by Amelia Wilde
“Be gone.” Cannon laughs again. “Be gone with me.”
“Can’t. These dailies have to be processed, and I—”
“There is a restaurant two towns over,” Cannon begins, and I have one of those heady, confusing moments when I can’t tell if he’s reciting lines from a movie or actually this sultry all the damn time. “It’s a historic place that nobody here has heard of.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“It’s part of a hotel. An inn, actually.”
“You haven’t answered my question yet. You’re still doing that thing I can’t stand.”
“And can’t say no to. That’s right. So let’s cut to the chase. Come to dinner with me.”
I glare at him. “Do you remember what happened the last time we had dinner together?”
“It’s not a fondue place. You can order a burger.” He stands up to his full height and cocks his head in the general direction of the elevators. “You’ve got to get changed. We can leave in five minutes.”
“Um, what? And you’re going to go in lounge pants and a T-shirt?”
Cannon laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “Of course I am.”
“I formally decline.”
He offers his hand. “You’re down to four minutes, now.” He raises his eyebrows, expectant…
And damn it, I can’t say no.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, after a sexless clothing exchange—Cannon insisted on keeping to the “time limit”—we’re seated by another rain-battered window at the Red Rooster Inn. It’s so quaint I could die.
Cannon looks at me across the table. “We might as well be on another planet.”
He’s right. This place is, at the very least, out of another time—all wood paneling and soft, fluttering candles. “All bets are off.” I half mean it.
We order off the menu, which is breathtakingly simple; I get steak with roasted vegetables and a side of mashed potatoes. And when the food arrives, calm settles over the table. The pitter-patter of rain is the background noise to our dining experience.
“So. Tell me about your childhood,” Cannon says, flicking his eyes up to meet mine.
I chew and swallow my mouthful of steak. “Is this your idea of a highly professional question?”
“No, it’s my idea of a cut-to-the-chase kind of question.”
“What chase are you cutting to?”
“The chase where I get to know you, now that I’ve brought you all this way.”
Unease pricks at the backs of my hands. “And you… want to know about my childhood, because…?”
He shrugs. “Don’t you like to know what makes people tick?”
“I like to know what makes movie scripts tick.” This isn’t strictly true, and I have to swallow a lump in my throat after I say it.
“You’re not an only child.”
“Awww.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “You remembered.”
“So what about—”
I head him off at the pass. “What about your parents, Cannon? They must have been amazing stage managers.”
He flashes me that smile, the one that, for the life of me, I cannot resist. “They didn’t manage much of anything.”
I suck in a quick, dramatic breath. “They forbid you from the stage?”
One glance down at his plate and goose bumps rise on my arms. The candlelight seems a hundred times more intimate than it did a moment ago.
Cannon clears his throat. “Most of my… early acting attempts were school plays and community theater. There wasn’t much to manage until high school. By the time I graduated, I was an emancipated minor, so….”
I blink at him. “You were?”
“Yep.” He says it like it was no hardship, but I can see the truth in his eyes. Even if he won’t name it, there was a struggle. My heart squeezes.
We eat for a few minutes in silence.
“Did it work?” Cannon asks, and the moment the words come out of his mouth, I’m done for.
“Did what work?” I face off with him across the table.
“I let you in to my deep inner life,” he says, struggling to keep his serious expression in place. “It’s only fair that you let me into your deep… inner life.”
“I am so far past sleeping with men in cars.”
“Surprise,” he says, clapping his hands lightly together above his plate. “We’re in another hotel.”
“We can’t.” Heat rushes through my body along the filaments of my veins. “We can’t stay here overnight.”
“They’ll rent me a room for half a day.”
“How do you know that?”
That slow, sexy smile.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Let’s not waste it.”
23
Cannon
We’re in recovery from destroying the little room in the back corner of the inn, listening to the rain beat down on the floor, when the thought swims up from the depths of my mind. I’m relaxed enough to say it out loud.
“We only have a few weeks of shooting left.”
Juno taps out something onto her phone and lets it fall to the bedside table. She’s propped up on one elbow, looking at me.
“What are you going to do next?”
“I don’t know. I’m assuming Scott has some projects on the back burner. But you won’t have time for me. You’ll be directing your next big hit.”
She looks away. “No guarantees.”
“Are you kidding? This is going to be a masterpiece. You’ve been writing every drop of excellence out of everybody.”
“You just never know how… you know, how it’ll hit.”
“You’re not talking about the Rogers, are you?”
Juno looks at me, her expression raw, and shakes her head.
“Who are you talking about?”
“I should be over it by now.”
I’m as intrigued as I’ve ever been, and some bright knot at the center of my chest tugs me toward her. I stroke the side of her face. “Who?”
“My parents,” she says, the word half-mumbled.
I don’t get it. Juno is a go-getter. A confident personality. She has her private doubts, like everybody does, but to worry about her parents? I feel a pang of recognition, but it’s an old familiarity, something out of the past.
“Are your parents making selections for the Rogers?”
She laughs, her face brightening a little. “No, I just thought… you know, I thought if I made the breakout film of the year, they’d be interested.”
“Of course they will. The whole country’s going to be interested in this movie. People will eat this up.”
“People will eat you up.” There’s another flash of uncertainty in her eyes. “The rest of it….” Juno turns over onto her back with a heavy sigh. “Milton was right about you.”
“Don’t sound so excited, okay? It’s embarrassing for us both.”
She throws her arms up over her head. “I mean….” She blushes. “That was a super-bitchy thing to say. I meant it as a compliment.”
I can’t contain my own burst of laughter. “You are not good at compliments. That was terrible. Try again.”
Juno rolls over onto her side, propping her head on her palm. “I only meant that you have some real talent.”
“Oh, yeah? Have you finally decided I’m not just a pretty face?” I lean in close, pressing my lips to her cheekbone.
“Mmm,” she says. “I guess. In a way.”
“Again. Terrible.” I flip the covers off me and step out of the bed.
Juno sits up, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, did I really hurt your feelings?”
I bow my head and cover my eyes with my hands, giving a little sniff. “I just…” I let my voice sound heavy with tears. “I can’t believe you’d say that to me. Especially while I’m so… so…”
She scrambles to the edge of the bed. Through my fingers, I watch horror and concern flicker over her face. “Cannon—”
I drop my hands
. “…naked.”
Juno breaks into laughter when she sees my face, falling back against the bed. “You are an asshole.”
I crawl back into the bed next to her and kiss her on the temple. “Good thing Miss Congeniality’s my girlfriend.”
It’s a joke—I say it lightly—but Juno freezes, her eyes going wide. “Oh, no. No no no. You can’t say that. We cannot be together like that.”
I give her a skeptical stare. “I was kidding.” Juno can’t hide the way her face falls, but the expression disappears as quickly as it came. “But even hypothetically—”
“Even hypothetically, two people in our situation—”
“—could completely be together.”
“Don’t even joke about it,” she murmurs.
“Again, the compliments you’re giving cut to the quick.”
Juno takes my face in her hands. “Stop. It.”
“What?”
“Stop acting like you’re so innocent, but then you throw out these little hooks and I’m like a big, stupid fish who can’t help but take the bait.”
“That’s what I love best about you. You think you’re so strong, but all it takes is a little wriggling worm.”
She makes a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“In half seriousness—”
That makes her laugh.
“In half seriousness, nobody would blink an eye if we were together. If we made this slightly more official than a long series of illicit hookups. Unless the only thing you like about this is the fact that it’s illicit.”
“No.” Juno shakes her head. “I hate that it’s illicit. I am not into illicit things.”
“My God. Don’t ever get arrested. Nobody would ever believe you.”
She pouts. “I’m being totally sincere.”
“I’m sure you are. Even if I didn’t have a mountain of evidence to the contrary.”
“Pssht. What evidence?”
I lean in close, breathing her in, and watch her pupils dilate. “I think we both know what evidence I’m talking about.”
Juno’s breathing becomes fast and shallow. “That’s not… you know, it’s not legally—”
“This room has nothing to do with legal and everything to do with what you really want when nobody’s looking.”
“You’re looking,” she breathes.
“And you like it.”
“Prove it.” It’s a challenge.
I run my hand over the curve of her hip and use it as leverage to press her back into the bed. Slowly, slowly, I work my fingertips from her hip down to her ankle and back up to her creamy inner thighs.
When I get where I’m going, Juno’s teeth are gritted. “Please. Don’t tease me anymore.”
I can’t deny the lady, so I dip my hand between her legs, into that darkest space. My fingers come away slick. She watches, eyes heated, while I stick my fingers in my mouth and lick the sweetness off.
“Case closed,” I say firmly. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you want me to find more evidence.”
Juno takes my hand and puts it back between her legs. “If you didn’t, that would be…” One touch, and I break her sentence into pieces. She picks them back up and keeps going. “…criminal negligence.”
“It’s fucking hot when you use legal terms. Tell me another one.” I tease her with my fingers.
“Reckless abandonment,” says Juno.
“Fuck. That’s a good one.” I reward her with the pad of my thumb against her clit. “If you can tell me one more, I’ll let you come.”
She groans, frustrated, and presses her hips upward into my hand. “I don’t know—”
“A good director has to be able to adapt,” I insist, moving my thumb in slow circles that are enough to torture her, but not enough to get her off. “One more, and you can have what you want.”
Juno can hardly keep in place. I’m tempted to push this further, make this even more delicious, since it’s clear she’s not going to—
“Habeas corpus!”
“My god. Did you just use movie knowledge to buy yourself an orgasm?”
“Yes,” Juno says, fire in her eyes. “And you’re not keeping up your end of the deal.” Her hips remind me that I stopped moving my thumb.
I move over her, hard as steel again, and position myself at her entrance. “Untrue,” I say into her ear as I push inside, rewarded by a low moan. “I’m always here for you.” She wraps her legs around me, pulling me deeper. “I’ll never let you down.”
Juno’s eyes are vivid as we find our rhythm. “Were you really kidding?” Her voice is so soft.
“Do you want me to be kidding?”
She shakes her head.
“Then I wasn’t kidding. Be with me. It’ll still be as illicit as you want.”
Her eyelids flutter, and I can see she’s giving in to the push and pull.
“I’ll be in touch,” she whispers.
Stone cold.
I fucking love it.
24
Juno
On the outside, I am calm, cool, collected—all that cucumber shit. I’ve even managed to pull it back a little on the general insanity of trying to micromanage the entire set. Every time I want to do something that’s a little over the top, I think of how serious Cannon looked when he told me I was acting like a zombie middle manager. That is not the vibe I’m going for. Demanding excellence is one thing, but Simon has already been traumatized enough. I know when I’ve gone too far.
Usually.
Of course, thinking about Cannon stirs up a veritable whirlwind of emotions. I still haven’t officially... gotten in touch about his suggestion that we date like two normal people, instead of the world’s hottest actor and a director desperate to prove herself. All day, I watch him on the set, pretending to be evaluating his acting prowess and failing at least half the time. I want to be back in bed with him on that rain-soaked evening. I want to be back in bed with him on any evening, really, as long as it’s a hundred miles from here and there are no prying eyes.
Cannon and Chloe are done with the scene. Shit. They’re the only two professionals here, because they’re still gazing at each other. Which is what they should be doing, since I haven’t yelled cut.
“Cut!” I call abruptly, into the lingering quiet, and turn toward Maggie, searching for something to say. I will never in a thousand years admit that the quiet scenes between Cannon and Chloe are killing me slowly, and I don’t have any notes on the tip of my tongue.
She speaks before I have a chance to embarrass myself. “This might be a good time to introduce ourselves to our guest.”
“What guest?” The wheels of my mind creak rustily in the face of this announcement. Is this it? Is the consequence of having too much sex with Cannon a forgetfulness that will creep into amnesia? I cannot recall any discussion of a guest.
Maggie tilts her head to the side. “Matt’s mom.”
I turn and stare openly for long enough that Maggie intervenes. “You approved this.”
“I did?”
“I texted you about it.”
It comes back to me then, hazy, through a sheet of rain—a trip up a historical staircase to a bedroom that’s now historically and forever a place where Cannon stripped me down to the least of me and made me love it. “Right.”
Matt’s mom is midwestern in a way that makes my heart ache. I feel homesick, but not for my childhood home, for the movie magic version of my childhood home. A documentary about everything going right. It would not be a gripping documentary, but I’m going way too far down the rabbit hole of this documentary thing, anyway.
I don’t realize Maggie’s gone until I see her appear at her side, grinning widely. She points to me and a shock runs down my spine. In the presence of someone’s mother, I faded myself right into the background. But my name is on Maggie’s lips, they’re walking over, and—
“This is the director, Juno Anderson. She’s amazing.”
&
nbsp; Matt’s mother extends her hand. “Sherri Ludlow,” she says, her smile pleasant and open. “This is a pretty incredible job.” She sounds genuine enough when she says it, but her eyes quickly slide from my face and travel over the rest of the set.
“It is, and Matt’s great at—”
“Mom!” Matt wraps one arm around his mother’s shoulders and pulls her in close. “Did you sneak onto the set? You know you can’t do that.”
“I didn’t,” she protests. “I got permission beforehand. Look.” She tugs a visitor pass on a lanyard from her pocket. “They even gave me a badge!”
“Don’t let her give you any trouble,” Matt says to me.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Sherri says, and then she puts him at arm’s length so she can look at him. “Is this your costume?”
“These are my jeans, Mom,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not shooting for another hour.”
“That’s so smart.” She gives him an approving nod. “Save your clothes from the heat. That’s so smart, Matt.”
“I just follow the schedule. Want to come see where they keep all the costumes? It’s not that fancy, but—”
“Yes.” Sherri is way too excited to be visiting the costume trailer, which is a claustrophobic warren of anything that might be expected to show up on camera. “I would love to see that. As long as that’s okay.” She shoots a glance back at me as if remembering I’m there for the first time. “Is that okay? I swear, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
I laugh, but it sounds wrong and strange. “No need. The trailer’s far enough from the set that conversations are okay.”
A gleeful smile spreads across her face. “Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you, Jenny.”
“Juno, Mom. God,” Matt says good-naturedly.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Juno! I’m so sorry. It really was lovely to meet you.”
“So nice to meet you, too.” I angle my body toward Maggie and swallow the lump in my throat. “I want to go over these notes really quickly. Are we ready in five for the next setup?”
