Page 31 of A Lucky Shot

And the team was strong. Lots of experience pulled from Melanie’s contacts, and the people who the union had insisted work on the project had solid portfolios. Cass included. Josh felt a slight unclenching until Cass spoke up.

“I saw the inspiration art Melanie shared, but this script is so character focused, I think we need a different look for costume.” Cass pulled up a series of sketches and photos of cosplayers from conventions over the years.

And a link to fan art Josh had shared on an SD forum years ago. The digitized watercolours were attributed to dr-rykoff-xxx69—he cringed at his sixteen-year-old self for that embarrassing handle—and any moisture in his mouth evaporated. She couldn’t have known the fan art was his. How did she find this, and where was she going with it? He held his breath as she continued.

“This is the kind of dedication these fans have. They love this story. The die-hards will be furious either way, but since we already switched to a female lead, I think we lean into her power, and strip away artifice. Plus,” she continued, smiling at Terry as she pulled her mock-ups out of her design folder, “it’ll save money.”

Damn if it wasn’t the exact look he had been too afraid to bring up with Melanie. Worried he’d already stuck his neck out enough getting the director role, he’d swallowed every creative idea she’d thrown his way.

But not Cass. It was like she had dumped out the contents of his brain and picked out all the rationale he couldn’t put into words. And then levelled it up.

“Realism on Earth,” Cass said, flipping through each design mock-up, “and dirty, near future sci-fi for interstellar travel.”

Josh jumped to agree. “She’s right. This isn’t a space opera.”

Or at least it shouldn’t be.

Melanie narrowed her eyes as she studied the muted design specs in front of her, unmoving.

“Plus, fans will clamour to cosplay these two at all the Cons.” Cass continued, “These costumes will be around for years. We can tap into the maker community and release DIY tutorials. It’s built in buzz.”

A gleam flared in Brynne’s eyes, and she nodded once. Melanie glanced off screen. “Okay.”

Josh released a pent-up breath. Holy shit. Melanie was on board with Cass’s ideas.

Maybe she was bringing good luck here, too.

When the meeting wrapped, Cass lingered, fussing with her bag until the last person filtered out of the room. She stopped fiddling enough to stare up at the light fixtures.

“So, this is awkward,” she said.

Maybe she had been telling the truth, that she didn’t do that a lot. One-night stands. Swapping nudes. He’d run into hookups outside the bedroom more times than could realistically be left to chance and had navigated his share of fully clothed conversations after swapping orgasms.

Cass, apparently, had not. Her flushed cheeks and nervous tics hadn’t subsided, though she was clearly trying to stay cool.

“Doesn’t need to be awkward,” he said. “We had a fantastic night?—”

“We did.” Cass perked up, wringing her hands. “You know, I was thinking?—”

“—and we get to work together on a fantastic project. We had a great night, and I’m glad we had it. We’re professionals. I don’t see a problem working together.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped and her face lost some of its glow. “Good. I thought it might be weird. Having seen each other naked and all.” The spots of colour high on her cheeks deepened. “And that’s how you make it weird.”

A huff of laughter escaped his throat before he could shut it down. He’d missed that unfiltered personality. Something funny and disarming came out of her mouth at the most unexpected times.

“We’re probably going to have a few weird moments, but we got along great then,” he said, determined to put her at ease, “and who knows, it might help us work better together now.”

“We really did. I hope we still do.” She bobbed her head, her mass of curls bouncing alongside her round cheeks. “Oblivion. I looked it up when I got back. You did everything yourself.”

He had. Every mistake was his. The continuity errors. The jilted performance he barely coaxed out of the lead actor. At least six minutes could have been cut. He crossed his arms. “It was a piece of shit.”

“It was really good.”

“The festival should never have accepted it.”

“The vetting for that festival is stringent. You should be proud.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t need her sucking up, but her comment didn’t have the usual sycophantic reek. And she had said she’d liked it months ago, even before she knew it was his project. “It needed a lot of work. It wasn’t perfect. It needed?—”