First comes loathe blue.., p.1
First Comes Loathe (Blue Collar Bensons Book 1), page 1
Contents
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Author Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Tenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Author Note Amazon
FB Group
About the Author
Zach Preview
FIRST COMES LOATHE
Blue Collar Bensons
Book 1
Lilly Atlas
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © 2021 Lilly Atlas
All rights reserved.
To Sam.
First book of each series goes to you. There wouldn’t have been a single book without you.
<3
Other books by Lilly Atlas
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Zach
Maverick
Jigsaw
Copper
Rocket
Little Jack
Joy
Screw
Viper
Thunder
Audiobooks
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PROLOGUE
MICHAELA FIGURED SHE would either vomit or pass out cold on the floor.
It was a toss-up which of the mortifying acts would happen first, putting a quick and final end to her dreams.
She shifted back and forth as she stood there gnawing her lower lip. No had said anything yet and she’d been standing there at least a full minute. Every person in the room seemed busy with whatever tasks they had to complete.
Should she start? Launch into the scene? Or was she supposed to wait for instructions? Maybe she should have asked one of the other girls sitting in the long line outside the audition room for some advice, but she’d been going for confident and experienced, not the unsophisticated noob that she was.
“Name?” A man had a placard in front of him with the words Casting Director on it. He didn’t even look up from a clipboard. The man looked like he walked straight off the cover of GQ in trendy black jeans, a metallic button-up with rolled sleeves. Black nail polish, an eyebrow ring, and perfectly gelled hair completed the look.
“M-Michaela.” She cleared her throat. “Michaela Hudson,” she amended in as strong a voice as she could muster with her legs shaking and insides bubbling with anxiety. Standing in an audition room at a real Hollywood studio for the first time made her high school audition nerves laughable.
A bright light flashed and she blinked and jumped back. “Wh-uh…” She ran a damp palm over her shoulder-length and newly blond hair. The hair she’d spent more time perfecting that morning than ever before.
“Sorry, casting photo,” a tall, thin woman said from behind a camera.
“Oh, uh, sure.” Michaela blinked a few more times to get the spots in her eyes to disappear.
Stand tall, look them in the eye, and be the star I know you were born to be.
Her mother’s words rang loudly in her ears as the urge to shrink in on herself and curl into a ball grew with each passing second. Her very first memory was standing on a chair in her mother’s kitchen around age four, holding a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup and thanking the stuffed animal Academy for the award.
All through Michaela’s childhood, her romantic of a mother had been in awe of Hollywood. The glitz, the glam, the magic of being loved by the entire world. Michaela had fallen hard for the allure of movie star life as well. Acting was the only thing she’d ever wanted to do. Not just acting, but excelling at it. Becoming a star. Living in one of those jaw-dropping mansions in the Hollywood hills where she’d never have to wonder where her next meal would come from or how her mother was going to pay her medical bills. They’d live the ultimate life without any cares, concerns, or hardships. How could anyone have a moment of unhappiness when they had the entire world at their feet?
Even before her mother had passed away six months ago, Michaela decided their dream would live on, so she’d done it a few weeks ago. Moved from a tiny spec of a town in West Virginia to big-city Hollywood to begin her career as a starlet.
“You waiting for an engraved invitation?” the casting director barked, again not so much as glancing her way. “You may have all day, but I don’t. Get started.”
“Yes, sir.” Michaela closed her eyes, inhaled a shuttered breath, and launched into the short scene the talent agent instructed her to memorize. The one she’d practiced no less than eight hundred times over the past four days—in front of the mirror, while eating, sitting on the toilet, when she should have been sleeping, and even while waiting tables at the coffee shop. She’d kill to have the opportunity to act this captivating scene on a real set.
Three lines in and one heartfelt attempt at sophistication, the casting director dropped his pen and finally gave her his eyes. His gaze stayed focused on her as she ran through the scene, pouring every ounce of her soul into the cheesy dialogue. From the same table as the director, another man without hair and skinny as a rail with thick, square glasses read the male parts in a bored tone.
Michaela gasped and pressed a hand to her chest in response to rejection from her fictitious love. The more he spoke, the more she fell into the character. Before long, she’d fully immersed herself in the role, feeling the character’s personality wash over her and chase away the poor, small-town girl, replacing her with the high-maintenance socialite she portrayed.
Her heart soared. The director sat with his chin propped on his hand, watching her every move. Sure, he wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t frown either. That had to be good. Though a minuscule role in a made for television movie, she’d be in a film if she got this part. A real live Hollywood movie. With her name in the credits and face on screen for all the world to see.
“I’m not canceling this trip,” she spat out, channeling her inner diva with a flip of her long hair. Hiding her slight southern accent was the hardest part of this process, but she’d been practicing for weeks and thought she had it down pretty well. “Do you have any idea—”
“Cut!”
Huh?
Michaela snapped her mouth closed at once, and her arms slumped limply to her sides. That was it? She’d only made it through half the assigned script.
“What is this shit, Bob?” The casting director stood with a mighty frown and aimed the question at a talent agent seated at the back of the room.
Michaela peeked over her shoulder in time to see Bob shrug. “Don’t know. She ain’t one of mine.”
“Who got you this audition, kid?” the director asked with an expression akin to someone drinking spoiled milk.
“Um, E-Elvira with Star Finder Incorporated.” The eclectic agent with snowy white hair and enormous cat-eye glasses had promised Michaela would be absolutely perfect for the role.
“SFI.” The director snorted. “Figures.”
Her face heated under the stare of everyone sitting at the table.
“I-is there a problem, sir?” Trying to speak louder than the pounding of her heart had her nearly yelling.
“Yeah, there’s a problem.” He slapped his palms down on the table as he rose. “There’s a huge fucking problem. Have you even looked in a mirror today?”
Michaela blinked as every person in the room abandoned their tasks and fixed their curious gazes on her. She felt as though she were naked, standing in front of a panel of hypercritical judges all taking pot shots at her in their minds. Though only the casting director slung the insults, agreement with his assessment shone on projected from every other person’s face.
The tip of her nose tingled with the urge to burst into tears.
Had she looked in a mirror?
Seriously?
Only the stark fear of disrespecting a man who held her fragile future in his hands kept her from laughing out loud. She’d spent approximately four hours in front of the mirror, bleaching then styling her hair, giving herself a homemade oatmeal and h
“I’m sorry, sir, is my makeup smudged?” She ran a quick finger under each eye, proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. Because inside, she was a quivering mess of fear and anxiety.
He sighed. “No. Look, I’m gonna save you a lot of time, trouble, and heartache, okay, kid?”
The quiet in the room somehow rushed louder than the roar of an angry sea.
Michaela nodded. What else was she supposed to do with the spotlight on her? Argue?
Flee?
Tempting.
“Go to college. Get a degree and a real job. Move on with your life.”
What?
Her chest constricted as though a band tightened with each word he spoke. Move on with her life? This was her life. At least, her life’s dream.
“I-uh, I’m not interested in college,” she said in a small voice. The bleach blond female clones and eclectically dressed men’s gazes morphed from interested to pitying, as if they all recognized what the casting director meant while she was still in the dark. “I want to be an actress.”
He sighed and ran a hand down his face as though weary from the conversation. “I’ve sat through thousands of these auditions in my career. And here’s the thing, we usually know within five seconds of you walking in the door whether you have it or you don’t. And I’m sorry, kid, but you don’t. It’s a look. A vibe. An attitude. Some girls are Hollywood, and some aren’t. You can dress up a turd and all that…” With a shrug, he sat and began shuffling through a stack of papers as though he hadn’t destroyed her life. “It’s an expression for a reason.”
A fat tear wavered in the corner of her eye, blurring her vision and threatening to roll down her face at any second. She blinked rapidly. The man would not get the satisfaction of seeing her crack. He would not go out tonight and laugh with his buddies about how he made the simple country girl cry by wrecking her dreams with a few cutting words.
She was too ugly to be a serious actress. That’s what he’d said. Not pretty enough, maybe not skinny enough, or glamorous enough. Regardless, the message was clear.
You’re not good enough.
“You may go.” He was back to speaking without so much as glancing in her direction.
She’d been dismissed.
Michaela swallowed a painful lump as she turned and began to walk toward the exit with measured steps. The sound of her thrift-store heeled boots clacking on the tile floor rang out like shots of a gun in the silent room.
Her arms hung heavy and lifeless at her sides, not swinging as she strode on stiff legs. She felt like a doll with a plush, vulnerable center and rigid plastic limbs that couldn’t bend. She didn’t so much as blink as she held the fake smile and focused straight ahead on the door. But with each forward step, she grew closer to losing her composure.
Just a few more feet.
Finally, her hand gripped the door, and she yanked it open with enough force to have it hit the wall with a loud bang. Her heart was too heavy to cringe at the unexpected clamor. Michaela walked down the long hallway past the line of girls with nerves in their bellies and hope in their eyes. Same as she’d had ten minutes ago.
How many of these girls would walk out of that room with shattered dreams and demolished self-esteem? All? Some? Only her?
As she emerged into the heat of the California sun, the weight of despair sat heavily on her chest. The idea of climbing onto a stifling LA city bus and returning to her depressing shoebox of an apartment made her nauseous, so she turned in the opposite direction of the bus stop and walked.
And walked.
And walked.
Michaela strolled through the city until her feet blistered and her calves cramped.
What was she supposed to do now? Continue working hours upon hours serving coffee to ungrateful tourists? Tuck her tail between her legs and return to West Virginia? God, the thought of it had her wanting to grip her hair and scream at the top of her lungs. Small-town life wasn’t for her. After eighteen years of living it, she could say that with certainty. Her heart wanted more, bigger, grander. She wanted the world to know she was so much more than a penniless girl from West Virginia whose family had never amounted to anything. Not a single person in her family had ever left their town. Every relative as far back as she knew had lived and died in the same town. It hadn’t been enough for Michaela’s mother, but she’d been too afraid to take a chance. Now she never could. Michaela vowed she wouldn’t reach the end of her life with more regrets than accomplishments.
After hours of aimless wandering, she found herself on Hollywood Boulevard surrounded by tourists squatting next to the stars and taking hundreds of selfies. Their smiling faces and undisguised delight reminded her of herself just yesterday. Oddly enough, it seemed like years since she’d shared their wonder and awe though it had been less than twenty-four hours.
With an audible sigh and throbbing feet, Michaela stared down at the ground in front of her.
“Meryl Streep,” she whispered aloud as she gazed in reverence at the pink star at her feet.
A laugh bubbled up from her gut, pouring out into the air. A few of the sightseers glanced her way with scrunched brows before returning to their business.
Meryl Streep? Of all the places she could have ended up, Meryl Streep’s star it was.
Michaela’s lips curled in a genuine smile. This had to be a sign.
Early in her career, many told this multi-award-winning actress she’d never amount to anything in the film world because she wasn’t attractive enough. And look at her now. She sure as hell showed all the ignorant chauvinists who judged her.
What’s to keep you from doing the same?
Nothing. Not one damned thing.
Michaela straightened her shoulders.
Screw that casting director.
Screw the rest of those uppity jerks peering down their noses at her.
She’d show them. She’d show everyone.
She laughed again, longer and louder this time, drawing the attention of dozens of tourists. Let them look. She’d need to get used to people gawking at her as she walked down the street.
Michaela Hudson was going to be a star.
CHAPTER ONE
TEN YEARS LATER
“SCARLETT, HEY SCARLETT. You gotta get up!” A voice whisper-yelled into the darkness as a hand shook her shoulder, making her brain rattle around painfully in her skull.
Michaela blinked, then groaned. “Fuck, stop!” Even after all these years of going by her stage name, her mind reacted with confusion to being called Scarlett first thing in the morning. The stage name had been her talent agent’s idea after a series of crushing rejections early on. A name change and colored contacts, professional hair bleaching, shedding twenty pounds, and speech training to rid herself of the southern accent. He claimed the stage name gave her an allure of mystery.
Or some bullshit like that.
Sprawled on her stomach, Michaela lifted her head. “Becca?” she croaked. God, her throat felt dry as the freakin’ Sahara. “Why are you here? Why am I on my couch?”
“Because you needed to be up about twenty minutes ago,” her personal assistant whispered.
“The fuck?” she asked. “Why?”
“God, Scarlett, you’re really out of it this morning. Today is the first day where you’re filming the battle scene through sunrise. Remember? You’ve got a four thirty call time for the next five days. You’re due on set in an hour, and based on the look of things, you’re gonna need at least that long in hair and makeup.”
“Oh, shit,” Michaela said on a long groan. Now that she’d officially been awake for a few moments, unpleasant sensations bombarded her from all angles. Her head throbbed like a bongo drummer was whacking on it, her tongue felt like a dried-out slug, and someone might have actually rubbed her eyeballs with sandpaper before she’d passed out.
Not like she could remember.
What the hell had she gotten up to last night? Probably nothing more than her usual. This sure wasn’t the first time Becca had to get her ass out of bed after a night of partying. Hell, she paid her good money to be useful.
