Page 12 of Let’s Make a Scene

“There can be a… sensuality to it,” Jasmine concedes, and I swear Cynthie is turning green around the edges. “But for now, let’s focus on the immediate emotional connection. The conversation flows.” She clicks her fingers several times. “It’s sparkling; they banter and it’s fun. That’s key here—there needs to be a… quickness.”

I nod, scribbling notes over the pages in front of me, as if I can fix this. “So it’s the rhythm of it, and there’s a moment of recognition between them.”

“Right, right.” Jasmine nods; she looks expectantly at Cynthie. “Does that feel good to you, Cynthie?”

Cynthie’s eyes dip to her script. She swallows. “I…” She hesitates, looks between me and Jasmine. “Sure.”

It’s hardly an enthusiastic response, but it’s something, and when we continue the scene it is marginally better.

We push forward, but you can feel tension creeping into the room. It’s not just my scenes between Cynthie that are the problem; it’s as if the hesitance, the self-consciousness has seeped in to affect everyone. We limp toward the end, and when the whole, painful experience finishes there’s a weak round of applause that manages to sound sarcastic.

Oh, god.

This is so far from how I wanted today to go. I watch Hattie and Rufus exchange a glance, and I can only guess what Mum and Dad are going to hear about this train wreck.

Everyone stands, gathering their things and getting ready to go. There’s a quiet hum of chatter, and I gesture to Logan to meet me in one of the smaller meeting rooms off to the side. He nods.

By the time he reaches me, I’m pacing back and forth. Anxiety is a fist around my heart. I play through every terrible moment of the last couple of hours, wincing over how badly we butchered the material.

“I know, I know,” Logan says, already holding up his hands in surrender.

“That was a disaster,” I say flatly, too riled up to hit a diplomatic note.

Logan winces. “Disaster is a bit strong… We knew there would be teething problems—”

“Teething problems?” I snap, panic rippling through me. “I can’t believe that anyone thought this was a good idea. We need a professional in the role. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing. The schedule is tight as it is; we’ve only got a week before filming starts! We have to cast somebody who can jump straight in.”

“I’ll admit it wasn’t great,” Logan concedes, “and you know there was a lot of back and forth on the casting decisions—you’re not the only one with doubts here—but we need to at least give it a chance.”

“Christ.” I rub my forehead. I can practically hear the scathing reviews, the slow, death rattle of my career, over before it really began. “There’s inexperienced and then there’s this… I don’t think she’s got so much as an A-level in drama. What the hell is Cynthie Taylor doing here? You need to get rid of her as soon as possible.”

Logan doesn’t reply, and when I look over at him, he’s watching the door with a rictus grin in place.

Even before I turn, I know precisely what I’ll see, but my stomach still rolls over at the sight of Cynthie standing in the doorway, eyes wide and face pale as a ghost as she stares at me.

“Cynthie…” I start, unsure how I’m going to finish the sentence.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad one that she doesn’t give me the chance, turning on her heel and tearing out of the room.

Chapter 5 JACK

“Shit,” I say succinctly.

“Er… bit of an understatement. I think you’d better go and deal with that,” Logan replies.

I scrub my hands over my face, indulging in one long, frustrated groan before running out the door to chase after Cynthie.

Unfortunately, there’s no sign of her in the meeting room where the others are gathering their stuff and saying their goodbyes.

“Have you seen Cynthie?” I ask Marion.

“She just left,” Marion replies. “I told her we’d call her a cab, but she said something about the bus…”

I’m on the move before she can finish the sentence, calling my goodbyes over my shoulder.

“Ah, chasing after the girl,” I hear Rufus say cheerfully behind me. “I can’t say I blame him. She’s a looker, isn’t she? Even with the awful haircut.”

I head back through the hotel as quickly as I can and out onto the crowded street. There’s no sign of Cynthie, and I hesitate, unsure which way to turn, but as I glance down the road, I spot the tousled mess of her hair in the distance.