Page 77

It starts to hit me when I see a woman with an ear-piece directing people to their spots. Haddad trailers make it all the more real. Some of my favorite soap actors could be in there right now. This is…awesome.
He grabs my hand and takes a quick look at my straight black wig—which is absolutely ridiculous. I feel like Uma Thurman inPulp Fiction.My square-frame, fake lens glasses are something I wouldneverwear, especially considering I have pilot-perfect eyesight. Alas, these are the conditions of breathing the freezing cold Jersey air, I guess.
A man opens a suitcase of props to the woman with the ear-piece, and my mouth nearly hangs open. Turkey baster? Silverware? They’re doing the sequel to the Thanksgiving massacre!
I squeeze Silver’s arm tight, pointing.
“Keep it together. We’re not even inside yet,” he mutters.
“Hey, Aros.” One of the prop guys nods at him.
“Mikey.” Silver nods back.
“Who’s the pretty lady? You never bring anyone on set,” Mikey says innocently.
“Someone special I’ve been seeing. Harley, meet Mikey.”
My face goes bright red as I shake his hand… I can feel the heat. Did he really just make my nicknameHarley… because my name isQuinn… did hereallyjust make a Batman and Suicide Squad reference?
I don’t know why that twists me like a pretzel, but I want to pull his hair.
“Pleasure to meet you.” I’m all smiles, unlike my normal persona, and as soon as Mikey is out of the way, I pinch Silver hard by the elbow.
He jolts. “Kid,I swear to God.”
“What do you think I’m some kind of comic book character? How about I call you Vito Corleone?”
“That’d be a great honor.” Silver adjusts his jacket, trying not to laugh.
“Ugh.”My frustration melts when I walk inside to a done-up set, with a wide last-supper-like table complete with giganticsteaming turkey, a plate of beets, stuffing, and twenty table settings for all the guests. “Oh shit, they really are doing a sequel. That means…Ronny Ranchesteris here.”
Silver eyes me, and I’m not sure what that look is. Jealousy?
No way.
I could poke the bear and say something else about how hot the murderer is, but that might be a bit much right now. I’ll wait ’til he calls me Harley again.
Silver gets to his seat and picks up the copy of the script on it, detailing the scene. “That’s yours.” He nods casually, and my heart stalls when I notice the lettering embroidered onto the cloth of the chair that reads “Kid,” along with my very own copy.
“Oh my, Laura wouldfreakif she saw this right now.” I gasp when flipping through the pages. “Okay, so, Tracy is going for revenge after Daughtry killed her sister at the dinner table before company arrived. They’re going to film a reenactment from Tracy’s thoughts as if she was her sister. She suspects Daughtry, but hasn’t ruled out the others who could’ve been there helping her sister that day.”
“You’re really into this, huh?” Silver takes his seat and leans back, eyeing all the workers to keep note of any scuffs.
“You have no idea.” I scan the pages faster and faster, still disbelieving that I have front row seats to how the sauce is made. The show is funny with the over-the-top murders, and sometimes a little bit serious, but at all momentsentertaining.
Once I’m done skimming my first read-through, I grab Silver’s hand and squeal. The cameras are all set at this point, and I’m just waiting on the actors to be called from their suites.
“Ahh, there’s Tracy!” I say in an airy voice, so not to disrupt.
“Yeah, her real name’s Maddy,” Silver says. “We can meet her after if you’d like.”
“That would be amazing.” I smile, then gasp when Ronny—AKA Daughtry Stiles, the murderer—struts in. His white scarf is oversized and ridiculous, as is hisChad-wear. Polo, white slacks, you know. He’s a great villain with feathery hair and uses his kind eyes to disarm anyone he’s speaking to.
My brow furrows when I notice Silver’s arm stiffen. “Hm?”
He wipes my chin. “Got some drool on you.”
“Oh stop. Didn’t take you for the jealous type.”