Page 15 of Hot Nights in Morocco
Taking a step back, he curses under his breath. “Good night, Charlie Winters,” he says firmly. And then he’s walking away, leaving me empty and confused all over again.
Chapter Eight
“Cameras rolling,” shouts the camera operator as his clapper loader jumps out from behind him to snap his boards. “Scene thirteen A. Take one!”
“Aa-ndaction!” yells Max.
I’m sitting inside a canvas camera monitor tent five days later, with my new boss poised next to me in his monogrammed black canvas director’s chair. In between takes he’ll spring forth like a restless tiger and prowl about the set giving tips and last-minute motivationals to his actors. Jake disappeared hours ago to take some long-distance phone call, and I’m enjoying a break from his endless sniping to watch the organized chaos here instead. He’s flat-out refusing to discuss what happened in his office the other night, but his mood has taken a colossal nosedive ever since.
“And cut!”
Straightaway the set is invaded by a horde of slender, pink-faced makeup ladies.
“Let’s go again, people,” shouts Max a minute later. He’s very much the authoritarian today, a total contrast to that first day. It suits him, and I contemplate his reasons for becoming a director in the first place. It must be the only time he can snatch a bit of control back from his brother.
His first assistant director is requesting final checks. I watch as the standby art directors make their last minute tweaks, and the costume and makeup teams apply their final expert touches. Stray lashes are lightly brushed away, hanging threads snipped, and a little more green foundation applied to tone down flushed, sunburned cheeks. It’s fascinating to watch the interplay between the different departments. It’s like an intricate ballet where everybody knows their part to perfection.
Satisfied, Max saunters back into the tent and collapses into his director’s chair. “Nice tits,” he murmurs as he passes.
“You really are a misogynist pig, Max,” I say, quirking my eyebrows at him.
“Sounds like an eighties pop group. When are you going to have a drink with me?”
“I don’t date my boss. Haven’t you got some Victoria’s Secret model on speed dial to take care of that?”
“They’re not a patch on you, Winters.”
This is a pattern that’s emerged between us over the last few days. Max will flirt outrageously with me, but only on the proviso that I knock him back with increasingly clever remarks. It’s clear that neither of us wants to hook up, and that’s what I keep telling Rachel, who is watching our latest exchange like a hawk.
“What do you think of my set?” he asks, picking up his headphones. “You learning the ropes okay?”
“No regrets so far. I can’t believe I’m getting paid for this.”
“Not much, if my brother’s got anything to do with it.”
As if on cue, Jake stalks into the tent looking like a desert rock god in black jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and his signature pair of classic Ray Bans embracing those devastating cheekbones. I’m quickly learning that perfection is a surprisingly ugly word. It encompasses all manner of assholes.
He whips off his sunglasses and glares at Max. “Stop fingering your assistant and get a move on. I’m not paying crew overtime this early into a shoot.”
Max starts laughing, good-natured as always. “Your woeful understanding of foreplay never fails to amuse me, Jake. Are your lovers perpetually disappointed? Would you like me to demonstrate? I’m sure Charlie would oblige…”
“Oh, I’m sure she would,” he says, shooting me a hard look.
“Anyway, she’smyassistant. I can do whatever the heck I like with her. We’re two consenting adults, aren’t we?” Grinning at me, Max turns back to his monitor as Jake yanks me sideways and out of the tent.
“If you can’t behave yourself on set, you can fuck off back to the studios.”
“We were only talking! What would you like me to do? Tape my mouth shut?”
We simmer at each for a moment before he turns on his heel, dragging me after him. “I need to speak with you. Rachel will cover whatever ridiculous shit Max demands next. I’m heading back to the production office. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Chapter Nine
“You want me to go to Los Angeles with you?Tonight?”
I’m in shock. I’m also in the passenger seat of Jake’s jeep and he’s driving like a maniac as usual. He only slows down to allow two stray dogs to cross the road in front of us. His bodyguards are in convoy again. I still don’t know their names, and he isn’t being very forthcoming with the introductions.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Jake is edgy as hell. He keeps running his hand through his hair and it’s stupidly flawless in its dishevelment today.
