Free Orlando (Blackmail #1) by Crystal Spears Page A

away so that I can talk to her in private. I haven’t spoken a word to her in over a year. When we are away from all ears, I try my best to ease her nerves.
    “Bucket, it’s just me, your old friend Orlando. You're nervous when there’s no reason to be nervous at all.”
    Her mouth tilts up at the use of her nickname, and I notice some of the tension leaves her body. “Please, don’t call me that around other people.”
    My lips tilt to the side as I try hard not to smile. She’ll be fine. I can see it in her gaze and the way her face contorts.
    “So, we’re good, yeah?” I ask as my hand leaves her elbow.
    She pauses when her personal assistant comes up to take her cell phone and script, and waits for her to leave until she answers me.
    “You have to admit it, Orlando. This is… odd,” she mutters under her breath.
    The strange thing is, this is my first project with her, and it’s the first time I will see her fully naked. Of course, it has to be with some asshole like Mateo putting it to the girl I have always loved. Yeah, that’s the only thing strange about it.
    “Friday, I only took this job so I could help protect you. I know there’s more going on here than meets the eye, and maybe you’ll tell me about it soon.”
    Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open before snapping shut. I shake my head at her, my own secret way of letting her know I won’t believe a lie if she tries to tell me one.
    “Fine, maybe, we’ll see,” she says in a soft voice. “I want to get this film over and done with. I want my life back.”
    My fists ball at my sides. “Three months, baby. I’ll get you through this, I promise,” I grit through clenched teeth. My anger has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with whatever the fuck is going on here.
    Friday’s nervousness dissipates with my answer, her stance loosens, and she heaves a loud sigh. “Our first time working together, and it’s on a porn, O.”
    My heart stutters in my chest when she calls me O. She hasn’t called me that since we were kids. We haven’t spoken more than a few words to one another since high school, and every time I’ve seen her since, it was in passing during parties or premieres. We both agreed on that plan when we discovered our attraction was both ways.
    “I see you’re not wearing your wedding ring.” Her voice quivers as her nerves reappear.
    A laugh bubbles out of me as I rub my thumb over the bare spot. She is right, and she, of all people, knows I don’t believe in divorce, so I could see why it would make her nervous. I think, if you commit to someone, you should make it work, and do everything in your power to fix whatever is wrong.
    After almost a year of trying to work it out with my wife, I have given up. She doesn’t want me and she has cheated countless times. A man can only deal with so much, know the end results won’t change, no matter how hard a person he is. The only reason I’m no longer fighting to keep my marriage intact is because of Friday, but I don’t say this to her. If I didn’t want to change things between Friday and me, I would live in this loveless marriage until I die. Don’t get me wrong. I love my wife, but I love Friday too, and since my wife is the one pressing for this divorce and refuses to change her mind, I need to move on.
    Instead of giving her my reasoning behind the missing ring, I shrug it off. She does not need to know my plans for her quite yet.
    “Ready to work?” I ask.
    Friday moves her bangs to the side and answers. “I am.”
    I lift my hands in the air and snap my fingers for her hairstylist to come over. “Fix her hair. It’s bugging her, and I want her comfortable,” I demand.
    “Thank you, Mr. Dupree,” she replies, getting right back down to business.
    It takes everything I have to walk away from her and sit in my fancy, unnecessary chair. My assistant Tia calls for places while I put on my headpiece. When they rest comfortably on my head, I give a nod