Page 55 of Bad Reputation

“The world’s your oyster, Cole. If you don’t want the space flick”—he hadn’t even been offered it yet—“there’s also a boxing one,Palooka. It’s more training, but you’re in shape already. I trust you’ve been keeping up with the regimen we agreed to, eating well and all?”

About that, there could be no negotiation. “I am.”

“Good.Palookais more serious. More awards-y.”

Cole didn’t want to take projects just because he might get nominated for something. He wanted to keep growing in the ways that this project and the team behind it, specifically Zoya and Maggie, were helping him to. “Is there anything literary on the horizon?”

“Ha, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s not likeWaverleyis Shakespeare.”

Because he didn’t think Cole could do Shakespeare.

Cole tried not to take it personally as he said “I’ll take a look at the boxing one too. Gotta run.”

The only thing he had to do was wait some more. But at least that didn’t come with the smack of low expectations. Drew meant well, but sometimes their conversations made Cole feel as if he were still a twenty-four-year-old dudebro instead of a forty-year-old not-quite dudebro who had learned at least a few things from his mistakes.

Partially to figure out what was causing the delay and partially because he knew it would annoy Drew, Cole went in search of the craft-services table. It wasn’t petulant snacking if it was potato chips. But at the food table, Cole found something better than carbs to calm him down.

Maggie was perched on a stool, stirring a bowl of oatmeal and chatting with one of the catering assistants, a guy in his twenties with a sleeve of colorful tattoos down both arms.

“Cole!” Maggie said excitedly, and his heart skipped a beat. “Come, settle a bet.”

Oh. That was disappointing. He wanted to be exciting all by himself.

“Are corn dogs and beef Wellington in the same food group?” She tossed this off lightly, without any indication of how she wanted him to rule. While she put the proposition to him, she added a generous pat of butter, a handful of Craisins, and a squeeze of honey to her oatmeal.

Cole gestured to her bowl. “Aren’t you just making deconstructed granola there?”

“Perhaps. Oatmeal is mostly a blank canvas for what you add to it anyhow. But don’t get distracted, James. Lives are at stake.”

Feeling far, far less antsy than when he’d left his trailer, Cole reached for a handful of baby carrots. “Lives, huh? Well, corn dogs and beef Wellington are both protein wrapped in carbs, but corn dogs don’t have the mushroom layer.”

“Ha!” Maggie raised a fist in triumph. “That’s what I said.”

Cole was irrationally happy that, by sheer luck, he’d picked Maggie’s side.

“Okay, but what about this?” The caterer leaned a hand on the table, which conveniently brought him into Maggie’s personal space. He was watching her with what might be called erotic interest, but thankfully, Maggie seemed immune. “Have you ever had Korean corn dogs? Some have dog, a layer of cheese, and then the rice-flour coating.” He ticked these attributions off on the fingers of his free hand. “What about those?”

Maggie took a big bite of her “oatmeal” and chewed thoughtfully. “I think we’ll have to allow it.” She shot Cole a look as if she knew that they agreed on this exception to the rule. “But only multilayer Korean corn dogs are related to beef Wellington. Not the regular kind of dog you find at American state fairs.”

“You are as wise as you are beautiful, Maggie, my love.” Then the caterer tweaked the end of her ponytail before winking at Cole. “I better go get that case of water bottles.”

As the guy left, Cole chewed his carrots a bit louder than was necessary, just to prove some kind of idiotic point.

“How are you?” Maggie asked when they were alone. “I heard that the new bulbs arrived and they’re hoping we’ll be underway soon.”

“Oh, good.” Cole had been worried about that before Maggie had distracted him with her important food questions and the less important matter of the crew flirting with her.

He searched his gut. He wasn’t feeling impatient anymore, that was for sure.

“How areyou?” he asked.

“Fine. No, better than fine.” Her smile felt more real for the fact that it was soft, quiet. “I didn’t expect the crew to be so ... varied. They all have such great stories. I don’t know who I thought ended up on movie sets, but it feels like a pirate ship’s crew.”

It was such a perfect description, it took a second for him to know how to respond. “That’s my favorite part,” he said finally. “A lot of people end up making movies because they couldn’t do anything else. Everything else just feels ... boring. Colorless.”

“That true for you?” She was staring into her oatmeal, but Cole had the sense that she was deeply interested in his answer.

“I’d like to think I could find something else that would make me happy, but obviously I’m working pretty hard to stay in the industry.”

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