He's a Wh0re

IV

Emmie’s phone buzzes, and she quickly fishes it out of her jacket pocket.

It’s the director calling. Emmie checks the time and slaps her forehead—she completely forgot about today’s meeting. They need to discuss her third project, set to film within the day. She thought she was finally going home.

“Yes, Director! I’m on my way!” She picks up her pace, hurrying down the hall.

She slips into the meeting room just a couple of minutes late, giving an apologetic smile as she steps inside.

"Ah, there she is—Emmie!" The director’s voice cuts across the room, drawing everyone’s attention. Emmie straightens, acutely aware of the eyes now fixed on her.

“You’ve put in some impressive work on your last project,” he says, his words unexpectedly encouraging. "It sounds ridiculous, but I’m genuinely impressed by your effort."

Emmie nods, feeling both awkward and proud of his praise.

“We’re assigning you to work with Abe on his new project in a couple of days,” the director continues, a challenging glint in his eye.

“He was once the ace of this company, and we need your talent to bring him back into the spotlight.” He points at her with a smirk.

Emmie still can’t believe these words were coming from Jackson, the same man who had openly criticized her during her interview just two weeks ago.

Emmie’s heart sinks at the mention of Abe. Working with him was the last thing she wanted, yet she can't voice her reluctance. Abe has a reputation for being unpredictable and difficult, and Emmie isn’t sure she’s ready to handle his intense personality on set. Her silence stretches as she processes this unexpected assignment.

"Everything okay, Emmie?" Jackson’s voice pulls her back to the room, his smirk unwavering as he raises an eyebrow.

She forces a nod, pushing down her doubts. "Yes, sir. Absolutely."

"Good. I’m expecting you to bring out the best in him,” Jackson continues, still challenging her. "Abe's career could use a turnaround, and you’re just the one to make that happen."

Emmie nods again, even though her thoughts are spiraling. She knows she has to make this work—it’s too big an opportunity to pass up, even if it means putting up with Abe's notorious attitude. With her career on the line, she can’t afford to refuse.

When the meeting finally ends, Emmie drags herself to a corner to gather her thoughts. The director’s words replay in her mind, and an uneasy feeling gnaws at her. She’s proud of how far she’s come, but being thrown into the deep end with someone as temperamental as Abe feels like more than she bargained for.

Just then, her coworker Leo passes by and notices her troubled expression. "Hey, you alright?"

Emmie forces a smile. "Yeah, just... processing the new assignment."

"Ah, Abe, huh?" Leo gives her a sympathetic look. "He’s tough, but I’ve seen your work. You’ve got this."

Emmie gives a hesitant nod, knowing that no amount of reassurance can erase the unease simmering in her chest. But she straightens her shoulders, taking a deep breath. She’ll just have to make the best of it—after all, that’s what she’s always done.

When the day comes, Emmie arrives early at the beachside guesthouse where the day’s filming will take place. The performers haven’t arrived yet, and she’s already set up all her equipment. As she gazes out the window, a hint of excitement stirs within her—she wonders if her real luck might lie in New York rather than Los Angeles.

“Maybe I’ll go to New York next,” she says aloud, feeling a thrill of anticipation. But a cough interrupts her musings.

“Going to New York without paying for the damage?” a man’s voice chimes in, half-sitting on the arm of a nearby sofa with a smirk on his face. She recognizes him as one of the actors.

“No,” she replies, taken aback. She glances at the man—tall, impossibly handsome, with the physique of a Greek god. Why he’s in this industry, she can’t imagine.

"You should visit a psychiatrist,” he jokes. “You seem... a little off.”

Emmie laughs nervously, brushing his comment aside. She's not here for him—or anyone, for that matter.

Later, when the crew and producer arrive, Emmie refocuses on her job, capturing the best angles. She’s still adjusting to this line of work, reminding herself it’s a stepping stone, even if the scenes feel awkward at times.

After they wrap up for the day, she declines an invitation to join the crew’s party that night. Instead, she plans to visit Ruth, who’s going through a difficult time with her health.

“This room will be full of plants soon, thanks to you,” Ruth chuckles weakly as Emmie places another pot on the windowsill.

“Live plants are good company," Emmie says, smiling. "They’ll always listen, even when nobody else does.”

Ruth’s eyes well up, and Emmie gives her a gentle hug. This woman is like a mother to her, especially now, as she struggles through tough days.

Trying to lift Ruth’s spirits, Emmie grins and says, “I saw Abe’s muscles today, and let me tell you, they’re something to behold.”

Ruth laughs, wiping her tears.

“Come on, Emmie. You probably feasted your eyes all day!” she teases.

“He looks like a Greek god! But on camera... let’s just say he doesn’t look quite as graceful!” Emmie laughs, and they both break into smiles, grateful for a bit of humor in a tough time.

Emmie walks toward the grand entrance of Quro with her head slightly bowed, absorbing the building’s Italian and Scandinavian design—a blend of elegance and minimalism that reflects the tastes of its owner, Italian rigger Aberto Romano.

Before heading to her meeting, she detours to the restroom, taking a moment to check her reflection. She examines her silver braces in the mirror, smiling widely. Tomorrow, they’re coming off, and she’s finally seeing her teeth perfectly aligned after two years of discomfort and anticipation.

As she checks her appearance, her mind flickers with memories of recent encounters. The tension of the past few days brings a warm blush to her cheeks. He’s dangerous, she thinks, and deep down, she knows she has to stay away from him. Yet she doubts Jackson would let her bow out of the assignment—without a concrete excuse, it would only raise questions. She presses a hand to her forehead, trying to shake away the lingering image of him that invades her thoughts.

“It’s just a fleeting thing,” she mutters, trying to convince herself. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t felt something, but she chalks it up to mere infatuation. A fantasy, she thinks. Just another woman ogling him like countless others.

Determined to collect herself, she takes a deep breath, puts on a composed smile, and steps out of the restroom. But just as she exits, she almost stumbles—he’s there, walking right beside her. The sight makes her heart jump.

“When will you start paying?” His voice is unexpected, and she startles, not realizing he’d even stopped walking.

“Huh?” She looks up at him, his smirk intense as his gaze rakes over her.

"I can see you’ve been eyeing me, but I have standards for the women I entertain—and you’re not in that class." His words are laced with arrogance, and Emmie feels her face flush with both embarrassment and irritation.

She laughs, the sound awkward but growing in confidence as she pulls a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet. She hands it to him, barely containing her laughter, though inwardly mortified.

“How about I just pay you weekly? Or better yet, give me your account number so I don’t have to see your face every time.”

He stares at her, stunned, his expression a mix of confusion and indignation.

Still chuckling, she walks away, her heart pounding as she escapes the encounter.