Page 9 of Reckless
I find myself fighting back a grin. The natural urge to flirt back with her is so strong, I bite my tongue until it passes. Seth should be proud of my restraint. “I bet you could,” I murmur.
Before she can answer and schedule that interview, no doubt, there’s an audible click of a camera shutter in the slight moment of silence. We both turn in unison to a bubbly brunette with a wicked smirk.
“That’s a good one,” she says as she glances back at the display on her camera. “You two look very intense and professional. Should be a great shot for your social media campaign.”
Phoebe crosses to the photographer, and I get the impression maybe she needs the distance as much as I do. “Emily, this is Griffin. Griffin, this is Emily, our on-set still photographer.”
I give her a nod and a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Emily. I hope my ugly mug doesn’t break your camera.”
“Don’t worry. I’m an editing whiz. I’ll make sure we don’t scare any of the kidlets.”
“I’ll have to trust you on that one.”
“McNalley,” comes Oswald’s bark.
I nod to Phoebe and Emily. “Ladies.”
All I have to do is focus for the remainder of the shoot. No more allowing blondes in skirts to distract me.
Luckily for me, she isn’t wearing a skirt today.
No, she’s wearing perfectly respectable pants. Slim, black slacks that accentuate her curves in all the right places. They’re paired with a green top that emphasizes her eyes and makes me do a double-take until I remember she has one green and one brown. So much for not letting her distract me.
“McNalley, are you as dumb as you are pretty? Get your head together and focus.”
I bite my tongue and nod. I’ve worked with some real assholes since I’ve been in the business, and even worse when I was on active duty, but Arthur Oswald takes the cake. He’s worse than some of my most demanding instructors during boot camp, and that’s saying something.
We go through the scene at least a dozen more times until he’s satisfied. Then we go through it another dozen times until he considers it effective. It’s a physical scene, demanding of both body and mind, and by the time he nods his approval, I’m covered in sweat and am all but screaming for a giant cold beer. I settle for a bottle of water.
Phoebe is flitting around the set between scenes with Emily glued to her side as she interviews members of the cast and crew or directs various shots. She stays out of the way when the camera is rolling and keeps quiet. Even manages to get the oldest, most crotchety crew members to smile and laugh with her when asking questions. She works as tirelessly as a grunt on his third shift of back-to-back duty.
It’d be easier if I could take my eyes off her.
It’d be easier if she weren’t the reason I couldn’t focus.
I push her from my mind for the rest of the day, which isn’t easy because I can see her every-fucking-where I turn. By midnight, I’m exhausted down to my core. As tired as I’ve ever been on a mission, but without the luxury of shooting at shit for my troubles. One thing I do like about this job is that, even though the days are long, the work keeps my brain busy from the moment I wake up until the moment my head hits the pillow at night.
It’s the hours I’m not at work that haunt me.
When Oswald calls a wrap for the day, I make my way back to my trailer to pack my things.
I dread going back to my empty apartment where I have nothing but my nightmares to keep me company, so I linger longer than I need to. As I shoulder my bag and turn the lights off, I wonder if Seth managed to confiscate all the liquor in my apartment or if he missed one bottle or two. I grudgingly admit that if it weren’t for him, I would have drowned myself in the bottle a long time ago. He’s the one who convinced me to take my first real acting gig even though I only wanted to stick to stunts.
The parking lot is quiet as I make my way to my GT, daydreaming about that cold beer when I see Phoebe in the studio lot with her phone held out in front of her face.
“This is so cool.” I hear a woman’s voice say. “Ben! Ben, come look! Isn’t this so cool?”
From a distance, I see a miniature Phoebe with red hair on her phone’s screen. Her mother? I stop in the shadows like a creep and watch them.
“You don’t have to holler,” comes a man’s voice. “I ain’t completely deaf yet.”
“Look at our baby, Ben. She’s all grown up.”
“I see that, but she’s been grown up for a while now.”
“Says the man who bought her a gun just because she was moving away.”
“In my defense, it isn’t the only time I bought her a gun.”