Page 75 of A Lucky Shot

Date 19

Tonight’s the firefighter, right?

Burny McHotpants?

He a douche too?

He’s a peach! Chat tmr xoxo

what

Cass juggled her phone and mocha in one hand and pinned the swatches under the arm that her purse didn’t occupy with the other. The lineup at Rosso that morning had stretched out the door, and there were more than a few people on the roads who could use winter driving lessons. According to her call sheet, she was only five minutes late, but between Terry, Stephen, and Josh, at least one of them would be pissed.

Maybe Dawson would be a doll and run interference again.

The parking lot looked like a group of drunks decided to play bumper cars in a skating rink. Cass made a wild guess as to where the lot’s parking lines were and angled her pick up close to her usual spot. Filming wasn’t rolling for another three hours, but the set bustled with action. Terry gave a quick wave as they rushed by, and unsurprisingly, Brynne was nowhere to be seen, but Stephen smiled as he jogged past with a crisp, “Morning!”

So far, so good.

The makeup artist applied a final dust of powder over Dawson’s perfect cheekbones and holstered her brush as she stepped back. “All done, D.”

“Thanks, Amy,” he said with a polite grin to the artist, who swooned in reply. Dawson let Cass brush some loose powder from his lapel, his eyes fixed somewhere between her chin and her nose, and she wondered if she’d forgotten to put on lipstick.

“Might want to lay low for a bit,” he said, smiling. “Josh is on the warpath.”

And that answered that question.

But it was possible, likely even, that he was stressed about the shots for today. Libby had worked some electrical mastery that fortunately didn’t blow any fuses. At least literally. So much light blasted the set that the resulting heat forced them to turn the building’s furnace off for the day. Libby and Josh had argued for hours over how to get the look; Josh wanting to correct in post and Libby insisting she could get it bright enough with practical effects.

Josh would be antsy until they had a few takes. In the meantime, he’d be growly. Which meant any number of poor PAs might be chewed up over a misplaced pen. And if he was cranky she was late, well, better to get that over with before his bluster turned into a hurricane.

“When isn’t he on the warpath?” Cass said conspiratorially. She lifted onto her toes, hand braced on Dawson’s thick forearm for balance, to scan the crowded set.

As usual, she didn’t need to search long. That, and Josh’s bellow thundered across the room, his eyes already locked on her.

“I’ll go check on him. Make sure he’s not terrorizing the caterer or anything.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” the makeup artist asked. “He’s extra murdery today.”

Cass clicked her tongue. “He’s not so bad.”

“With you, maybe.”

None of the other directors she’d worked with had cared if she was a couple minutes late, as long as it didn’t scrunch shooting. Every director had, however, been a control freak on some level. Timeliness was obviously one of Josh’s triggers.

Next time, set your alarm clock earlier, she thought, crossing the set. Josh tore his eyes away from her, scowling at an innocent tablet in his hand.

Even from her height disadvantage, she could see the screen was black, and she rolled her lips inwards to ward off the smile that would just provoke him further.

Actually, that might be fun.

She bumped his thigh with her hip as she caught up to him, turning her sweetest smile on full blast.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said in her most sugary voice. “I checked the weather forecast this morning. I didn’t think the snow would turn to rain so quickly.”

“What?” he asked, studiously avoiding her face.

“Maybe all the clouds are just in here, raining all over you.”

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