by Amelia Wilde
“Bullshit. You’re a person, too. And honestly”—I look over my shoulder to see Maggie’s not looking this way anymore—“if you have to delay things by a day, I don’t think anyone would—”
“No way.” Juno’s voice is full of fire. “I don’t need to delay. I just…. my mind went blank on me. I didn’t think that would happen.”
“Took us all by surprise. Matt thought you were having a stroke.”
“Oh, God.” She raises one hand as if she’s going to cover her face and puts it over her mouth instead. “This is a fucking disaster.”
“No, it’s not.” I rub a hand down her arm and I feel it, an infinitesimal shift in the way she’s standing, leaning toward me. “Everybody freaks the fuck out sometimes.”
“What are you, some kind of sage who only acts in shitty movies?” She looks up at me from beneath her baseball cap.
“I’m a sage who acts in movies that pay. I’d go into it, but everybody here is waiting for you to start.”
“Shit. They are. Shit.”
“It’s fine. Just… walk back with me and act like we’ve cleared something up.”
“Like what? Do you actually have a problem, or is this all an act?”
I turn her around and drop my hand from her elbow. Her shoulders droop a bit as the connection is lost. “Look, I know you think I’m the worst at this, but give me half a chance, would you?”
“Fine.” Juno nods decisively. “Half.”
“What the fuck?” I slow my pace to give the impression that we’re still deciding something. “I save you from abject mortification and all I get is half a chance?”
She frowns at me. “What else do you think you’re going to get? This is a professional relationship.”
“You do owe me a beer.”
“I owe you a beer? You threw a beer at me for free. I don’t think I owe you.”
“It was my last one,” I say imperially. “And now I have done you two favors. You owe me a beer.”
Juno leans in, eyes wide. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“What the fuck? No.” I laugh out loud. “Blackmailing would be different. Jesus, Juno. I want to spend more time talking to you. I’m intrigued.”
“What’s intriguing about the fact that I just fucked everything up?”
“That’s not the intriguing part. The intriguing part is that you let me rescue you.”
Her face goes a deep crimson and she rubs at her cheeks with the heels of her hands. “Not accurate. All I did was—”
It’s a risk, and I know it. Every time I touch her it’s a risk. But I’m seeing a new version of her, a version I never expected, and after the ice queen I met at the audition and the force of nature who tried to blow down the walls of my hotel room last night, I have to know more about this Juno Anderson. I wanted to get under her skin, and I did.
The hell with giving that up.
“One beer.” I raise a finger in the air and put on my most serious expression. “One beer, and then I’ll leave you alone. Except for the purposes of making this movie. I can’t promise I won’t have—what did you call them? Any diva moments. I’m your biggest start.”
Juno groans. “Of course you are. It makes sense. In the context of my life, it makes total sense.”
“Your life must have been terrible if it’s been filled with people like me.”
She looks sheepish. “You’re not that terrible. It’s just that—”
“Stop right there. What did you say?”
Juno puts both hands to the bill of her cap. “That’s it. That’s all you’re getting from me. From now until eternity.”
I bend forward until my lips are level with her ear. I’m inches away, breathing in her sleep-rumpled scent, and I want nothing more than to kiss her just to see what would happen. Would I get the ice queen version of her, or the real human woman? I settle for the middle ground. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Juno turns her head, closing that distance a little more, but for the second time today, she’s speechless.
Then she squares her shoulders, claps her hands in front of her, and strides back toward the set. “Okay, people. Break’s over. Let’s get started.”
8
Juno
Five days into the shooting schedule, we have an evening off.
This morning, we shot from 5:00 a.m. onward on an open, rolling field that broiled in the sun, superheating my dark hat and burning the skin exposed by my tank top. It was part of a flashback scene, the details murky and ready to be made murkier in post-production.
The heat was brutal.
I fucking loved it.
There’s something about being out there against the elements, everybody stoic and sweating, that really makes you feel like part of something bigger. That’s especially true when the heat addles your brain, making you forget everything but this moment, this scene, this shot. Conveniently, the scorching weather has also largely burned that embarrassing hiccup of a first day out of my head.
For the most part.
I call it just before noon. Everything at the craft services table is lukewarm and bordering on disgusting, and we’ve got what we needed out of the schedule. The rest of today’s work will happen indoors, prepping wardrobe for the next series of shots. We’re almost at the end of the work in Georgia, and things are already in motion in the next location—California.
The ride back to the hotel in one of the studio’s rented golf carts, Maggie at the wheel, is bliss.
“How do you think it went?” She asks the question as I slip the baseball cap off my head and let the breeze toy with my hair. “That heat was crazy.”
“Everybody’s doing a great job.” For a while, I got into the flow of it and forgot that it was Cannon Hunt out there in front of me among all the extras. Then, naturally, he’d do something more suited to one of his romantic comedies—a smoldering grin tossed over his shoulder when he was supposed to be stoic, a flirty rise in his eyebrows when he was supposed to be expressionless—and I’d have to call “Cut!” on the whole thing and start over.
“Even Hunt?” Maggie wears a coy little smile when she says his name. “You were really riding his ass today.”
I’m already sunburned, and still another layer of heat dances across my cheeks. “Yeah. Nobody’s too good for feedback.”
“Even you?”
I look at Maggie out the corner of my eye. “Of course. Did you... have something to say to me?”
“About the directing?” Maggie’s eyes go wide. “No. I think you’re brilliant.” Her voice trails off as the golf cart bounces over a rise in the grass.
“What, then?”
“I mean…” She chews at her bottom lip, hands resting casually on the steering wheel. “Just personality-wise.”
I drop my head back against the seat. “Just call a spade a spade. Or, in this case, call a bitch a bitch. I can take it.” I shouldn’t be opening this door with her; Maggie is my assistant director, not my best friend. But my brain has been scrambled like an egg and, in this moment, I don’t care.
She slaps me lightly on the shoulder. “You are not a bitch. I’m just saying, it would be okay if you wanted to get to know people. You know. During breaks.”
“Breaks are the only time I have to fine-tune—”
“Not all of the breaks. But sometimes.” Maggie steers the golf cart onto a neighborhood sidewalk and then out into the road.
“Do people expect me to... mingle... more than I am?” A fish-out-of-water discomfort creeps up the back of my spine to the nape of my neck. I can’t ever forget that this is my first big movie. I think about it all the fucking time. And as unassuming as Maggie’s comments seem, I can’t help but think they’re an indication that I’m doing this all wrong.
“Some directors don’t,” she says evenly. “And I’m not saying this to offend you, Juno. I think you’re doing a killer job.”
“Then why would I…” I’m about to say waste time talking to people I’ll
never work with again, when it strikes me that I might be missing the point. “So... some directors mingle more than I do?”
“Yeah. Some of them do.”
“With the crew? With the talent?”
“With everybody.”
“And I should do that.”
We turn the last corner before the hotel. “These kinds of projects are always easier if the cast and crew can... gel. You know what I’m saying?”
Pain squeezes at my chest, a strange nostalgia for the way I thought my career would be. I thought it would be like the glory days of the weeklong filmmaking camp my parents sent me to the summer before my senior year. Instead, I’ve been in a perpetual war for status and standing, and I’ve finally won a single battle, only to find that I’m fucking up the rest of the campaign.
Yeah. The heat has definitely taken the fighting metaphors to a new level.
“I get it.”
“Plus, there are all the extras.”
“Extras? You want me to mingle with the extras?” Even in my overheated state, this doesn’t make abundant sense.
“No the extra— Sorry, the extra features.” Maggie laughs. “We’re contracted with PBS for a Making Of segment, plus the additional content for the DVD release.”
“Right. I approved the crew myself.” I wipe a hand across my brow in what has to be the year’s sexiest motion and make a face. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“They’ll want you in some of the shots, and honestly, it’s better if it’s genuine.” Maggie glances at me. “And more fun to look back on for you. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that.”
We pull up in front of the hotel and Maggie steers the cart into a spot. “Nice job, boss.” She lifts her fist for me to bump.
“Oh, God. Tell me this isn’t our thing.”
“It’s our thing now. I just stood out in a burning field with you for too many hours. You want to shake hands instead?”
“Not until after I’ve showered.” I bump my knuckles against hers. “Catch you after dinner to go over the shot list for tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Maggie climbs out of the cart and waves toward the front of the hotel. “God, he’s hot.”
I know who she’s talking about without turning my head to look, but I do it for show. Cannon is going in through the hotel’s double doors in shorts and a gray T-shirt, his other clothes already switched out at wardrobe. I’m struck by a flash of jealousy. A stupid, inappropriate little twist at the pit of my gut, because, theoretically, someone in wardrobe got to watch him peel off the Army issue T-shirt they sourced from a surplus place.
Ridiculous.
“He’s something.” I pretend to be interested in my phone, but not before I catch a fleeting glimpse of Maggie rolling her eyes good-naturedly.
I follow her into the building a minute later, lingering in the lobby until I’m sure I have an empty elevator.
Back upstairs, the air conditioning in my room hits me like a welcome ice bath. It’s fucking freezing in here, and it’s heavenly compared to the sultry temperatures outside. I can’t help a little self-indulgence. I take a too-long shower and curl up on my bed naked, the air brushing its fingers over all my sensitive spots.
Yes. This is the way to get work done.
Naked or not, I still lose myself in the shot list for tomorrow, making tweaks based on what we did today on my iPad.
Right up to the moment in mid-afternoon when yesterday’s dailies land in my inbox.
I download the file and queue it up on the iPad.
This should be a relatively simple process—scan through, note any scenes I think we need to reshoot, forward to the assistant producer and the rest of the crew to see if we have a consensus.
It should be easy.
Only yesterday’s dailies are packed full of close-up shots of Cannon Hunt. My body temperature is down significantly from that embarrassing conversation with Maggie, but in the privacy of my own room, I can admit it, he’s fucking sexy. In the privacy of my own room, I can let my eyes linger on the lines of his face. I’ve never had a head-over-heels crush on a guy with brown eyes before, but describing Cannon Hunt as a guy with brown eyes is probably the biggest understatement of the year. The camera picks up all the nuances of those eyes, streaks of caramel gold shot through smooth espresso.
And the way he looks into the lens...
I’m hot and bothered. There’s no way around it, and at least there’s nobody here to see the way I turn over onto my side and peer furtively into the screen. Do I pause the video to take another long look? Yes. Yes, I do.
It would feel so good, to give myself this kind of release. God knows I need it. Filming a movie is not easy work. My feet ache, my muscles ache, and I’m sunburned to hell. Still, the blanket is a cool oasis under my skin. I double-check the deadbolt on the door and...
Indulge.
It’s too much to let the dailies play. Frankly, it offends my professional sensibilities. But I do leave Cannon’s face frozen on the screen. I look at it for as long as I can stand it, and then, when I finally dip my hand between my legs, I close my eyes.
It’s an utterly ridiculous fantasy involving the shade under those trees, Cannon shirtless, his deep voice in my ear, breath teasing at my flyaway hairs the way they did when he dragged me off the set to the craft services tent. Only now I imagine him saying other things. Filthier things. Amped-up versions of the lines I’ve always snorted at when Tessa drags me to his movies. Would it be so bad, if life were like one of those movies, only a little... taller? Darker? More handsome? He’s strong too, and I bet when he finally took me to bed he’d be powerful somehow, despite all my attempts to seem aloof... and I could give it up. I could give it all up.
A little moan escapes from between my lips at the exact moment a knock sounds at the door.
“Juno.”
No. This isn’t happening.
More knocking, and I slam the tablet facedown onto the bed and scramble off the comforter in a blind panic. I left all of my clothes by the bathroom door.
“Juno, it’s me. You awake?”
“Yes.” I sprint for the clothes, but they’re filthy and sweat-soaked and I can’t bear putting them on, and now my suitcase is on the other side of the room. I yank a towel off the metal shelf in the bathroom and tug it around myself. It’s a pathetic excuse for a towel, but if I pull it tight enough, I can just get it to cover my boobs. It’ll have to do.
“You okay?”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m good. What’s up?” I blow a stray hair out of my face and open the door.
Cannon takes one look at me and his perfect face breaks into a smile. “I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt?”
“Yeah. No.” I reach for my hair, but this only has the effect of loosening the towel to an unacceptable degree. “What—what can I do for you?”
He takes a step back. “If you were stepping into the shower, I can—”
What, wait in my room? “No. No need. What’s up?” He’s showered and dressed, the long lines of his body in classy-as-hell shorts and a white dress shirt that accentuates the tan of his skin. He smells like soap and citrus and man, and all of this wafts over me in a way that makes me want to drop the towel.
I grip it tighter.
Cannon spreads his hands in front of him. “If you’re already booked, that’s fine. But I haven’t forgotten about that beer you owe me.” He lowers his hands and shrugged. “A person like you, I figured you’d want to get it out of the way as soon as possible.”
I look up and down the hall. “What, now?”
He grins again, and the space between my legs thrums with a desire I detest. “I could wait a few minutes for you to get dressed.”
I don’t have to say yes. In fact, I shouldn’t say yes. It would be highly fucking unprofessional. But I think of what Maggie said, about the extra features, about the way the group needs to come together. And how can it come together if I’m the stick-in-the-mud who doesn’t kee
p her word? Isn’t my word as important to my professionalism as, you know, not being half-naked in front of the hottest member of the cast?
“Five minutes,” he says, laying down the challenge.
9
Cannon
Juno meets me in the lobby six minutes later, wearing a suit.
An honest-to-God suit.
A skirt suit, one with a matching little vest over a pink shell, but it’s a suit nonetheless, paired with black heels, her hair swept up behind her in an elegant twist. Her eyes dart back and forth as she makes her way through the lobby, but she holds her head up high. At the doorway, she breezes past me without a second look. “Let’s go,” she says over her shoulder. “Are you driving or are we walking?”
“Like I’d make you walk in that ensemble.”
For the first time, she shows the slightest hint of uncertainty, smoothing the front of that delectable pencil skirt with her palms. “I can walk in anything.”
“I believe you.” I head for my rental car anyway. I haven’t had to use it for much, and it’s probably an extravagance I could have done without for this shoot, but now I’m praising my past self for demanding it. You never know when situations like this might come up. “I’m happy to drive.”
Juno sits primly in the front seat as I steer the car out of the hotel parking lot, down the road, and onto the highway. “Okay, but where are you driving us? Town is that way.” She stabs a thumb in the opposite direction.
“There’s nowhere to get a beer there.”
“There are at least three bars. Maggie told me.”
“There’s nowhere I want to take you to get a beer there.”
Juno turns her head toward the window, but not before I see the color deepen in her cheeks. “This isn’t a date, you know. This is a... business arrangement.”
“Oh, shit. Are you asking me out to fire me?”
“I didn’t ask you out, for one,” Juno says with a little laugh. “You... well, you kind of forced the issue.”
“You took my last beer. What was I supposed to do?”
