Ashley rubbed her toe in the sand, admiring the pink polish against the beige granules. She dug a small trail. “I’m not suggesting you quit either. I just wondered. Plus, I’ve seen you reading literature; French literature. That would be interesting to study.”

“I like the characters. They’re different and fascinating. What they teach me enriches my roles.”

“So, no going off to college with me next year?” Ashley asked half in jest, feeling a little empty.

“I’ve thought about university but can’t get the time off.” He stared back up the hill. “The studio’s lined up years of projects and they’re pushing me to commit.”

Ashley nodded. She didn’t really know what to say. A lot of jobs depended on his acting. He brought in money. She’d heard that more than once while on set. She brushed her fingertips along his high cheekbones, near the dark circles she’d noticed under his eyes. “You look tired. How early do you get up for those martial arts sessions?”

“I’m fine.”

She stilled her hand. “What about a holiday?”

His voice brightened then dimmed. “I’d love one, but my agent says time off won’t work out production-wise. She calls it striking while the iron is hot.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “So what if the heat cooled some? You could still be successful with less crazed attention. Or, again, so what if the fame ended? You could do other stuff.”

Caz didn’t respond.

“When was your last real break?”

“For any real length of time? It was before I was fourteen, a trip to the continent, but the schedule’s fine. I’m fine.” Caz pointed up the beach. “Want to walk along the edge?”

“Nah, I’m going to sit over there and listen to the surf.” Ashley waved toward a bench near the path. “You go ahead.”

Caz dropped his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll go with you.” They trudged up the sandy incline to the bench. His arm slid from her shoulders to her waist. On the bench, he pulled her close, his left arm around her waist, his right going up to cup her face. His head angled toward hers.

The bright white light flashed, illuminating the night. Ashley tucked her face against Caz’s shoulder. Caz stood, his arm around her, tucking her against his side, shielding her from the camera.

The photographer, talking beneath the huge lens of a professional camera, said, “Evening, Mr. Thaymore, who’s your date? Does Petra know you’re cheating on her?”

Caz stiffened but ignored the reporter’s taunts. He grabbed her hand and they ran, as quick as the shifting sand would permit, back to the safety of the limo.

Chapter 10

The love scene drew a large crowd. Ashley had read that they usually took place on a closed set in order to be sensitive to the actors. That wasn’t the case in warehouse 47. Petra Pelinski wasn’t a sensitive type of person. She’d walked around in red lingerie for two days now and seemed to prefer a large crowd.

Ashley had planned to skip out before they started shooting. She didn’t want to see Caz kiss Petra even though they were just acting.

His character had two sex scenes in the movie. One with Petra, whose character was a vixen about to betray him: a hook-up that was supposed to be rough and exciting. That moment would serve as a direct contrast with the tender scene he’d shoot with Lorene. The sex scene with Lorene would be filmed in candlelight in a floating, dreamy sequence. Memories of their romance would haunt his character throughout the film—his one true love killed because of the case he was investigating.

Lorene hadn’t shown up for work yet. The executives were getting anxious, according to Powder. The rumor mill said Lorene was jockeying for a larger paycheck. Recently, Lorene had spoken to the press about being unhappy with her role and with the script in general. Powder explained that those tactics were a way of negotiating for more money or a bigger part in a future film. When the studio gave in, Lorene would praise the film and the size of her role as loudly as anyone would listen. It was a tried and true Hollywood move.

The director adjusted a camera, then addressed Petra and Caz. “I want to see heat and passion between the vixen and the hero. Show me fire.”

Ashley jerked at the heavy cable. She didn’t want to watch Caz and Petra go for fire. She wanted to tack down this cable and leave. The cable resisted her pull, so she wiggled the end. How did these things get so entwined when they were just lying there? This was like dealing with necklaces in a jewelry box, if the necklaces weighed ten pounds each.

“They look so great together,” Olive said in an aside to Ashley. “So natural. I’m sure they’re really a couple and are keeping the romance secret.” Olive didn’t try to help adjust the cables. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I can tell.”

Ashley looked between Caz and Petra. She couldn’t see the love. She yanked again.

The AD said, “Picture is up.”

Ashley knew she had to get out of there. She had to adjust this one last piece—tug, turn, shove. Ergh, how had it hooked in with the black one?

“Roll sound.”

Crap. That meant sound recording had started. She had to stay.

Next, someone gave information about the take, “Sound speed, roll camera,” then “Speed.” The clapper guy called out, “Marker.” Click. The clapperboard shut. “Action.”

Don’t look, Ashley told herself.

Caz’s character entered the room and found Petra’s character beside the bed in a negligee.

Ashley watched. She couldn’t help it.

Caz pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers while staring at the vixen. Loosening his buckle, he slipped his belt free and dropped it. His expression was angry and suspicious. Next, he jerked at the buttons on his shirt and yanked it off. Petra writhed on the bed while Caz undressed.

Ashley watched with a frown. People were right. When a love scene wasn’t on the big screen, and didn’t have music, the act didn’t look romantic at all. He seemed unhappy and Petra’s movements came off weird, like she was having a seizure.

A shirtless Caz leaned over Petra. Now that view was worth the price of a ticket. His hands were on either side of her head and only his lips touched her when they kissed. His head didn’t move much. Petra’s arms flew out beside her on the bed and she gyrated again, trying to keep as much of her body in the shot as possible.

“Cut.”

Immediately, Caz pulled back from Petra and looked at the director.

“That was super hot,” Olive said.

Ashley shot her a disbelieving look. If you’re going to suck up, at least praise something that was good, like Caz without a shirt, wow.

“Let’s wrap for today,” the director said.

Ashley sighed, sorry to hear that. She knew they hadn’t gotten the shot, so that meant tomorrow would be day three of Petra wearing only a negligee and a toe ring. She tugged on the cable, and now that the urgency had been eliminated, it dropped right into place. Ashley kicked the compliant rope and stepped away.

The director huffed out a sigh, rubbed a hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes. Opening them, he said, “Writing, leads, let’s go look at the dailies.” The director caught sight of Ashley. “Bring coffee.”

***

This was her first time in the viewing room. The miniature theater had about twenty seats, a large screen; and it was the first one she’d been in that didn’t smell like popcorn. The lights dimmed and an image appeared, cued up to the bedroom scene. Frozen on screen, Caz and Petra appeared beautiful together, like something out of a high-end cologne advertisement.

Tomorrow when he rolled around on the sheets, she planned to ask him to whisper the name of some fancy perfume, in an intent rush, just to make her laugh. Ashley passed out coffee while the team discussed the short soundless scene. When the clips ended, the lights rose.