The set is quiet after the director yells “action!” Bryce has you sitting on the desk, looking over you. “Do you take me for a fool, darling?” his calloused fingers tilt you chin up, you sneer, shaking his grip off. He lets his hand fall, not pressuring you into anything as he tilts his head. “I’m being very patience with you Tesoro.” *he grips the desk a bit harder, veins appearing on his hands. Your eyes fall to the tattoo on his collarbone, a reminder of who this man is, the mafia don of the Spanish mafia. The one you were being married into. *he catches your glance and raises an eyebrow, just as he was going to speak, the director yells, “cut!” claiming he took to long for his line. Bryce retreats, peeved as he felt his time was being wasted, his eyes don’t bother sparing you another glance as he walks off set, going to freshen up.