Lines I Never Said

Chapter 5 — Dinner and Doubts

🌹 Chapter 5 — Dinner and Doubts

The faint buzz of printers and the occasional clatter of keyboards filled the BrightStar production office that morning. Natasha sat at her desk with her head bowed, scribbling revisions into the margin of the latest draft of The Line I Never Said. Her highlighters fanned out in neat rows, her pen moving quickly yet carefully.

She smoothed her skirt and exhaled, glancing briefly at her phone screen — a photo of her family at her brother Mikey’s high school graduation smiling back at her.

You’re doing this for them, she reminded herself.

She was scribbling notes on the revised shooting schedule when a trio of voices drifted in from the hallway.

“Oh, look, there’s the director’s pet again,” came Mika’s sharp whisper.

Anna snickered. “What does she even do, besides follow him around?”

“She’s probably angling for a promotion,” Sophia chimed in, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. “Or just a free dinner, who knows?”

Natasha’s grip tightened on her pen. She kept her eyes on her papers, willing her cheeks not to burn.

Her eyes flicked to the clock. If she finished these edits before lunch, she might have time to suggest a better closing scene for Act 3 before tomorrow’s rehearsal.

She smiled faintly to herself.

One step at a time. You’re here because you worked for it. For them, she thought, picturing her mother and Mikey at home in their little kitchen.

Later that afternoon, Natasha scrolled through her i********: feed during a break and noticed a new message.

Maricar: Hey stranger! Long time no chat. Saw one of your posts — you’re working at BrightStar now?? That’s amazing! Let’s catch up this weekend if you’re free. Coffee’s on me. 😊

A smile tugged at Natasha’s lips. Maricar. Her best friend from college — the one who always seemed so confident, so put-together.

Natasha: Hi, Mari! Yes, I’d love to catch up. Saturday maybe?

Maricar: Saturday works. I wanna hear all about your big TV dreams. See you then!

Just then, a warm voice broke through her focus. She turned off her phone.

“Hey, script genius.”

Natasha looked up to see Warren leaning casually against her desk, his usual lopsided grin in place.

“Oh,” she said softly, caught off-guard. “Good morning.”

He held up a coffee cup. “You look like you need one of these more than I do.”

She blinked, then smiled shyly. “Thanks, but I’m good. Long night revising.”

Warren leaned closer. “You’re always working. Don’t forget to come up for air sometimes.”

She ducked her head, hiding a blush. “I… I like working.”

Before she could say more, a shadow fell over her desk.

James.

His gaze locked on her hand where it rested on the script — then he reached down and took it, gently but firmly.

“Walk with me,” he said, his voice even but leaving no room for argument.

Natasha glanced at Warren, who gave her an encouraging little nod, though his smile had dimmed.

She rose and followed James into the hallway.

He stopped just outside Stage 3, finally letting go of her hand to turn and face her.

“How are you?” he asked quietly, his sharp eyes softening.

She swallowed, surprised by the question. “I’m… good. Just busy.”

“You’re overworking,” he murmured, his tone almost accusing. “You’ve looked exhausted all week.”

Natasha blinked. “I don’t mind. I like keeping busy.”

James tilted his head, studying her. Then, after a long pause:

“What are you doing this weekend?”

She hesitated. “Oh. I’m meeting a friend. My best friend from college. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

James’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a second — just a flicker — before he nodded once, his face unreadable again.

“Enjoy your weekend,” he said flatly, then stepped aside, motioning her back toward her desk.

Natasha walked back, feeling his gaze follow her the whole way.

That Saturday, Natasha found herself sitting in a café across from Maricar, her college best friend.

Maricar hadn’t changed much — her long hair was perfectly curled, her blazer crisp, her phone buzzing with notifications she barely glanced at.

“So, Miss Scriptwriter!” Maricar teased, stirring her latte. “Look at you. BrightStar. Big-time.”

Natasha smiled shyly. “It’s still early. I’m just… learning.”

Maricar leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. “Oh, don’t be modest. That place is competitive. I’m proud of you.”

Natasha ducked her head, hiding her blush.

But as they caught up, Natasha couldn’t help noticing the expensive watch on Maricar’s wrist, the way she tossed around words like clients and contracts as though she owned the whole world.

“…and my online shop just hit seven figures,” Maricar said, grinning. “It’s crazy. I barely sleep, but it’s worth it.”

Natasha laughed lightly, but a pang twisted in her stomach. She was happy for her friend — truly — but sitting here, she couldn’t help but feel… small.

Maricar’s gaze softened. “Hey,” she said gently, reaching over to squeeze Natasha’s hand. “Don’t let me intimidate you. You’re doing great. You’re chasing your dream. That’s more than most people can say.”

Natasha smiled faintly, but the pressure in her chest lingered.

Monday morning came too quickly.

Natasha slipped into her seat at the office, still thinking about Maricar’s words, about how far she still felt from “making it.”

When James arrived on set, his eyes found her immediately.

The day passed in a blur of rehearsals and script revisions. James kept calling her over for small things — a line adjustment here, a note there — but always with that steady, piercing gaze.

Finally, as the crew began packing up, he appeared at her side.

“Natasha,” he said.

She froze, then looked up. “Yes, sir?”

“I’d like to have dinner with you tonight,” he said matter-of-factly. “We should talk about your future here. You have potential I don’t want to waste.”

She hesitated, clutching her bag. “Dinner?”

“Yes.” His dark eyes narrowed slightly, as though daring her to decline.

She opened her mouth to say she was tired — but then Maricar’s bright smile and designer blazer flashed through her mind.

She swallowed hard.

“All right,” she said softly. “Dinner.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Good.”

Dinner was at a quiet Italian restaurant, dimly lit and tucked away on a corner street. James ordered for them both — pasta and wine — and Natasha found herself relaxing under his steady gaze.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he said, breaking the silence after their plates were cleared.

She blinked. “I… what do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass. “You walk around like you don’t belong here. Like you’re waiting for someone to tell you to leave.”

Her throat tightened.

“I notice everything, Natasha,” he continued. “You’re smart. Observant. Better than most of the people I’ve worked with. You just… don’t see it yet.”

She swallowed, her heart fluttering despite herself. “I… thank you. That means a lot.”

He leaned forward, resting his hand over hers. “You don’t need anyone else’s approval. Just mine.”

She froze at his words — his touch warm but his tone firm.

Something inside her whispered that she should pull away. But she didn’t.

The next morning, however, the warmth from dinner curdled into something colder.

James snapped at one of the cameramen when he made a harmless joke in Natasha’s direction. Later, he ordered her to sit beside him during the shoot — ignoring the other assistants who shot her curious glances.

When she stood talking with Warren during a break, James’s voice cut through the air behind them.

“Natasha. Over here.”

She startled, turning to see him standing by the monitor, his jaw tight.

Warren’s eyes softened as he watched her walk away.

That afternoon, Warren finally caught up to her outside the wardrobe room.

“Hey,” he said gently.

She turned, surprised. “Warren. Hi.”

He hesitated, then said softly, “I… just wanted to say. Don’t let anyone here decide who you are. Not even him.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he smiled faintly before walking away, leaving her stunned.

Later, in the break room, she sat quietly with Mia, stirring her coffee.

“I don’t know what to do,” Natasha murmured, almost to herself.

Mia tilted her head. “About what?”

She hesitated. “James. He’s… he makes me feel like I’m the only one who matters. But then… sometimes he scares me. Like I owe him something. Like I belong to him.”

Mia grinned. “Well… maybe you do. What’s wrong with that? Some girls would kill to have a man like him look at them that way.”

Natasha managed a weak smile, but her chest still felt tight.

Outside the break room, Warren stood in the hallway, holding a bottle of juice.

He froze as he overheard Mia’s words.

“…maybe you do. What’s wrong with that?”

The faint hope he’d carried all this time seemed to drain out of him all at once.

Just then, Samantha rounded the corner and bumped into him.

“Careful,” she teased.

He forced a smile and handed her the juice. “Here. You’ll need it more than I will.”

She frowned slightly as he walked away without another word.

That night, alone in her tiny bedroom, Natasha lay staring at the ceiling, her mind a swirl of James’s dark, possessive eyes… Warren’s quiet, kind words… and Maricar’s shining success.

She wanted to prove herself. To help her family.

But she couldn’t help wondering… at what cost?