Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Put Her There
Casey felt angry heat crawl up from her feet, fill her gut, and flush her cheeks. "Hold up. Did you just call me a friggin' lady?"
The Windswept Man spread his arms in disgust. His shirt was covered in movie gore. "It's all over me! Lookit this!"
"Seriously? Lady? Just how old do you think I am?"
"Get it off, get it off!" He twisted and turned, hopelessly trying to keep the wet shirt from sticking to his skin.
Casey's eyes raked across the lines and arcs of his athletic frame. She momentarily considered patting down his soaked front, really getting in there and working the area. She found the idea more stimulating than she was willing to admit.
Out loud, she scoffed. "Get it off? What am I, your..."
Casey trailed off as a blonde woman with severe features and a smart business suit came running.
Armed with a mass of tissues clutched in one hand, the blonde woman busily dabbed at the Windswept Man's shirt. But all the dabbing in the world wasn't getting that mess out.
"...Servant," Casey continued. "And, whoa, you've actually got one."
"She's my assistant!" the Windswept Man said through clenched teeth. "And this shirt cost a thousand dollars!"
"Okay, not a problem, don't panic, it's fake blood. It's water-soluble. Right?" Casey looked over at Marcy the maniac. "Right?"
Looking grim, Marcy shook her head.
Casey sagged. "Crap."
The Windswept Man and his assistant both stared daggers at Casey.
"Okay," she said, putting her hands up. "I feel like now would be a good time to apologize, so here goes."
The Windswept Man waited.
Casey took a deep breath. Cleared her throat.
His eyebrows popped up expectantly. "Well?"
"The thing is, you ran into me just as much as I ran into you."
"What!"
"Look, I was just out for a stroll, minding my own business--"
"But it doesn't matter who ran into who!"
Casey blinked. "It doesn't?"
"Stop it!" The Windswept Man waved his assistant away.
She promptly stepped back, but held her soaked red tissues at the ready.
He looked down at himself. The blood had been smeared, massaged deeply into pure cotton fabric, turning it rough and pink.
He sighed. "The only thing that matters is... Sorry, what is your name?"
"Me? Casey. Casey Shock."
"Shock, the only thing that matters is that you're running around covered in blood. Right? I mean, look at you! You're a danger to every handmade bespoke ensemble on the lot!"
Casey tried to ignore her embarrassment over the growing ridiculousness of the moment, and aimed to cover it up with playfulness.
“‘Bespoke ensemble?’ Do you talk like this all the time?” she asked coolly.
The assistant took a step back, aghast anyone would dare make fun of her boss.
The Windswept Man reddened, but Casey was almost certain her gamble had worked. It seemed the slightest glimmer of a smile formed in one corner of his delicious lips for the slightest moment.
No one else saw it, but she did.
His eyes softened as their conversation continued. He was clearly still plenty perturbed, but Casey got the impression he might be feeling something else too: intrigued.
"Maybe," he replied in the same cool tone.
"I didn't catch your name."
"Grayson Tremaine."
"Nice to meetcha, Tremaine. Put 'er there." Casey offered her hand, and he almost took it, until he saw all the blood on it.
"What is wrong with you!"
"Oops," Casey winced. She really hadn't meant to make it worse.
"Why are you even running around out here in this state?"
Jasmine, the journalist who'd been trying to get an interview with Casey, took the opportunity to speak up. "We were pursuing someone."
"No, we weren't," Casey snapped.
Grayson ignored her. He turned to Jasmine. "Who?"
Frowning, Jasmine tapped her lip. "Not certain. I never actually saw them. I just sorta got swept up in the whole thing, never really knew what was going on, to be honest."
Grayson turned back to Casey, towered over her. "So, spit it out, Shock. Who were you chasing?"
All eyes--Jasmine, Grayson, his assistant, even Marcy the maniac--fell upon Casey.
Keenly aware of their scrutiny, she pursed her lips with casual innocence. "Somebody who... owes me money."
The others appeared to accept this, but Grayson continued to weigh her with a critical narrowing of his dark eyes.
"It was a lotta money," she clarified.
"And now you owe me money," he said. Behind him, his assistant stepped away to answer her phone.
Casey crossed her arms over herself. "How do you figure that?"
"Because you wrecked my thousand-dollar shirt."
"So send me the dry cleaning bill if ya gotta, but I ain't... How much did you say that shirt cost?"
He sighed, mouthed the word, "Thousand."
Casey looked him up and down, then tsk'd. "You over-paid."
Grayson's anger softened with surprise and growing amusement. But before he could reply, his assistant leaned in and whispered something to him. Whatever it was, the news shook him, and not in a good way.
He said, "Excuse me a moment," and stepped away to grab his assistant's phone.
Cracking her knuckles while she waited, Casey nodded at Jasmine's phone and its active recording app. "Compelling stuff, eh?"
"Are you going to buy him a new shirt?" Jasmine asked.
"Maybe. We'll see if he earns it." She wagged her eyebrows suggestively.
"I think you should."
"Why do you care?"
"Because that's Grayson Tremaine."
Casey itched her ear. "You've heard of this guy?"
"You haven't?"
"Wait, should I have?"
Before Jasmine could answer, Marcy the maniac placed a rubbery claw on Casey's shoulder.
"We gotta go," Marcy said. "Abe's freaking out. Remember?"
"Yeah, you said it was something about his precious sprinkler suit?"
"You kinda... wrecked it," said Marcy.
Casey clutched at pearls that weren't there. "Ex-cuse me, no I didn't."
"After he called cut, you ripped it off and ran."
Casey scoffed. "I didn't rip it! I carefully unzipped it--"
Marcy shook her head. "You tore that shit like you were Superman in a telephone booth. It was a relief to me, let me tell ya, because Kimiko told me I was gonna wear that stinky old thing for my own death scene next week. But you know Ade. He loved that suit. He's refusing to work."
Casey was stunned. "Are you serious right now?"
"Says he won't shoot another take unless you're fired."
"How am I fired? I was just killed off!"
"I dunno, maybe you're not invited to the wrap party?"
"Dude, you've gotta be kidding." Casey exhaled. "This freakin' day."
Grayson handed the phone back to his assistant. He returned to Casey looking even more pale than normal.
Instinctively feeling concern, Casey asked, "Is everything alright?"
"Don't worry about the shirt," he said. "It doesn't matter now."
"Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe I do share in some of the blame. I don't wanna leave you high n' dry. What if we get together to hash all this out, say over dinner--"
"I'm sorry, I can't. I've got to leave."
"No sweat. I'm free this weekend, or if next week is better for you..."
"No, I mean I'm leaving the country."
Startled, Casey said, "Say what now?"
"I've got to pack," Grayson muttered to himself. "How much do you pack for a year in London?"
"You're going away for a YEAR?"
"Gonna need new luggage." He turned to his assistant. "Pick me up a full set of luggage, make sure they're brightly colored so I can easily pick them out at the baggage claim. And grab my passport!"
Casey said, "Tremaine, listen--"
He put up his hands. "I'm sorry for how all this went down. Wish we could do a second take and do this right, but I'm out of time. I've really got to go."
Grayson and his assistant rushed away, and quickly disappearing into the crowd.
Casey stood there, feeling lost. She whispered, "The love gods strike again."
"Sorry, what was that?" Jasmine asked.
Suddenly energized with determination, Casey turned to Marcy the maniac. "You see Ade, you can tell him to go piss up a rope."
"Um, no thank you," said Marcy.
Casey turned to Jasmine. "You ready for that interview?"
Jasmine nodded. "I certainly am."
"Then, let's do it. My day just opened way up."
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone