Page 8 of Second Act

She glanced at the large clock that hung on the wall opposite the sofa. “Another fifteen minutes. They were having some technical difficulties with the sound. Too much ambient noise in New York City. Who’d have thought?” Her tone was heavy with the irony he generally appreciated.

In fact, he liked Meryl. She was prepared and professional. Unfortunately, she’d also hinted that she would like to extend their relationship to off the screen. Five years ago he might have felt the same way. Now he wanted to do his job and leave it behind him when he exited the set.

The problem was that Meryl was so subtle he’d had no opportunity to turn her down. And he didn’t want to risk killing the chemistry she generated between them, because it showed up on the dailies. That’s one reason Bryan had cast her.

Or maybe she was even cleverer than he thought and knew exactly what she was doing to steam up the camera lenses.

“Must be garbage pickup day,” Hugh said. “I’ve had far too many scenes ruined by the crash of dumpsters being emptied.”

Meryl gave a throaty chuckle. “I worked on a movie in Hawaii where they had to pay one helicopter sightseeing tour to shut down for three days because of the rotor noise. Cost them a fortune and the tourists were grumpy, but we got our shots. That’s the movie business. You do whatever is necessary.”

Something in her tone implied she meant more than just stopping helicopter noise. A faint disgust moved through him. “What lines did you want to run?” he asked, propping a hip against the kitchen counter.

Meryl swung her legs off the sofa so she could pick up a sheaf of papers from the coffee table, causing her skirt to slide even farther upher thighs. He had the odd thought that Jess looked sexier in her green scrubs than Meryl did with her calculated display of flesh.

She patted the sofa beside her and gave him the smile of a temptress. “Why don’t you sit here, and we’ll start right after we wake up and realize that we’re locked in a pitch-dark shipping container.”