Page 5 of Between Takes
Chapter Two
Juggling a coffee cup while power walking across a busy, sprawling studio lot was my worst idea today. But it was only 8AM, and there was still plenty of time for bigger fuck-ups – not that I was planning to fuck up. It was just the kind of thing I was braced for after Sherry’s cryptic warnings and my internet searches.
It’s not like I didn’t set six alarms last night. I even skipped my morning coffee. All to make up for the fact that I woke at 7:15AM to the shouting of my new flatmates returning from some bender of a night out. I’d missed every single alarm and lost any time to dawdle with my own drink and sooth my jumping nerves.
In under an hour, I made it out of the shower, dressed, drove across Cardiff, picked up my security passes, and stopped to pick up his coffee order, as Sherry directed, from the Craft Services table at the studio. I didn’t really have time for it, but considering I wanted to make a good impression my first day, I stopped. Maybe it would sweeten him up and save me a lecture from Mr Hotshot actor on tardiness.
Although he definitely couldn’t talk.
Sherry’s extremely lengthy briefing email made it crystal clear that my real job was to keep him on time and out of trouble.
Skidding to a halt, I barely avoided getting run over by a rack of clothes. The wardrobe assistant scowled at me, her eyes fixed on the large soy milk mocha I held dangerously close to her treasures. She barrelled on and I blew out a relieved breath. Pretty multi-hued pastel hair or not, I didn’t want to mess with that death glare.
When the coast was clear, I snuck a glance at my watch. Fifteen minutes to make-up. Fuck.
I took off at a run – which, let me tell you, is not easy on grass; adding in ballerina pumps and a full scalding-hot cup of coffee was asking for trouble. But by some miracle, I didn’t spill it, and I even made it through the maze of identical-looking trailers. I followed a hunch that his would be the biggest, and I wasn’t wrong. I stopped near a trailer with a laminated sign of his name to catch my breath and compose myself before I approached the lion’s den and knocked.
My heart was still in my throat, but at least when I banged on the door, I was certain words would come out of my mouth.
Seconds stretched into minutes as I stared at the door. We didn’t have time for more of a delay, and I really didn’t want Shaun to be late to set my first day. What a failure that would be.
But knocking was gaining me nothing but bruised knuckles.
Sherry had been clear: Shaun was never on time these days. No way had he already left for make-up. Plus, I could hear the quiet buzz of a TV. The hotshot was in there, and he was ignoring me.
I’ve never been great with people ignoring me – just ask my brother. Call it youngest child syndrome if you want, but the fact is I learned how to make people give me their attention at a young age. And right now, some uppity TV star crashing to earth was not getting in my way.
With renewed vigour, I slammed my hand against the door repeatedly. It stung, but it was effective. The trailer rattled with my thumps.
Heavy footsteps raced towards the door and I stepped back. It narrowly missed my nose as it flew open.
“What?” Shaun Martin shouted, glaring down at me with hard eyes.
For a moment, I lost my words.
I’d seen pictures, of course, but nothing could prepare me for the real deal. The fire in his eyes proved he had a mammoth temper. With all that animosity centred on me, my brain stuttered.
But after a few breaths, I snapped out of it. I’d allowed no one to have that kind of power over me. Not my teachers, not my boss, definitely not my ex-boyfriend. I certainly wouldn’t start with Shaun Martin. If he wanted to glare at someone, he could look in a mirror.
I pushed my shoulders back, cleared my throat and offered my free hand. “Mr Martin, I’m Mona Baines. It’s nice to meet you.”
The glare went up a notch. Okay, so killing him with politeness isn’t going to work.
“May I come in?” I asked, trying for a sunny smile.
Somehow his face darkened further. He crossed his arms – his very muscular arms – and blocked the doorway.
“I have your mocha.” I offered the cup, forcing my smile back in place.
His face softened as his eyes dropped to the coffee, and I thought for sure that would be my in. But he didn’t ease his stance or so much as twitch towards the cup.
“Sherry said soy milk mocha was your drink.” I frowned down at the cup. Come to think of it, why did I believe his agent actually knew him? My sister had a file on all of her clients, but that didn’t mean Sherry was as diligent. “Never mind. I can get you something else from Craft Services.”
“Why is my agent telling you my coffee order?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
His eyes narrowed, and I took that to mean no.
