Page 82 of The Unfinished Line

The time for that had passed.

Three months ago I would have sold my soul to gain his approval. It had been without question that he and Grady were two of the most talented actors I’d ever witnessed work. When paired with one another, what they created was simply genius. And I knew, when we filmed our scenes together, some of that magic rubbed off on me.

But I was past the point of hoping to impress Elliott. We’d wrapped up our major scenes together, and other than someminimal studio shoots and whatever pickups would be needed, our work together on this film was finished.

The crew had it right. It was time for a pint.

“Excuse me,” I brushed by him, beginning my trudge up the steep switchbacks toward civilization.

An hour later, showered and dressed in what practically felt like summer clothes compared to what I’d been wearing in Greenland, I stepped out of my trailer to find Elliott waiting for me.

It had finally stopped raining, the midafternoon sun highlighting the cliffs overlooking the ruins of Dunnottar Castle.

“Am I needed for something?” I asked, trying to appear unbothered, but missed the first step of my trailer ladder and almost landed on my face.

“Careful,” he caught my arm as I stumbled to find my feet. “It would be a drag to break something now.”

“Wouldn’t you just love that?” I snatched my arm away. “Maybe you could convince L.R. to find someone to replace me?”

Circumventing him, I headed for the path that wound along the cliffside down to the town of Stonehaven, where we were staying for the week. It was a beautiful walk, and I decided, after spending the day being dragged through the mud by my hair, and slammed up against fourteenth-century castle walls, I could use the time to unwind and stretch my aching limbs.

“Can I give you a ride, Kam?”

I didn’t look back. “Nope.”

My heart sank when I heard steps jogging up behind me.

“Can I walk you to town, then?”

I stopped. We were fifteen feet from the edge of the cliff. Maybe he’d trip. It was at minimum a three-hundred-foot drop. Most of his scenes were shot. Anything we had to reshoot could be handled with CGI.

I sighed. “What do you want, Elliott?”

“To be friends.”

He probably could have seen my tonsils the way my mouth hung open. I couldn’t even convince the muscles of my jaw to close it. “Are you drunk?” I finally managed. I almost hoped it was the case. He couldn’t possibly be so disillusioned to think, after what he’d put me through, we could somehow now be buddies. I mean, three hours ago, he’d driven his knee into the small of my back and whispered ‘imagine how fun this would be in real life,’ out of range of the microphones.

I had the urge to spit in his face, the way he’d ad-libbed doing the same to me earlier in the morning.

“No,” he said. “I’d just like to put this all behind us.”

“Behind us?” I could feel my heartbeat accelerating. “Behind us? Just one word from you and—” I snapped my fingers “—bam, everything’s A-okay, just like that?” I laughed, almost delirious, taking a step forward.

He didn’t need to trip off the cliff. A good push would do it.

“Do you have any idea how you’ve made me feel? What you’ve put me through? Do you know, every actress on the planet thinks I’m the luckiest girl alive, because what could possibly be better than landing the role of the most beloved heroine in the twenty-first century? And then—to have theprivilegeto star with the great Elliott Fleming! What could possibly be better thanthat?”

I hadn’t realized I was shouting. I took a glance around. There were still crew members mulling around the castle down below. I lowered my voice. “Do you know what a single kind word from you could have done for me?”

He nodded, unsmiling. “Yes. Gotten you fired.”

I snapped my eyes back from where I’d looked out over the bay. “What?”

“You were out of your league, Kameryn. Not with talent—you’re very talented, that was never a question—but youwouldn’t have made it. It was obvious after the first few minutes of the read-through.”

“And you thought somehow it would help me if you turned into an absolute bastard?” I asked, incredulous.

A part of me knew I was toeing the line—this was still Elliott Fleming, still the headlining actor, still the man who had dangled my job above me like a carrot on a string, threatening to cut the cord at any time. But the other part of me could hear all the horrible, degrading things he’d whispered, the ways he made me feel inferior, the person responsible for all the nights I promised myself I’d quit the next morning.

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