“He’ll figure it out,” I said. “And he’ll do it at all hours of the day. It only happens at dawn in the movies.”
Cole’s eyes smiled at me. “Gotta love Hollywood, right?”
I swallowed my smile. I had to. The warmth pushing through my veins right then… it was a dangerous thing. And this beautiful man before me, smiling at me like I was his? That was my downfall, wrapped in an expensive suit and cufflinks. I could smell my demise in his cologne and charm. And that was what he was doing. Turning on the charm and using every tool in his belt to do it, including cute little Cocky. The question was why? Why turn on the charm now? Or was this his normal magnetism, no effort required, that showed when he dropped the asshole bit? I studied his smile and tried to understand it. “Did you need me for something?”
He coughed, looking down. “No. That was it. I can drop off the shooting schedule myself, if that’d make it easier…”
“It wouldn’t.”
His shoulders rolled back. “Right. Then I’ll see you on Monday. Check the schedule to see where to be. I’m sure your assistant will help you find it.”
“I know the locations, but thank you for your concern, Mr. Masten,” I said stiffly, and he stepped forward, into my personal space, his face somber as he looked down on me, his eyes searching mine.
“Are we good?” he asked. I tried to step away but hit the table.
“Stay out of my way, and we’ll be just fine,” I snapped.
He coughed out a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t chase, Summer. I get tired of that real fast.”
“This isn’t a game.” I spoke louder, damn the doors, and his eyes flicked back to mine. “I’m not saying one thing and meaning another. Stay away from me.”
He stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “I was wrong about you.” He took the two steps to the door slowly, and I knew, before he turned back, his hand pulling open the door, that he’d have at least one parting shot. “You’re a terrible actress.”
I couldn’t think of a comeback, of a retort, of anything. I watched the white door close and felt a wave of nausea.
He was wrong on one thing: I was telling the truth; this wasn’t a game for me. The stakes were too high, and I didn’t know the rules enough to play. But he was also right; I was a terrible actress. He looked into my eyes and saw right through my lies, exactly how much I wanted him.
CHAPTER 61
I thought the Pit had been interesting before. Then, Sunday arrived. The Sunday before filming. I hadn’t been expecting it, had been at church when they arrived: the crew, the cast, the rest of everything. Hundreds of people. After my lunch, courtesy of the First Baptist Church potluck, I wandered over. Watched a swarm of bodies fill the empty spaces between trailers, everyone busy, everyone working. Ben found me and latched on, introducing me to actors and actresses whose names I could have rattled off with quick efficiency. The supporting cast. Playing under Cole and me. Such an upside down situation. I smiled and shook hands. Fought the urge to ask for autographs, smiled apologetically to members of the crew whom Ben pulled me away from.
It was an absolute zoo—the air thick with importance and money, every item unpacked expensive and complex, each new body striding out of vehicles stuffed with arrogance and energy. I found a corner and leaned against a wall. Let Ben run off to tend to things, and I just watched it all. Devoured it all. Was terrified but excited by it all.
CHAPTER 62
It’s my money; I think I know what I want to spend it on. A complicated sentence. I read it three times, my mind tripping over easy vowels, then raised my head and looked at Dennis.
He smiled encouragingly, and I read the line. “It’s my money, I think I know what I want to spend it on.”
“You sound like you’re concentrating.”
I huffed out a breath. “I am concentrating. That’s an obstacle course of words. Why can’t she just say, “I’ll spend my money however I damn well please”?
“You don’t have to stick to the script exactly, but don’t be wandering too far outside of the lines or else you’ll mess up the other actors. Remember, you’ll be listening for cues to say certain lines. So are the other actors. For example, if Mr. Masten doesn’t say the line you are expecting, it could cause you to miss your cue.”
Great. One more thing to stress over. I tossed the script down and leaned forward, rubbing my temples.
“Would you like me to have Mary call in the masseuse?” From behind him, my assistant started, coming to her feet and stepping forward, her notepad and pen at the ready.
I looked from her into Dennis’s face. “What? Is that a joke?”
“No. You look stressed.”
“I’m fine.” A masseuse. I’ve never even had a massage. And right in the middle of a training session seemed like an odd place to start. Mary deflated, as if she was disappointed, and slinked back to her seat. I don’t know what I had expected in terms of an assistant, but the mousy brunette with the stern face wasn’t it. I had pictured a tattooed smartass, one who I could lean on in times of stress and learn all of the secrets of the set. If I leaned on Mary, she’d probably hand me a sterilized box of tissues and a self-help novel on independence. Anyone who had a Post-It dispenser attached to her belt wasn’t a candidate for friendship.
“Okay, let’s roll with this line a few more times, then we’ll move on.” Dennis leaned forward and nodded at me.