Even though she kept her gaze on the exit and walked with fast steps, Caz snagged her arm when she passed, pulling her into the conversation.

His agent said, “They promised an artistic photo shoot, and you agreed to pose.” She patted her pocket as if looking for a cigarette.

Caz shook his head. “I agreed to do press after filming, not during. I should be concentrating on my next scene, practicing my lines.”

His agent shrugged and tapped her foot. “You signed the contract. You’re committed.” She handed Ashley her coffee cup. Ashley stared down at the smelly, empty container.

The AD bounced on the balls of his feet, anxious to please. “We’ve wrapped for today. You do what you need to do, and we’ll send someone to run lines with you.”

When photo opportunities emerged, Petra had bionic hearing. She waved at them from her spot on the stage and strolled over. Her ruby-laden belt rolled lower against her hips with each step. “I can be there. I’m already made up, and I have a great relationship with most photographers in town. Only last week, I shot with Rae Frost, you know Rae, right, Rae is famous, after all, well I—”

Ashley wiggled the coffee cup at Caz and smirked.

“PA.” Caz quirked an eyebrow. “Go with me.”

Ashley shook her head in refusal. She had a ton of things to do other than babysit him.

Petra pouted and curled against Caz’s side. She batted her eyelashes until she caught sight of her reflection in a pole, then she went over to the makeup mirror to smooth her hair.

Caz didn’t seem to mind that she left. Talkative must not be his type, Ashley thought and wondered if he had a type. Maybe if he had a girlfriend around to cater to some of his whims, she would have more time to help other crew. She was quickly getting a reputation as “Caz’s PA,” and the title wasn’t winning her any friends. “Couldn’t Olive—”

The AD said, “Olive, over here.”

Olive pounded her small frame over to them, swinging a hammer in her hand. “How can I help?”

Caz shook his head. “Ashley’s got this.”

The AD let out a forceful breath. He shoved a script at Ashley. “Pull the car around.”

The man obviously saved his coddling tone for the actors.

The agent looked between Olive and Ashley. “I really need that coffee.” Her voice was apologetic but insistent.

The AD snagged the cup from Ashley and handed it to Olive. “Get her a fresh one. Then go help out on set B. The mobile toilet’s acting up again.”

Olive put her head down and beelined for the coffee cart.

Ashley swatted Caz with the rolled script on her way to get the car.

Chapter 5

Ashley steered Dad’s Audi R8 up to the front of the warehouse and rolled down her window. There was no way Caz, his agent, plus whomever else was tagging along would fit in her two-seater. They’d have to use a larger car with a studio driver. The studio provided drivers for all the stars, which was smart because actors were notorious for their drunk-driving incidents. Not that she’d seen Caz drunk, but the studio was smart to play it safe. Artistic didn’t go hand in hand with reliable.

The agent stood outside with Caz, cradling her new coffee cup and cell phone in the same hand. She eyed the lack of a backseat with a frown and more toe-tapping.

Doing her best to conceal a grin, Ashley spoke through the open window. “Meet y’all there.”

“No,” Caz said, and went around to the passenger side.

The agent sighed and handed Ashley a card with the photographer’s address. “I need him there right away.”

“Okay,” Ashley said to the agent’s narrow back as she walked off. Ashley handed the card to Caz. “Read this into the GPS.” Caz typed on the upper right hand of the screen, and a feminine voice came on asking for their destination.

Caz said, “1342 Water View Road.”

“Don’t you have a car?” Ashley put the car in gear and exited from the front gate onto the streets of Burbank.

“I plan to buy one, since I’m staying in the States. I just haven’t chosen one yet. This car’s nice.”

The navigation system asked for a repeat, and Caz said, “1342 Water View Road.”

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s. You should get a big one with a good safety rating since you’re not used to driving on the right.”

“No.”

Ashley pulled over and clicked on the hazard lights, waiting for the GPS to tell her where to go next.

After several beeps, the GPS asked for the address again. Caz leaned close to the navigation screen and spoke the address loudly into the voice activation speaker.

“Please repeat your destination,” the female voice said.

Ashley laughed.

Caz narrowed his eyes and tapped on the screen with a forceful index finger. Ashley pushed his hand away and repeated the words in American English.

“Proceed to the intersection. Stay in the right lane.”

Caz pursed his lips, glared at the GPS, then turned on the radio. His expression made her grin.

The ride didn’t take long, and they reached the photography studio without trouble. Ashley grabbed the script and followed him into the sleek, white, modern studio. The only pop of color came from the smelly eucalyptus plant at the end of the white couch.

His agent bent and smashed a cigarette butt into its mossy base. She was there alone, no Petra or Olive in sight. She’d either driven crazy fast or didn’t have to find parking. The agent shoved her phone in her pocket as Caz drew near, and when they stood within two feet of her, Ashley could tell by the smell that she’d had more than one cigarette with her coffee on the drive over.

His agent said, “The shoot’s going to be really tasteful.”

“Black and white?” Caz asked.

The agent nodded and looked at the receptionist with raised eyebrows and a glance at her watch.

Ashley rolled her eyes and wondered why artists thought color was tacky. She liked color photos. Besides, his eyes were a pretty shade, wasted on black and white.

The receptionist rose from behind a long white half-moon desk and joined them. She stood at least six feet tall, just a few inches shorter than Caz. “Mr. Thaymore, we’re expecting you. Please proceed to studio two.” The receptionist gestured toward the hallway with a slender arm, but her gaze never left Caz.

Studio two had been divided into three areas: technical equipment, makeup, and shooting. Jungle music boomed from speakers mounted in the corners, and a photographer yelled directions over the noise. “Set that up. We need sheets.”

Within the makeup area, a tattoo-covered masseuse leaned against a privacy screen that obscured a massage table. She shook a bottle of baby oil at Caz and said, “Over here, cutie. We’ll get you prepped for the photo.”

Ashley’s eyes widened; she couldn’t wait to text Marissa about this. She said, “It looks like they’re going in a lessartistic direction.”

The agent’s mouth twisted at her words and Caz stiffened. The agent shrugged an apology. “It’s their right, per the agreement you signed.”

Caz looked ready to blow.

The photographer, who was adjusting lenses on set, yelled, “Cover his torso with oil.”

Caz didn’t move. In fact, he looked like he was one minute from walking out.

The agent patted her jacket for another cigarette. “Come on, Caz, this is important to the film. Besides, you have photo approval. Just do it.” The agent stared at Caz for a moment. Her gaze flickered between him and the door then landed on Ashley. She smirked. “His assistant will massage him. Give her the baby oil.”

The tattooed masseuse looked disappointed, but she gestured toward the table with an open palm, clearly used to the vagaries of stars. “Coat him waist up.” She dropped the bottle of baby oil on the table and followed after Caz’s agent. “You know, I’m not just a masseuse, I act too.”