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If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars

Maple walked in silence, closely followed by Salvatore and Semoule, to the costume room where Saturno’s wig was stored overnight. She tried to steer her mind away from the new crime she was now investigating too: the case of the missing envelope.

Who had stolen it? The list of suspects—everyone who had been in the room during the emergency meeting—was filled with her closer creative collaborators. She couldn’t see any of them being the saboteur. The only person she had doubts about was Salvatore. Yet, something in her gut told her he was innocent.

“We’re here!” Semoule shrieked, way too excited for the moment. 

Saturno’s wig was kept under an oval glass protector, next to all the other wigs used on the show. The green wig was the only one with a code required to access it, a necessary security measure to protect the $15,000 accessory. A measure that had also proven utterly inefficient since it’d probably taken less than a handful of seconds for the thief to destroy it.

The first thing Maple noticed when she entered the room was the large hammer left on the floor amidst pieces of broken glass. The thief hadn’t even bothered to take their weapon with them.

Semoule took out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“What are you doing?” Maple asked.

“I’m taking pictures of the crime scene,” he answered matter-of-factly as he captured more shots. “We can study them later and figure out what happened.”

Maple waved at the mess in front of them. “It’s pretty clear what happened. Someone swung a hammer into the glass to steal the wig.”

Semoule kneeled, picking up the hammer. “Who has access to hammers?”

Maple rolled her eyes. Maybe she was regretting her decision to have Semoule accompany them. “Everyone?”

Salvatore leaned in next to them, examining the tool with careful eyes. “The hammer looks familiar. Isn’t it—”

“You’re right,” Semoule said, nodding along. “It’s a replica of the hammer used in Tight Skirts & Smashed Skulls. I know ‘cause I worked as a PA in the prop department last summer. We had a hammer just like that one on set.”

Tight Skirts & Smashed Skulls was the latest pop-slasher produced by Ersweld Included in which a group of teenage girls (played by women in their mid-twenties) murdered boys who’d made inappropriate comments at their outfits by smashing their heads with hammers. (The movie had been described as “confusedly feminist” by the press.)

Salvatore allowed for a few seconds to pass (in which he probably wondered, like Maple, how Semoule managed to be such a pain in the ass) before he continued, “I was going to say it looks like one of the hammers the set designer always has in handy.”

Semoule gasped. “Do you think it was the set designer’s? Do you think he did it?”

“Her,” Maple corrected. “And no, I don’t think Salvatore is implying that Marguerite had anything to do with this.”

She glanced at Salvatore as if to say “Right?” and caught his eyes. She lost herself in the sea of green for just an instant. Beauty amongst the chaos.

“Maple is correct,” Salvatore said, breaking eye contact to look at Semoule. Maple’s heart sank a little. “I’m simply pointing to the fact that someone else could have taken it from her department.”

“Oh my god, you are a genius!” Semoule exclaimed, his mouth parted in a mix of excitement and… flirtation? He was now making prolonged eye contact with Salvatore. Maple felt the sudden urge to stop it. “You’re hawt and a genius? Damn, the things I’d do to you if—”

“Alright!” Maple gave the PA’s shoulder a decisive smack. Not strong enough that he would feel the need to call HR and report physical abuse from his boss, yet sufficiently assertive so the young man would stop talking. She needed him around as a buffer against Salvatore’s strange effects on her, but she couldn’t keep the PA around if he continued making inappropriate comments—no matter how accurate the comments might be.

Something else was simmering under Maple’s overreaction, beyond the pretenses of professionalism. She chose not to look at it too closely. Now was not the time to extrapolate about feelings of what? Jealousy? Ridiculous.

As expected, things almost took a turn for the worse when Semoule rushed to Marguerite, a finger raised in accusation, screaming at the top of his lungs “J’accuse!” It took two set decorators to stop the ferocious lady from breaking the PA’s bones in half.

When it’d been determined Marguerite and her team had nothing to do with the theft (at least nothing Semoule could prove), he finally relented and asked to take the rest of the day off, invoking “mental health concerns” after working in an “emotionally volatile environment.”

Maple walked him back to his car, making sure he wouldn’t vehemently accuse anyone else without concrete proof. She stood outside in the parking lot, watching as his pumping red Dodge Viper car drove off.

Then, Salvatore was here too.

Once again, she felt his presence before she saw him. There was something about the way he occupied space. A specific energy emanated from the man. Maple was afraid it was a trick of her hormones convincing her brain she had to be naked on top of Salvatore. Her body was aching to be near the man. She couldn’t remember the last time she orgasmed and the actor was a walking, talking sexual propellant.

He also was her employee and the star of their show. It wouldn’t be just her heart in the balance. This would always be too big, too dangerous. She had to keep her distance.

But now Semoule was gone and she was alone with Salvatore in the parking lot. Two people surrounded by dozens of empty cars.

“Maple, I need to talk with you,” He said, standing behind her. 

She waited longer than necessary to turn and face him. When his deep green eyes set on her, she tended to forget all the rules she ought to abide by.

“Can it wait? I have to call the insurance about the wig,” she lied, not meeting his eyes.

“It can’t. And we both know you’re not going to call the insurance. They could leak it to the press. You want to deal with it internally first.”

She said nothing because how could he so clearly read her?

Salvatore brushed his hand through his chestnut curl. She noticed the bags under his eyes and realized it was the first time in a while she’d seen him without makeup. She hadn’t noticed earlier in the car how tired he looked. He was still handsome, but he looked as tired as she felt.

Something was on his mind and Maple was afraid to hear him say the words. She knew it’d change the trajectory of her day once again. Salvatore’s behaviour had been out of the ordinary all day, and since Murphy’s law was a bastard (at least in her case), she could only fear what the actor had to confess. She wasn’t ready for another plot twist.

He took a step forward. “It’s about what we talked about earlier in the car.”

Oh god, Maple did not want to revisit that conversation. That’s the exact thing she’d been avoiding. The chemistry they shared was confusing and so distracting. It was bad news, and Maple had enough of those to go around.

“Right now isn’t a great time, Salvatore.”

She started to walk off past him. She’d go to her office, lock herself in, spend some time under her desk. That’s what she needed right now.

But he had other plans for her. He gently grabbed her wrist, and the warm touch of his fingers on her skin made her stop. She craved more. It was wrong.

“Please,” he begged, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “You told me your secret. Let me tell you mine.”

She wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. But apparently, she couldn’t bear to say no to him. It was dangerous, all the power he had on her. 

“Fine,” her voice croaked. “Tell me.”

“I’ll do better,” he murmured. “I’ll show you.”