Page 60 of Bad Reputation

Tasha managed a harsh laugh.

But in between them, Cole was still seething. “We do not have to film this scene. And we sure as hell don’t have to do it today.”

“Yes, we do.” Tasha stood and adjusted her skirts. “It’s done. I have given that ghoul in man’s skin too many years. I cannot fucking believe I cried. I fucking cried!” Tasha set her hand on Cole’s arm. “You cannot kill him.”

“Like hell I can’t—”

“No. You—or Geordie, I guess—have to make love to me. That’s what matters. The past, it’s done. Let’s go earn some Emmys.”

There was a pause, and Maggie wasn’t certain if Cole was going to accept this or if he was going to find Vincent and pound him into powder.

Cole still looked so, so angry, which made sense. Maggie had had several weeks to adjust to the story, and she still wanted to introduce the producer to Sweeney Todd and his meat grinder. But this was Tasha’s story, Tasha’s pain, and right now, Cole and Maggie needed to take their cues from her.

After a few seconds, Cole scrubbed his hands over his face. The deep outraged breaths that had had his rib cage working like a bellows slowed. When he dropped his hands, his eyes were no longer brutal, and his cheeks weren’t so red. He threw an arm around Tasha, pulled his friend close, and kissed her temple. “Jeez, no pressure.”

And with that joke, everything was better. Things weren’t okay—there was no way for things to be okay—but it was like the wind on the top of that mountain he’d made Maggie climb: the foul stench that Vincent had brought whipped away, leaving only sweet potential behind.

Shooting this scene was what Tasha wanted, so they were going to do it.

Back in the hayloft, Cole changed into a clean shirt, and a H/MU tech held an ice pack to Tasha’s face until the swelling went down. When they’d touched up her makeup, no one could’ve guessed she’d been crying.

Movies, they were magic.

“You ready?” Zoya asked them.

“Yes.”

Cole and Tasha settled on the hay, her in his lap. Zoya yelled, “Camera set,” and the scene started again.

Maggie wanted to stay outside of it. To see it as a performance. To know it was choreography. They’d planned every touch, every kiss,every gasp together, but her insides didn’t seem to comprehend that ... probably because Tasha was faking one impressive orgasm. Startled and luminous and worth wrecking your life for, just like they’d practiced.

“Cut! That was great,” Zoya said. “Let’s get one more just for fun.”

“Sure thing,” Cole said. “You okay?”

He pitched that question to Tasha, who nodded.

The actors didn’t take their eyes off each other during the break. Not when the makeup techs swooped in to fix them up. Not when a spark had to climb up on a ladder to replace a bulb.

And they didn’t once look up at Maggie.

Which was fine. They didn’t have to. It was a sign that they’d all done the right amount of prep, so even when Vincent exploded the plan, they were still able to move on.

This was good. It was good.

Their insularity continued when Zoya declared the second take to be perfect and said the camera should move for the next sequence.

Cole and Tasha stayed wrapped up in each other while shooting the bit where Geordie knelt and “worshipped” Effie. It went on once they’d moved onto the straw for the long, intense frontal sequence. For all that Maggie was there handing them props, neither made eye contact with her.

“You both doing okay?” she asked quietly while she placed the exercise ball that helped the actors simulate thrusting.

“Yup.” But Tasha’s nod was for Cole, not Maggie.

That wasfine—Cole was her scene partner. Their palpable intimacy felt like an iron curtain, keeping out anything that might detract from the performance. Maggie’s slapped-face feeling only came from the fact that she’d thought she got to be inside the process with them but realized now she wasn’t.

When she dropped back behind the camera, the script supervisor sidled up to her. “They’re really focused today.”

“Yeah.” They had to be, she reminded herself.

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