Page 25 of Pink Ink

My eyes mist over, and I quickly blink them away. That sounds like Mom. “Oh.”

Ever since I was old enough to use a camera, she told everyone I’d be in Hollywood before they knew it.

I swallow and look down at my feet.I miss her so much.

I think she’d be disappointed that I chose to come here. She and Dad wanted great things for me that didn’t involve Cresswell or New York, even if it has produced some of the most legendary directors.

“Thank you.” My voice breaks. I clear my throat. “She was crazy but loved.”

Maddox huffs out a breath that could be mistaken for a chuckle. “I remember. She was quite intimidating when she wanted to be.”

I smile softly to myself. “You can say that again.”

Strangely so, comfortable silence stretches between us. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to talk to anyone new about Mom. It’s nice to be around someone who knew her.

As grateful as I am for the interaction, this isn’t the only reason he wants to talk. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

Shaw’s eyes stay on me for three heartbeats too long. My pulse ricochets against my skin the longer he stays quiet. It gets worse when he finally puts me out of my misery by nodding at the laptop opened on the desk. “Your assignment.”

“You’ve graded it?” Professor Bradford usually takes a month or two to mark anything.

“Not officially. There are some things I want to go through with you.”

I scan the empty room like there might be a line of students he’s said the same thing to. Shaw doesn’t strike me as the type of man toofferhis time outside of scheduled hours. He’s a good professor, but he’s never been known as a generous man.

Apparently, he’s changing his whole act just for my benefit.

He pulls out a seat for me, then lowers himself into his own, looking at me expectantly.

I realize what this is. An olive branch. A fresh start.

Mom, you absolute psycho, I owe you for this one.

Reluctantly, I sit beside him. My little heart is going to be shredded to pieces because it’s never easy being told that my work isn’t good enough. But Iwant this. Any critical feedback is helpful in a highly competitive industry. If I don’t find my backbone today, I’ll be damn sure I find it by the time our grades are released, because I can tell he won’t give me the A that I so desperately want.

I take a deep breath and regret it immediately. Add his scent to the list of his crimes. Maddox smells a hundred percent man, and a thousand percent divine. There’s another note that I never noticed before that has me berating myself for finding him more appealing.

Bergamot andpaint. My new weakness.

Clearing my throat, I narrow my eyes at the screen. If I can’tactuallybe focused, pretending is the next best thing.

Shaw motions at the scene where the character—well,me—is slowly losing it in an office.

“Why did you choose a static wide angle for this scene?”

“Going wide would emphasize isolation and emptiness,” I answer.

“Fair.” He nods, considering. “It’s a measured angle, but it does not match what you are trying to portray. Emptiness is about dissonance and space. It would have been achieved by going handheld to break the frame so the audience can feel her anxiety. Be there for every hand tremble. Every tear. Feel her paranoia each time she looks out of the window thinking he’s out there.”

It’s maddening that I agree with him.

We go through scene by scene, and he points out each time the movement is too fast, the color is oversaturated, or the lighting falls flat.

“You delivered this part well.”

Somewhere in the distance, there’s a disc scratching. Did he just… Is that a compliment?

TheMaddox Shaw—the very Maddox Shaw I insulted—thinks I did somethingwell. Hell must be freezing over.