Page 86 of A Lucky Shot

The big man rolled his head from side to side. “It’s not as warm as LA, but Tennessee won’t be colder than a—” he cut himself off with a chagrined shrug. “It’ll be good to see my folks, see my horses, but there’s a few people I’ll miss here,” he finished with a small smile.

“I know what you mean,” she agreed absently. Josh would be heading back to Vancouver in days. Tomorrow, if they could wrap on time. Barring a snowpocalypse and with Stephen and Terry on the case, they’d wrap. Then it would be two weeks before the crew reconvened to film the scene everyone was nervously waiting for.

The death of Dr. Donovan Rykoff.

Dawson, because he needed to sell Brynne’s propulsion into the final act; Brynne, because she would carry the film for its final arc; and Josh, because he would bear the brunt of fandom’s ire if the adaptation flopped.

Box office history had shown audiences were far more forgiving of a mediocre male-led film than a female-led one. Brynne had pull, but any female star lower than A+ had fame that came with a target on their back rather than a coat of Teflon. The closer they got to filming the scene, the closer everyone got to the edge.

Cass’s eyes landed on Josh in the sea of people. Brynne had found her way back to him, the two of them looking like they were holding back laughter. Cass was familiar enough with the feeling she didn’t need to guess what stabbed through her. She rubbed her elbows, arms wrapping over her stomach.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Dawson asked.

“Probably heading to Canmore for a few days, where my family will try to cram seven adults and two children into a cottage.” The overstuffed two-bedroom had nearly burst at the seams, even growing up with the five of them; her parents squished into one room and her siblings in the other. Now with her sister’s husband and kids stuffed into the nooks and crannies, and her brother’s girlfriend joining them, there was a second nearby rental for the overflow, with everyone congregating for presents, pyjamas, and meals. Cass wiped her hands down her wool pants and fidgeted with the waist-tie. “I just need to get there early enough that I don’t get relegated to sleeping in the living room with the kids again.”

“That sounds right cozy.”

“It’s the one time a year I don’t mind when things close before dinner. All we have is thirty-year-old board games, a fireplace, and a stack of ancient DVDs for entertainment.”

He shifted to his other foot. “Speaking of dinner, I’ll be getting back in town a few days early. There’s this great restaurant in Kensington Bex suggested. Maybe?—”

“Dawson?” The PA materialized at his shoulder like her name had conjured her. “Stephen needs you in position.”

“One of these days …” he trailed off with a grin. “Catch you later, Cassidy.”

Cass stood silently as Dawson loped into position for blocking. That couldn’t have been what it sounded like it was going to be. Could it have been?

Libby had said she was picking up cues, but Cass had brushed her off as ridiculous. Half the people on set—the continent, really—would fizz with excitement at the thought.

That sweet, handsome, about-to-be-famous Dawson James, had been about to ask her out.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JOSH

“Mrs. Westwood wants to see you in her office.”

Bex’s voice snapped him out of the daydream he’d been reliving all week.

Dawn in the farmer’s field. The one where he and Cass were looking into the director’s monitor, with her round ass nestled against the tops of his thighs. The scent of her hair enveloping him, the fire in his blood chasing away the chill he’d felt all morning. Then his mouth dropping to her neck, his hands sliding around her bare waist—because in this daydream their clothes had conveniently disappeared, and it was no longer minus fuck-you degrees out—to palm her tits and drive his cock into her dripping pussy …

And once again, he’d missed the last twenty seconds of second unit footage he was supposed to be reviewing.

Shit. This was exactly why he stayed away from distractions on set.

He hit pause and refocussed on the screen. The shed scenes should slide seamlessly into the field shoots from last week. If he could concentrate on them long enough to sign off.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he muttered, not bothering to look up at the fidgety PA.

“Um, Mr. Graham, sir, she said now,” Bex said, exiting his office door and calling over her shoulder as she left, “And you might want to check your email.”

Sure, Melanie, I’ll jump! Exactly how high would you like that? Don’t mind me, I’m trying to direct a multimillion-dollar movie. Josh tried his best not to glare at Bex’s back. He could practically hear Cass’s sweet voice in his ear, reminding him the young PA was just doing her job, and had been nothing but incredibly helpful.

He sighed. “Hey Siri, take a note. Make sure Bex gets a good reference,” he said into his phone as he pulled up his inbox, already halfway down the hall to Melanie’s office before he froze in his tracks.

Who’s Dawson’s mystery girlfriend in Canada?

Dawson James stays warm in the Great White North

---