a couple of the producers.

  Vancouver was beautiful at night, but it was rare Tennyson got to see much of it. Whenever he filmed up here, he was always buried in work.

  They arrived at some swanky seafood restaurant by the harbor, and Tennyson got out, not spotting any reporters anywhere. But he assumed they'd be here soon enough. He'd had his PA contact the studio's publicist with the details.

  Tennyson now knew the man's name was Richard.

  He hadn't memorized the name of his own PA, though.

  "Good evening, Mr. Wright." The maître d' smiled politely and gestured toward the dining room. "We have reserved a table with a lovely view of the harbor for you and your guest."

  Tennyson nodded in thanks and followed a waitress who was eager to show the way. At the bar, he spotted Sophie's assistant and deduced the female he was sitting with—her back to Tennyson—must be Sophie herself. So he told the waitress to let Sophie know he was here now.

  "Right away, sir. Can I start you off with a drink, or would you like to look at the menu first?"

  "I'll have a beer, thanks." He sat down in the corner so he faced the restaurant, a wall-sized window with the promised view to his right. "Anything you can recommend with fish is fine."

  The waitress handed him a menu and placed one for Sophie, then flitted off. Tennyson glanced around the rustic-looking establishment, old fishnets and sea glass hanging between the wooden beams in the ceiling, and he was relieved the lighting wasn’t too harsh.

  A few guests had recognized him, so he occupied himself with checking emails on his phone.

  Only a minute or two later, Sophie sat down across from him, and he looked up from his phone to see…something different.

  Tennyson didn’t read gossip rags, but one had to be blind to avoid every little thing, such as front pages of Sophie Pierce wearing dresses that should be called lingerie. Not to mention an extreme amount of black makeup. But that wasn’t the case now, so he knew she'd put effort into this. She was trying.

  Instead of dressing indecently, she'd gone with a short-sleeved blouse—and whatever she was wearing under the table.

  "Hi. Wow, you look different without your Ray-Bans." She smiled and combed her fingers through her ponytail, bringing it forward. "Thank you for agreeing to this. I know you're doing it for the film, but it means a lot."

  Tennyson didn’t quite know what to say, so he just nodded and focused on his menu.

  He frowned, wondering why the hell the changes in Sophie wouldn’t leave his mind. It shouldn’t matter to him that black and cakey had been replaced with light and subtle.

  "Is the selection no good?" Sophie asked.

  Tennyson cleared his throat and forced himself to pay attention. "It's fine." He quickly scanned the entrees and settled for the grilled salmon with mashed potatoes.

  The waitress returned, and Tennyson took a sip of his beer while Sophie placed her order. Basically, she was going to eat air. Or whatever remained of a lobster tail salad, hold the avocado, dressing, croutons, and please no extra salt or butter.

  Tennyson had never understood the frenzy with diets, especially in LA. Being healthy was one thing, but many of the women today starved themselves. Sophie didn’t look like she had an ounce of extra body fat, and her bones were visible.

  If she continued, she'd disappear.

  "Of course, miss." The waitress jotted down the order then paused when Sophie added a glass of water—some brand Tennyson had never heard of. "I apo
logize," the waitress said, "but we don’t carry that water here."

  "I see." Sophie was displeased. "Then why are you still standing here? I suggest you run out and get—"

  That was Tennyson's cue to interrupt. "She'll take whatever bottled water you have," he told the waitress. He threw Sophie a look of warning because he had no goddamn patience for diva antics. Then he placed his own order and returned the menu.

  The waitress grabbed the menus and scurried away.

  "What did you do that for?" Sophie asked irritably.

  "Don’t be ridiculous," he said. "It's water. You won't taste the difference."

  "I sure as shit do," she replied. "I need that particular—"

  "Need?" Tennyson leaned forward a bit so no one would overhear them arguing. "Do you even know what's so special about it, or do you only want it because all your jet-set friends are drinking it?" He shook his head. "Trust me, princess, you don’t need that water."

  Sophie huffed and sat back, folding her arms across her chest.

  Tennyson sat back as well and then brought out his phone when it buzzed in his pocket.

  "It's rude to be on your phone when you're with someone else," Sophie pointed out.

  Tennyson didn’t miss a beat. "So is demanding a waitress run out and buy a brand of water they don’t have here." He glanced at the message from his brother.

  Mom is complaining that her two sons are almost forty and haven't settled down yet. Shall I tell her about your new girlfriend? She'll be fucking delighted!

  That was the opposite of how their mother would react to Sophie, and Tennyson could bet Ash was cracking up over this. Asshole. But at least it wasn’t a real relationship. Their mother would be relieved to hear that—once she learned about the PR stunt.

  He suppressed a sigh and slipped his phone into his pocket again. This was a bad idea. Think of all the work he could've gotten done if he hadn't been stuck here.

  "God, what I wouldn’t give to have my phone now." Sophie sighed and tilted her head back, as if God were actually there.

  Tennyson smirked faintly, having heard from her assistant that she wasn’t allowed to have her phone anymore. It distracted her too much, and Tennyson had to agree. Before and after most scenes, it had been glued to her hand, which had infuriated Tennyson and made him question the studio's decision to cast her.

  "It must kill you to miss out on all the parties at home." He was amused, he had to say. "But I'm sure your friends will have a few drinks for you."

  "You don’t get it." She shook her head. "My reputation depends on it. There's always someone ready to take my place in the spotlight."

  It was she who didn’t get it, clearly. "On the contrary, if you do well in this film, it could be the beginning of a reputation that’s actually worth something."

  Sophie dropped her jaw. "Are you saying I'm worthless now?"

  Holy fuck, she was a dramatic one.

  "That’s not what I said, was it?" He arched a brow. "It's your reputation we're discussing—not you as a person."

  Sophie scoffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Like, what's the difference, anyway?"

  He couldn’t believe her stupidity. Literally—he couldn’t believe it. He narrowed his eyes and studied her. Sophie stared right back, defiant, but after a while, her phony bravado gave way to fidgeting and darting glances.

  "What?" She put the last of her attitude in that word.

  "You're actually playing stupid," he said in wonder. "Why would anyone do that?"

  "Excuse me?" Now she was going for insulted, but she wasn’t that good of an actress. Tennyson saw through her. It was a damn front. "In the span of five minutes, you've called me both worthless and stupid—"

  "Cut the shit." Tennyson rested his forearms on the table, keeping his voice low. "Give me something real." There was no judgment or anything condescending about his tone. If anything, he was baffled. But persistent. His gut instinct told him there was more to Sophie Pierce than being an airhead. "Right here, right now. Tell me something genuine."

  Sophie glanced around, appearing to battle with herself. Her perfectly white teeth sank into the softness of her glossy bottom lip, and she hesitated.

  "Like what?"

  "Anything." He was curious about what the hell was going on inside her head. "Something your so-called friends would find…uncool, perhaps. Something you keep to yourself. A hobby, a song, an opinion."

  But Sophie didn’t go down that easily, evidently. "You know, you've got some nerve…"

  "All right." Tennyson surrendered. "Never mind. I apologize." When he thought about it, he didn’t even know why he'd bothered. What was he thinking? This was Sophie Pierce. She existed in another universe. They'd never be on the same wavelength.

  Their food arrived, saving Tennyson from polite conversation that would've been too contrived, and they spent the next half hour eating in silence.

  Well, Tennyson amended, he ate. Sophie picked at her food.

  She looked…small. Not only in size but overall. Small in the world.

  It shouldn’t bother him in the slightest.

  "Was it not satisfactory?" he couldn’t help but ask. And he had a feeling he was about to receive a bullshit answer.

  "Sorry?" Sophie looked up from her plate. "Oh, it was great. I'm just not very hungry."

  Yeah. Bullshit.

  He'd seen enough to know it was about calories or whatnot. She ate bits of spinach and asparagus, but she didn’t touch anything that glistened with cooking oil.

  This evening was a bust. As predicted. How the producers could have believed this was going to work was beyond him.

  "We should probably do something," Sophie murmured, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Don’t look outside, but I think I saw paps."

  Terrific.

  Then an idea struck him, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from twisting up a little. "Fair enough," he responded quietly. "Smile for me." He gathered some salmon and mashed potatoes on his fork, struggling to withhold his smirk, and brought it close to Sophie. "Try this."

  Disbelief flashed in her eyes, followed by annoyance. But the party girl played her part and closed her lips around the fork. Wanting to see this through and ensure she didn’t spit it out in her napkin, Tennyson snatched hers up.

  "It was…good." Sophie chewed slowly, reluctantly, and threw him a look for the napkin theft. "Wow. How much butter was this cooked with?"

  "Probably a lot." Tennyson smiled genuinely and drained the last of his beer. "I take it you don’t want dessert?"

  Sophie laughed softly under her breath. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. I'm gonna be on the treadmill for a week because of what you did."

  "Ah. Naturally." Tennyson had had enough, so he flagged down the waitress. "I suppose the only calories you have room for are the ones in alcohol. Check, please."

  The silver lining with this disaster of a dinner was that he would have plenty of time to go through the dailies when he returned to his trailer. Another upside was that he wouldn’t be seeing Sophie for the next four days. She and Kelly were off with the second unit to shoot in Denver, where the movie was set.

  Chapter 4

  "Fuck!" Sophie threw a shoe at the door in her hotel room in Denver. "Arrogant bastard!"

  She slumped down on her bed and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Even three days after her dinner with Tennyson, the wounds were raw. Whenever she was alone and found herself thinking back on that night—which was more often than she cared to admit—the humiliation washed over her again and she ended up throwing something.

  "You okay in there, Sophie?" Daniel called from his adjoining room. He shared it with Kelly's PA. "We gotta go downstairs in five."

  Sophie grabbed her bag and ripped the door open, stalking toward the elevators. She was apparently loud enough to be heard through walls, and Daniel was quick to follow.

  "Everything okay?" he asked.

  "Don’t pretend to give a shit," she snapped. Then she wa
ved a hand. "Give me an update on my texts and emails."

  "Yes, Ms. Diva." Daniel scrolled through her phone as they headed down in the elevator. "Callie's back in rehab, whomever you named 'Hoebitch' in your phone wonders when you'll be back in LA, there's a bunch of drunk texts from Cassandra, Lachlan tells you to go fuck yourself for cheating on him with Tennyson. According to TMZ, Lachlan moved on with Audrey last night."

  Sophie cursed. "I'm getting fewer texts every day. They'll forget me soon, I'm sure of it."

  "I wonder why," Daniel muttered. "Oh, you just got an email from Tyler."

  "Who?" she asked, annoyed.

  "Tennyson's assistant. He's forwarded a schedule from the studio." Daniel paused, eyes on the screen. "They're dates for you and Tennyson. When we get back to Vancouver tomorrow, you're going to dinner again."

  "Great." She rolled her eyes. She had half a mind to ask why they'd have to go out again together so soon, but she knew why. Rumors had definitely begun circulating about her dinner with Tennyson, but the pictures had raised both questions and doubts. While the paps had gotten photos of Tennyson smiling as he'd fed Sophie, they'd also gotten plenty of photos where Tennyson and Sophie looked pissed at each other. Not exactly what one would call a romantic date.

  In the car ride going downtown toward the University of Denver, Sophie stewed in silence and tried to rub the tension out of her neck. She was extremely tired, and she missed her bed back in LA.

  Classes were over for the semester, so the campus area wasn’t as crowded as Sophie guessed it usually was. She'd never gone to college, nor had she been to Denver before. It was pretty, she supposed.

  The front of one building had been sealed off for the shoot, and Daniel told her which of the four trailers was for hair and makeup and wardrobe.

  As Sophie was about to step out of the car, Daniel stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  He stared at her. "You know you're obnoxious, right?"

  What the fuck?

  "Excuse me?" she spluttered. "Maybe we got our signals crossed or something, but you're the help. I don’t think my father pays you to—"

  "That right there." He pointed at her. "Stop acting so damn superior. Stop pretending to be so fucking shallow. And, for the record, your father pays me to not take your shit."