[Aidan's marriage has been shattered by his wife's cheating. Unable to cope with the thing Rosa did, he boarded a plane and put as much distance between them as possible. From Australia, making new friends in Sydney, to meeting Kat and sharing her bed, he finds himself in Los Angeles as the personal trainer and lover to Mara Fey, Hollywood A-Lister and one of the most famous women on the planet. As he becomes more deeply entangled in Mara's life, Rosa becomes more distant, leaving Aidan more lonely than ever.
Mara takes him with her to Tokyo, where Aidan is embroiled in Andrew's plans and must finally face up to his past.
The background to Aidan's story can be found in
Oxygen Games
by oneagainst, continued here with permission.]
---
ANTS
Mara is striding across the floor of the expansive foyer, high heels clicking loudly on the polished stone. She's wearing a leather trench coat that flares open to reveal a short, figure-hugging white dress. Her hair is coiled up in a tight bun and her make-up is immaculate. People cross her path, but she's making a line directly for the reception desk. Aidan's just behind her, lock step with a burly Japanese guy, in a suit that doesn't quite fit. A Japanese man approaches, eyes fixed on her, and reaches behind his waist.
Aidan slips his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and feels the weight of the gun. He slides it out. Mara stops, raising a hand to Aidan without facing him. The stranger opens his fist to reveal a small black memory stick.
"You took your time," Mara snarls at him.
Hearing this, Aidan lowers the gun and begins to relax, but at that moment another man, stocky with a riot of blonde hair and square glasses, comes in from the side. He's waving his hands wildly and Aidan turns towards him, unsure.
"No, Hideo. Gotta be higher. It's a three-quarter shot. Your hand needs to come in from chest height. Okay? Okay, let's go again."
Mara turns, looking at Aidan now. She's smiling, arching an eyebrow as she passes him. Aidan slips the gun back into his pocket and follows behind, returning to the entranceway. Mara stops, fussing with her trenchcoat, getting the fall of the material just right. The burly Japanese man takes up his position at her other shoulder. Behind them, everyone is in motion again, the crowd retracing their steps back to first positions, the last thirty seconds running in reverse, like they're rewinding time.
"Going good," Mara murmurs, her eyes on the director as he organises the camera back to the start of its track.
"Is that a question?" Aidan rumbles under his breath.
"No, statement of fact. You're good at this."
Aidan grimaces, shifting his shoulders. He can feel the bullclips pinned to the back of his jacket, gathering the material more tightly around his torso.
"Not comfortable?"
Aidan shakes his head.
"Don't worry. The camera's only looking at the front. You look good from that angle."
Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. She's enjoying his predicament.
"Yeah," he grumbles, "It's just that when I woke up this morning, I didn't think I was going to be spending the day as a henchman."
Mara tuts at him, shaking her head.
"Ah, no. It's henchperson these days. It's equal opportunity, we're allowing female thugs."
"That just sounds awkward."
"What would you like to call yourself instead? Person of hench?" she grins, then her expression becomes sly, "Hired muscle?"
"Mara, I...."
He's interrupted by the director.
"Okay, places. Quiet. Let's go again."
---
Aidan hangs the suit back up on the rack, alongside a dozen identical suits. He feels better now, back in his t-shirt and jeans, running his hands through his hair, ruffling it back up. He uses a moist wipe, cleaning the make-up off his face, glad to be looking more like himself again. He doesn't know how Mara does it, turning into a different person each day, doing it for a living, the endless fussing with hair and wardrobe for an hour and then standing around for half a day, all to produce thirty seconds of film time. The sheer amount of effort involved is staggering. He hangs back, standing between the costume racks, grateful for the moment of quiet.
It had all been Mara's idea, of course. She'd pitched it to him as if it was a simple extension of what they'd done in the café on the beach, their impromptu roles in the background of a soap opera scene. Then she'd dropped him off with the makeup girls to go and get changed herself. By the time she'd returned, Aidan had found himself committed to playing an extra in the scene, as Mara's second bodyguard. At least there had been no speaking, no lines to learn. He was strictly the hired muscle.
Even so, even with just having to walk in a straight line and take out a gun at a specific point, it had been stressful. Aidan enjoys the quiet, secluded from the hubbub as he listens to the crew calling out as they reset for the next scene. The make-up girls are chattering to themselves at the tables nearby. He hears one of them laughing.
"I know, right? It's just ludicrous," she giggles.
"It's 'cause she's a star. Clicks her fingers and makes it happen."
"Yeah, like it's bring your kids to work day."
"Fucking diva."
They both laugh at this, but it's cut short by a sharp voice from across the foyer.
"Shit. Okay, okay."
"Got the brushes?"
"I got the brushes."
"Let's go."
"Whaddya think? Might need the trowel."
"You bitch."
He hears more laughter, fading into the distance. Aidan sinks down into a crouch up against the marble-tiled wall, in the little space between the clothing racks, deflated. He feels bad for Mara, for the way they're making fun of her. Aidan has spent long enough close enough to see the other side of her, that she's just doing her job, making comments to the crew, trying to get it right because she needs it to be right. She's focused on the finished product, the view on the big screen at the end. It all has to look perfect. She has to look perfect.
Aidan shuffles out of his hiding spot. Across the expanse of the Tokyo skyscraper foyer, there are a pair of low, square leather chairs facing each other. Mara is reclining in one, with a camera over her shoulder. A boom microphone hovers above her head, and one of the make-up girls is applying powder across her forehead. Opposite her is another woman, about Aidan's age, with jet black hair cut into an angular bob. She has soft features, and high cheekbones tapering down to a pointed chin, unconventionally beautiful. The other make-up girl is standing over her, brushing her hair.
The rest of the foyer is deserted now that the crowd scene has been shot. The extras have been released, leaving Aidan standing on his own in the middle of the floor. He doesn't know if he should approach or if he should make himself scarce, Mara hasn't said. So, he stands there, listlessly, waiting for direction.
The director is bent over the younger woman, muttering in her ear. He straightens up and retreats out of shot. The crew becomes quiet.
"Action."
Mara comes to life instantly, opening with, "You really think that's enough to save you?"
In the silence of the foyer, her words ring out. The younger woman leans forward, smiling.
"Oh, it's enough. By the time I'm done, it's going to be enough to drown you."
She's speaking perfect English, but there's a trace of Eastern Europe in her accent.
"That's the problem with secrets, Niko. They're like aces. If you play your ace, you gotta be sure your opponent isn't holding one of her own."
Mara grins back at her adversary, sinking back into her chair.
"Or a gun under the table."
"You're full of shit."
"Let's see shall we? It's fifty paces to the door. Think you can make it?"
"I'm not going out the door. I'm going upstairs."
She tilts her head to the side very slightly, eyes locked on Mara now, smiling coldly.
