Page 61 of Bad Reputation

When at last every shot was done and Zoya said “That’s a lid. Great work, everyone,” Maggie knew that the compliment included her.

What they’d filmed would later be described as the hottest scene of the year, and sometimes one of the hottest in television history. In giving this performance, Tasha was saying Vincent didn’t matter—that she wouldn’t let him matter—and Cole was saying that he would be there for his friend, no matter what.

It was the bravest thing Maggie had ever seen anyone do ... even if watching it had also made her feel like the help.

Chapter 15

INT. CROWDED PUB

The pub in the hotel was overpriced, but it was convenient, and so the crew had started assembling there nightly. After his teeth-gritting performance following Vincent freaking Minna’s appearance, Cole most definitely needed a beer.

No alcohol during filming: that was what Drew would’ve told him. But that’s why Cole didn’t ask for permission.

Besides, dehydration made for better muscle definition.

In the back corner, with an order of french fries and a cider, was Maggie Niven. Around her were half the crew, all trying to ask without asking why Tasha had lost it.

“I’m merely saying, she’s usually an awful-ly”—David put the emphasis on the second syllable—“cool customer.”

“Hmm.” Maggie dragged a fry through a puddle of ketchup.

That seemed to be her main source of vegetables. Someone ought to take better care of that woman. Too bad it wasn’t going to be Cole.

David wasn’t going to let it go. “It’s hard not to read something into it.”

“Hmm.”

The only free seat in the cluster was next to Maggie, so Cole wove through the chairs, fist-bumping this key grip and high-fiving thatspark. He slipped onto the bench, then he draped his arm along the back, wanting Maggie to know he was here to help.

She was small under his forearm but fierce.

“Hey, guys,” he said.

And . . . crickets.

It made Cole feel like a TV dad catching his children planning a rager. What a one-eighty fromCentral Square, when he’d been the one organizing the party.

“Fry?” Maggie pushed her plate toward him.

“Thanks.” He took a pass on the ketchup, though. He usually went for barbeque sauce, but he’d discovered the British didn’t really know what that was supposed to taste like.

“How are you all doing?” Cole asked when the silence in the group got to be too much.

“Good,” David said in a way that meantcurious.

Cole should’ve had the beer in his room.

“Shooting went well,” Maggie said, faux chipper and trying to change the subject. “I mean, we made our day, right?” Meaning they’d gotten all the shots on the schedule.

“Barely.” Of everyone on set, David was most on top of things, the most likely to remind them that a mandated break was coming up or that they had moved into those sweet, sweet overtime hours.

Television could be brutal. Cole had endured his share of eighteen-hour days. Today, it was Vincent’s fault they’d gone ten hours.

“Some things take time.” Maggie turned toward Cole. “You ... doing okay?”

Cole had the sense she wanted to ask about Tasha.

He’d checked in with her before coming down. Tasha was in for the night, with room service. Merrit—who’d been running her errands and had missed all the drama—and two hefty security guys were standing guard outside her room. Tasha kept insisting she was fine, but he suspected that was code forFucked up IN the Extreme.

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