co-star

CHAPTER 2

The next morning, Jenna arrived on set with a guarded sense of determination. She’d spent the better part of the night thinking about Daisy—about those annoyingly sincere eyes and that maddeningly calm smile. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel so off-balance, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

As she stepped onto the lot, the familiar chaos of the film set surrounded her. Crew members were bustling around, setting up equipment, adjusting lights, and preparing for the day’s shoot. Jenna spotted Daisy off to the side, leaning against a stack of equipment cases, chatting with a grip. Daisy’s laughter carried through the noise, a bright, unbothered sound that made Jenna’s stomach twist in irritation.

She turned her attention to the scene she was about to shoot—a tense argument between her character and her co-star’s. Perfect. She was in the mood for some tension.

“Jenna!” The director’s voice cut through the din, and she turned to see him waving her over. “Got a quick change in the script. We’re tweaking some of the dialogue for more impact.”

Jenna nodded and made her way over, ignoring the flutter of her heart as she passed Daisy. She could feel Daisy’s eyes on her, assessing, almost as if she were amused. Jenna clenched her jaw. What was it about this girl that got under her skin so easily?

She spent the next half hour running lines and mentally preparing herself for the scene. But every time she turned around, there was Daisy—moving around the set with an ease that bordered on arrogance, her every move calculated yet effortless. Jenna couldn’t help but watch, her irritation growing with every second.

During a break, she finally saw her chance. She approached Daisy, her strides purposeful. “Daisy, right?” she said, her voice a little sharper than intended.

Daisy looked up, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “That’s me,” she replied, her tone breezy as if she hadn’t noticed the edge in Jenna’s voice.

Jenna didn’t waste time. “Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not interested. You can drop the whole ‘I’m so genuine’ act.”

Daisy blinked, then chuckled, and the sound only annoyed Jenna more. “Wow, straight to the point, huh?” she said, leaning back against the equipment case. “I wasn’t aware I was playing a game. Maybe you’re just not used to people being real with you.”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “See, that right there—that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”

Daisy’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, but there was a new intensity behind her eyes, a challenge. “You’re right,” she said, her voice calm but pointed. “I don’t know you. But I know the type. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let anyone in because that would mean letting down the perfect, composed facade.”

Jenna felt a flash of anger. “And what, you think you’re some kind of psychologist now?”

“No,” Daisy replied, still infuriatingly composed. “Just observant.”

Jenna took a step closer, her face tight with frustration. “You don’t get to just waltz in here and act like you have me all figured out. I don’t need your amateur psychoanalysis.”

Daisy shrugged, unfazed. “Then maybe you should stop acting like it bothers you so much.”

Jenna opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t want Daisy to see how much she’d gotten under her skin, but it was too late for that. Daisy could already see the cracks, and Jenna hated it.

“Just stay out of my way,” Jenna said finally, her voice low and simmering with anger. “I don’t have time for people like you.”

Daisy’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something like disappointment. “People like me,” she repeated, her tone mocking. “Right. Because everyone who doesn’t fawn over you must be the enemy.”

Jenna felt a sharp sting at that, but she didn’t let it show. She turned on her heel and walked away, her chest tight with frustration and something else she couldn’t quite name. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time—this gnawing mix of anger, confusion, and a strange kind of interest that made her want to turn back around just to have the last word.

She focused on the scene instead. As the camera rolled, she channeled every ounce of her irritation into her performance, her lines snapping with an intensity that caught even her co-star off guard. She knew the crew was impressed; she could feel their eyes on her, sense the whispers.

But even as she nailed the scene, there was a part of her that couldn’t stop thinking about Daisy. Daisy, who had the audacity to look at her like she wasn’t a big deal. Daisy, who talked to her like she was just another person on set, not someone whose name was plastered across movie posters and magazines. Daisy, who didn’t seem to care about playing nice.

The scene ended, and the director shouted, “Cut! Great work, Jenna! That was perfect—exactly the energy we needed.”

Jenna nodded, catching her breath, but her mind wasn’t on the praise. It was on Daisy, who was now across the set, talking to another crew member, her posture relaxed, her face lit with that same infuriating smile.

Jenna realized, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Daisy had gotten under her skin in a way that no one had in years, and as much as she wanted to ignore it, she knew she couldn’t. Daisy was a problem she wasn’t sure how to solve yet, and that irritated her more than she cared to admit.

As she watched Daisy laugh at something the crew member said, Jenna’s jaw tightened. If Daisy wanted to play this game, fine. But Jenna wasn’t planning to lose.