by Jae
After a second, the director gave her an approving nod and introduced himself.
The man next to him, the epitome of the tall, dark, and handsome actor, grinned at her. “Hey there. I’m Nick Hagan, your new partner. In the completely non-sexual cop sense, of course.”
Was this his way of trying to break the ice with the new cast mate, or was he flirting? Well, if he was, he would soon realize that he was barking up the wrong tree. “Of course.” Amanda shook his hand too.
Walt waved to his assistant director. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s do a read-through of today’s scenes and then get this show on the road. We’ve got a murder to solve, people!”
Fourteen long hours later, Amanda was ready to commit murder instead of solving one on TV. It took all of her acting skills to hide how miserable she felt. Her feet ached; she was sweating beneath the hot lights, and she was so hungry that her stomach was probably close to digesting her intestines.
Shooting a TV show clearly wasn’t as glamorous as she had expected. Most of her day had consisted of endless repetitions. Sometimes, one of the props had been in the wrong position, the sound guys had angled the boom so that it was visible on screen, or Nick, who played the male lead detective, couldn’t remember his lines, so they had to shoot the scene again.
Between takes came the waiting—waiting for makeup to be reapplied, for the cameras to be repositioned, or for the director to instruct one of the actors.
“The next shot after this one will be a martini,” Walt finally said.
Amanda breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s try to get this one in one take,” Lorena said. “I want to get out of here before midnight.”
So at least she wasn’t the only one longing for this day to be over. Amanda took her mark and waited for the by now familiar cadence of shouts.
“Roll sound,” the assistant director called.
“Speed,” the sound technician answered from behind his mixing board.
“Roll camera.”
“Speed.”
“Marker,” the assistant director called.
The second assistant camera operator stepped in front of the camera with a clapperboard. “Scene twenty-four, take one.” He raised the hinged top slat, brought it down with a loud crack, and ducked out of the frame.
Amanda let herself sink into her detective persona as she waited for the director’s “action.” When it came, she slowly turned and regarded the medical examiner across the stainless steel table. “What did you just say?”
“I said I saw you, Detective. I know you were gambling.”
With the same coolness that had allowed Amanda to work with Lizzy after finding her in bed with their co-producer, she narrowed her eyes at the medical examiner. “What I do or don’t do in my free time is none of your—”
The ringing of a phone stopped her midline.
“Cut!” the director shouted.
Amanda gritted her teeth. What kind of idiot didn’t turn off their cell phone during shooting?
The phone continued to ring, and her colleagues sent each other accusing glances, but no one moved to turn it off.
“I think that’s yours.” Lorena pointed at Amanda’s purse that hung across the back of her folding chair.
Oh, shit. I’m the idiot. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought I’d turned it off.” Amanda hurried over and hastily rummaged through her purse to find the offending phone. As she shut it off, she caught a glimpse of the caller ID.
Michelle.
Despite her tension, she couldn’t help smiling as she walked back into the fake morgue.
Lorena nudged her and grinned. “You got a hot date with the boyfriend after this?”
Cheeks glowing, Amanda shook her head but said nothing else, not sure if it was a good idea to tell her colleagues she was gay. She didn’t want anything to interfere with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“Let’s do this again, people,” Walt called. “From ‘I said I saw you, Detective.’”
Amanda shut away all thoughts of Michelle and focused on her job.
Amanda sank into the driver’s seat of her car and moaned in delight at how good it felt to be off her feet. She sat there for a minute without starting the car, her head still buzzing with everything she had experienced that day. Finally, she dug her cell phone out of her purse and turned it back on. She was bursting to tell someone of her first day on the set of Central Precinct.
The reminder of the missed call from earlier flashed across the screen, and she pressed the button to call Michelle back.
Michelle picked up on the first ring, as if she had been hovering next to the phone. “Hi, Amanda,” she said, her warm voice wrapping around Amanda like a cuddly blanket. “How are you doing? Have you heard from the TV show people?”
A car honked next to her, and Lorena Gonzales waved as she pulled out of the parking lot.
“Heard from them? I spent the last fifteen hours in front of the camera.”
“Wow. They don’t waste any time, do they?”
Amanda shrugged. “Time is money, especially in show biz.”
“So how was it?” Michelle asked, sounding genuinely interested.
For once, Amanda struggled to find the right words. “Exciting, boring, exhausting, wonderful, scary.”
Michelle laughed, not the tittering, polite laugh that Amanda had heard all day from some of the actresses, but a deep belly laugh that made her smile. “All of that and a bag of cookies, huh?”
“No cookies on set, I’m afraid.” As if on cue, Amanda’s stomach growled.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I only had time to grab a turkey sub from the catering table at lunch.”
Another car honked as more of her co-stars left for the day.
“Where are you?” Michelle asked.
Amanda rubbed her face, a bit embarrassed to admit it. “Still in the studio’s parking lot.”
“Want to come over? I could cook something for you.”
Part of Amanda longed to spend some time with Michelle, and her stomach rejoiced at the offer of food, but she knew it wasn’t a good idea. “I can’t. It’s late, and I have to be back on set at six tomorrow morning, so I’d better get myself home.”
“Tomorrow? They’re shooting on a Sunday?”
“They lost a few days while the decision to sign me as the new lead was made, so now everyone has to work overtime to make up for it.” Amanda didn’t mind, except for the fact that it meant she wouldn’t get to see Michelle anytime soon.
“Damn. Hollywood sure doesn’t keep regular hours. Please eat something before you go to bed, okay?”
No one but her grandmother had ever worried about whether she was eating enough. Amanda decided that she liked having someone care enough to worry. “I’ll toss together something quick,” she said and found herself reluctant to end the call.
Michelle was silent, as if she didn’t want to say good-bye either. “Drive carefully,” she finally said.
“I will. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Oh, and Amanda?”
The way Michelle said her name made goose bumps erupt all over Amanda’s body. “Yeah?”
“Knock ’em dead tomorrow.”
Laughing, Amanda hung up and started the car.
At four thirty, Amanda stumbled from the bathroom into her tiny kitchen and stared bleary-eyed into her fridge. She pushed a wilted salad and a nearly empty jar of mayonnaise out of the way and sniffed two-day-old Chinese takeout. “Ugh.”
Just as she closed the fridge empty-handedly and turned toward the coffeepot, the doorbell rang.
She nearly jumped out of her skin, the adrenaline kick helping to wake her up. Grumbling, she walked over to the intercom. Who the hell was ringing her doorbell at this ungodly hour? Please, please, please, don’t let it be a messenger with a script change.
She had stayed up, memorizing her lines, until one o’clock, but her colleagues had warned her that the script for the day
could change at any time. Warily, she pressed the button to talk to whoever was on her doorstep. “Yes?”
“Uh, it’s me. Michelle. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Amanda stared at the intercom. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing you breakfast.”
Amanda continued to stare. Michelle had gotten up in the middle of the night and driven over all the way from the Hollywood Hills just to bring her breakfast?
“I’m sorry,” Michelle said when Amanda stayed silent. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I’d better go.”
Belatedly, Amanda pressed the buzzer. “No, please. Come up. Top floor.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. Now hurry up and feed me, woman.”
Chuckles echoed through the intercom, followed by the sound of the building’s front door closing behind Michelle.
Amanda bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited for the elevator to make it to her floor. She threw a quick glance at her image in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair. She hadn’t applied any makeup, knowing the makeup artist would just wash it off and begin anew anyway. Now she hoped the signs of just three hours of sleep weren’t too noticeable.
When the elevator announced Michelle’s arrival, she removed the chain and opened the door.
Michelle stood in front of her in jeans and a leather jacket, loaded down by various bowls and a thermos, her hair disheveled.
The urge to just pull her into the apartment and kiss her surprised Amanda. Instead, she just stood and stared.
“Top floor, huh?” Michelle said, shuffling her feet.
“Yeah. I even have an ocean view.” Amanda realized she was blocking the doorway and hastily stepped aside. “Come on in. The kitchen’s over there.”
Michelle squeezed past her in the narrow hall, and Amanda greedily inhaled her scent of night air, leather, and men’s cologne. That combination had never smelled so good on anyone else.
“How long until you have to leave for work?” Michelle asked.
Amanda glanced at her wristwatch. This early, LA’s streets wouldn’t be as congested, but it would still take her almost an hour to get to the studio. “About thirty minutes.”
“Good.” Michelle entered the kitchen, put down the bowls she had brought, and shrugged out of her leather jacket. “Frying pan?”
“Uh. Here.” Amanda stepped closer and leaned around Michelle to get the pan out of the cabinet. Another whiff of Michelle’s cologne made her head spin, and she clutched Michelle’s shoulder to keep her balance.
“Careful.” Michelle held on to her hips with both hands and pulled her closer as if to steady her with her own body.
Heat sizzled between them. Amanda’s gaze darted from Michelle’s eyes to her mouth. With a groan, she gave in and did what she’d wanted to do from the moment Michelle had shown up on her doorstep. She wrapped her arms around her and kissed her.
Moaning, Michelle surged against her and returned the kiss. She nibbled, teased, and stroked with her teeth, lips, and tongue until Amanda nearly sank to the kitchen floor.
By the time they separated, they were both gasping for air.
Still clutching Michelle’s shoulders, Amanda whispered against her lips, “Oh God, that was…”
“Yeah. It sure was.” Michelle took the forgotten frying pan out of Amanda’s limp grasp. “You.” She pointed. “Out of the kitchen. You’re too distracting.”
After stealing one last kiss, Amanda lifted her hands and retreated to the doorway. From there, she watched Michelle work at the stove. Soon heavenly scents drifted through her kitchen, but despite her growling stomach, Amanda was more interested in admiring Michelle’s ass. She had to admit that she was developing a healthy appreciation for a woman in jeans. This woman in jeans, at least.
“Get ready to sit down. Banana pancakes in two minutes. Where do you keep the—?” Michelle turned and caught her staring. “What?”
Amanda said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re too good to be true.”
“No, I’m not. You work hard, so you deserve to be spoiled a little. Plates?”
Amanda walked over and reached around her for the plates, this time careful to keep some distance between their bodies. If she got lost in Michelle’s kisses again, she’d never make it to work on time.
Michelle chuckled as if she knew what Amanda was doing. She took the plates from her and pointed at the small table in the breakfast nook. “Sit. I’ll bring the pancakes over in a minute.”
Obediently, Amanda sat. The script was still lying on the table, where she’d left it last night, and she flipped it open to study her lines one last time while she waited for breakfast to be served.
Halfway down the first page of the script, a startled cry from Michelle made her look up in alarm.
“Uh, Amanda? Your roommate is trying to climb my body.”
Probably lured in by the sounds of food being prepared in the kitchen, Mischief had gotten up from his place at the bottom of her bed and was now climbing Michelle’s body as if she were a tree.
Not that Amanda could blame him. She’d had the same impulse just a few minutes earlier. But, of course, that didn’t mean she’d let him pierce Michelle with his needle-sharp claws. “Mischief! Get down!”
Naturally, the cat scrambled even higher up Michelle’s body.
Amanda strode over, plucked him off, and set him back on the floor. “You’d better stay down there, Mister!”
Michelle rubbed her thighs. “Ouch.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. It just hurt for a second when he dug his claws in.”
Amanda resisted the urge to run her hands over Michelle and make sure she was really fine. After all, it was a bit early in their relationship to tell Michelle to pull down her pants.
Keeping an eye on Mischief’s claws, Michelle bent and scratched him behind one ear. “I can see why you named him Mischief.”
“I didn’t. He already had that name when I met him at a commercial shoot for cat food. He was doing his name proud, getting into all kinds of mischief, holding up the shooting for three hours. The animal trainer was ready to have him put down, and my fellow actor was quite willing to do it right then and there.”
“And you?”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly amused either. I lost my job as a waitress that night because I didn’t show up for work on time.” If not for her grandmother, she would have starved to death that month because she’d been too proud to ask her parents for money to tide her over until she found the job at the juice bar. “But just because Mischief obviously wasn’t cut out to be an actor, I couldn’t let them harm him, so I talked them into letting me take him home.”
Michelle smiled, stepped closer, and kissed Amanda’s cheek in a gesture so tender that it nearly made Amanda melt into a puddle on her kitchen floor. “Maybe you’re the one who’s too good to be true.”
They stared into each other’s eyes until Michelle whirled around to the stove. “Oh, shit. The pancakes.” She slid them onto the plates and sprinkled some cinnamon on top. “Sit.”
The scent of cinnamon, bananas, and Michelle lured Amanda back to the table.
Mischief followed them but quickly lost interest when he realized they were having only pancakes, no bacon, so he stalked back to the bedroom.
Michelle pulled a chair out for Amanda and placed one plate in front of her. “Bon appétit.” She sat across from her, but instead of eating, she watched Amanda dig into her pancake.
“Oh God,” Amanda moaned for the second time this morning. “These are incredible. Aren’t you having any?”
A smile crinkled the scar at the corner of Michelle’s eye. “I’m too busy enjoying the view.”
Amanda’s cheeks heated. “There’s nothing attractive about me wolfing down my breakfast.”
Michelle just smiled. “Let me be the judge of that.”
Not sure what to answer, Amanda took anothe
r bite of pancake. Finally, after she had finished off not only her own pancake but also Michelle’s, she carried the plates to the sink. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to give you the nickel tour of the apartment or to show you my ocean view,” she said over her shoulder.
“Next time. That is if you want me to come over again.”
Their gazes met from across the room.
“I do,” Amanda said and realized that it sounded like a much bigger commitment than just seeing each other again. A few days ago, that would have scared her, but being with Michelle felt just right. She would follow her grandmother’s advice and at least give this a chance to see where it was going.
At exactly five o’clock, Amanda was out the door with a full belly, a thermos of coffee, and one last, thorough kiss. She hoped the makeup artist had something in her bag to help conceal her kiss-swollen lips—otherwise, Detective Linda Halliday would look as if she had been kissed long and hard by someone who knew what she was doing.
CHAPTER 6
When Amanda saw the name on her cell’s display, she was glad that she had decided to pick up her phone. Because of her six-days-a-week shooting schedule, she hadn’t seen Michelle since their four-a.m. breakfast almost three weeks ago, and to her surprise, she’d found that she missed her. She covered one ear with her free hand to block out the noise in the background. “Hi, Michelle.”
“Hi, you. Are you lazing around in bed?”
Amanda looked at the gathered crowd in the studio’s parking lot and the big red sign she had been holding up before her cell phone had started ringing. It said, “When you play me, pay me.” No, this definitely didn’t look like her peaceful bedroom. “Uh, no, why?”
“My sources in show biz tell me the actors are on strike.”
“You have sources in show biz?”
“This is LA.” Michelle chuckled. “Everyone has sources in show biz. So, did I hear right?”
Amanda nodded, even though Michelle couldn’t see it. “You did. The SAG went on strike this morning.”
