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The conversation with my manager plays on a loop in my mind as I sit in the makeup chair the next morning. Her words had been sharp, almost clinical, as if my life boiled down to nothing more than an equation of risks and benefits. "Ava, you need to be careful," she'd said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "The media's already spinning stories about you and Walker. Getting too close to him could hurt your image. You're a role model, remember that."
I'd nodded, biting back a retort. What was the point of arguing? She was rightâthe media loved to concoct narratives, twisting innocent moments into salacious headlines. But the insinuation that I'd want to get close to Walker Scobell? That was laughable.
The thing is, Walker isn't the polished, predictable type I'm used to working with. He's loud, irreverent, and entirely too comfortable in his own skin.
I've spent years perfecting the art of charmâalways polite, always poisedâwhile Walker stumbles through life like he doesn't care who's watching. It's infuriating.
"All done," the makeup artist chirps, stepping back to examine her work. "You're good to go."
I thank her and head to the set, the weight of my manager's warning pressing down on me.
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As I walk, I spot Walker in the corner, laughing with one of the lighting techs. His easy demeanour grates on me. Doesn't he understand the stakes? Doesn't he care about how everything he does is scrutinised?
"Ava!" Walker calls, waving me over. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before walking toward him. "You ready for today's scene?"
"Always," I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I'm not about to let him think I'm rattled.
"Cool. Just don't overthink it," he says with a grin. "You're better when you don't try so hard."
I clench my jaw, but before I can respond, the director calls us to take our places.
The scene goes off without a hitch, but Walker's words linger in my mind. He's always offering these offhand comments, like he knows me better than I know myself. It's maddening.
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