Page 18 of A Lucky Shot

Of course Josh had heard. If anyone would know when the executive producer would be on set today, it’d be him. Melanie Westwood, latest trophy wife of the film mogul Darren Westwood, had been far more hands-on during production than anyone had expected. Everyone said she was just a purse to fund this movie. They’d groaned when she showed up and started making decisions. Weird, dark ideas, but then those cryptic, esoteric choices had launched tiny indie projects that were barely expected to break even into the deep black. While she hadn’t bagged any major awards yet, it was only a matter of time.

After that, people had shut up about the decisions she made. Josh couldn’t believe he was working with her.

“Yep. One o’clock.” Which meant she’d be here anytime between two and seven tonight.

“Are you going to ask her about it?”

Josh nodded without looking up from his screen, tapping out his reply to the second assistant director’s frantic notes. Because he was nothing if not a masochist. Maybe he could get into Emily’s spanking kink after all.

Fuck, he’d promised to call Emily last night. Well, he hadn’t thought of anyone other than Cass the minute he’d laid eyes on her. Emily would get over it. And if she didn’t, they both had other people they could call when they needed to blow off steam.

Stephen clapped his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “You got this.”

At least one of them had confidence.

Besides a craft services mishap in which no gluten-free sandwiches arrived, causing the lead actor to have a kindergarten-level hissy fit, the day passed incident-free leaving him free to keep vigil for Mrs. Westwood’s arrival.

Near the end of the dinner break, Stephen signalled from across the room and pointed at his cell phone.

Westy’s in the house

Go time.

The grip team was still adjusting the lights for the next scene, so Josh made sure everyone was doing something useful and strode to the entrance she always used.

“Mrs. Westwood, here for the finale shots?” he asked and waved a PA over. “Can we get you anything? Sparkling water? Decaf latte?”

A palanquin to carry you to the director?

She motioned for him to join her brisk pace, heels clicking on the concrete floors. She handed her knee-length jacket to the scurrying PA without breaking stride. “It’s Melanie, Josh. Mrs. Westwood is my mother-in-law.” She scanned the set through narrowed eyes. “Where’s Brynne?”

Hiding from everyone on set. “In her trailer. Visualizing.”

Casting Brynne Sparo had been one of Melanie’s many conditions in bankrolling the tiny film. She was nowhere near the most famous actor he’d worked with, but her diva act put any A-lister to shame. Her breakout role in a historical drama last year had everyone predicting she’d be the next “It” girl. Melanie believed it, and was willing to bet the literal box office that everyone was right. From everything he’d seen, Josh was inclined to agree.

Act the diva, indeed.

“I want to see her when the scene is over.”

“Of course, although it might take a while.” It wasn’t a complicated shot, but who knows how many dozens of takes the director wanted? So that meant they’d have time. Now was as good a time as any. Josh ground his molars and pushed ahead.

“Melanie.” Nope, first name was still weird. “ I wondered if you’d had a chance to look at the script that I sent through last month. Several actors have been making noise about doing grittier films and horror?—”

“Horror isn’t our brand. We’re not LookBACK.”

Fuck. Horror was having a moment and he wanted to ride the wave. The script was good. At least, he’d thought it was. Over a dozen studios disagreed though, and now Melanie, too. That dream was rapidly disappearing in the rearview. Maybe his script was a garbage heap, after all.

“Understood, thanks for looking?—”

“But,” she continued, “I heard you’re working on an adaptation of Sirius Darker? I didn’t know you had an interest in sci-fi.”

He froze. How would she have heard he was writing that? No one knew what he was working on.

Except for Stephen. That sneaky little shit had been hounding him for months to finish that screenplay. Last time Josh opened the file, he’d stared at the screen for an hour before closing it without writing a word.

“Sirius Darker was the book that made me a fan of the genre,” he said, trying to weigh how much of his enthusiasm he should show. “I’ve read it a few times.”

Fifty times, but who was counting? No need to tell her he’d cosplayed the lead character at San Diego Comic-Con for the last three years. Or moderated a fan subreddit. Or posted fan art when he was in high school.

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