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Jo and Barry were almost around the corner before Jo stopped and looked back at her.

“Emma, are you coming?”

Barry’s smile was guileless.

“Of course,” Emma said. “Sorry, one moment.”

She pretended to do something on her computer, grabbed her tablet off her desk, then followed.

Jo led Barry on a tour of the studio. This was normally Emma’s job. Emma was usually the one who charmed people with anecdotes as they moved through the building. Today, though, she stayed quiet, couldn’t stop looking at Barry’s face. He was perfectly nice. He didn’t stand too close or say anything inappropriate. She was probably overreacting. Maybe she had misinterpreted.

On set, Chantal called for a break and Barry got introduced around. Emma let out a breath. Her whole upper body felt tight, like she’d been holding perfect posture for hours. Jo furrowed her eyebrows at Emma, but asked nothing.

Barry circled back to their side eventually. Emma shuffled a little closer to Jo.

“Feel settled in?” Jo asked Barry.

He grinned. “Feel great.”

“Then I suppose I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

If it were any other week, Emma might have said something to get Jo to stay, might have somehow indicated she didn’t want to be alone with this man. But Jo had barely looked at her since asking about her inhaler that morning. She didn’t look at her then, either, just turned and headed toward her office, leaving Emma beside Barry as Chantal announced the end of the break.

“I get what you see in her,” Barry said at Jo’s retreating form. His eyes were glued to her ass.

Emma swallowed. “She’s certainly something.”

Barry laughed. Emma would have rather heard nails on a chalkboard. The quiet-on-set call went up, and Emma was grateful for the reprieve.

This happened. Of course it did. They were in Hollywood. Just because more people talked about it now didn’t mean it stopped happening. Emma had dealt with plenty of disgusting, overstepping men. She knew how to handle the situation. Keep her smile polite but her nails sharp.

But this was Barry Davis.

He hadn’t even done anything all that bad, she knew. A couple of rude comments that he could pretend weren’t meant that way. It was nothing, really. And nothing she couldn’t handle. She straightened her posture, kept her head up.

They watched filming for a while. Emma’s eyes stayed on the actors until Barry took a step closer to her. She countered, stepping away, and his quiet chuckle sounded predatory, but he didn’t pursue her.

He didn’t try anything the rest of the morning—didn’t stand too close, didn’t say anything inappropriate. Emma knew she hadn’t imagined what had happened, but she still doubted herself.

He hadn’t meant it that way.

It hadn’t been a big deal.

It was fine.

She had to win him over, anyway. He could help her career or destroy it, if he wanted.

And, really, he was fine now. He made insightful comments about the show, taught her more about directing over the course of two hours than any of the books Jo had suggested for her. They ate lunch together; craft services had set up under a tent outside on the lot today. Emma sat across from Barry at a folding table. Normally she liked to plop down in the middle of anyone eating at the same time she was, but everyone gave the two of them a wide berth. She knew it was because she was supposed to be learning from him, but all she wanted to do was sit next to Phil and stealfood off his plate. Instead she picked at her salad and tried to keep up conversation.

“What was your favorite film to direct?” she asked, because asking famous men about themselves was a good way to not have to talk for a while.

Barry didn’t answer the question, though.

“Look, you seem like you can handle yourself,” he said as he chewed a bite of his sandwich. “If you canhandleme, I know a guy who’s looking for a second AD. I’ll recommend you.”

Emma rolled her shoulders down from where they’d shot up toward her ears. She looked at Jo, standing across the lot and talking to Aly by the drinks.

“If I can handle you?” she said. Maybe playing innocent would get her out of this.