Page 2 of One Pucking Chance

“Well, seeing that it’s October first, we’re kicking off Breast Cancer Awareness Month by signing some pink jerseys for our fans.” She smiles, looking at me expectantly.

I open my mouth to respond before closing it again, blinking. “Um, yeah, that’s cool, Pen. I mean, cancer’s bad and all, but what does that specifically have to do with me?” I ask.

I can’t tell if my brain is too tired to comprehend the obvious or if there’s some hidden agenda I’m unaware of, but I’m beyond confused. I don’t know anyone who has dealt with breast cancer, nor do I have a specific affinity toward the color pink. I’m failing to see why she thinks this philanthropic event is close to my heart.

She smirks. “You’ll see.”

CHAPTER

TWO

ANNALISE

The bright lights make the suede skirt against my body feel suffocating on the warm set. I’ve lost all feeling in my feet. The heels provided by costume design are a half size too small and pinch my toes. One would think my feet would be used to such abuse after a lifetime in the industry, but they’re not.

The director raises his hand in the air, and the various conversations in the room halt, the space now silent. I run my hands down my brown skirt, roll my shoulders back, and take a deep breath.

“Action!” he calls out.

Holding the manila folders to my chest, I walk down the drab hallway adorned with its 1970s decor.

My costar, Simon, walks toward me from the opposite direction. He raises a hand to stop me. “Hey, Amelia, did you have a second to go over those files?”

I plaster a fake smile on my face. Much like myself, my character doesn’t think too highly of this man. Some acting is easier than others. “Sure, Ralph.”

Simon—as Ralph—takes a step toward me.

“What are you doing?” My body stiffens.

“We need to talk about last night,” he answers.

“There is nothing to say about last night. It was nothing.” I avert my gaze, dropping my chin to my chest.

In the scope of the movie, Simon’s character misread a situation, his small brain unable to comprehend that a strong, beautiful woman wouldn’t be attracted to him. From the moment I read this script, I was drawn to this project. I’m playing the first woman CEO of a major corporation, and my character is based on a real woman, Annabelle Lighthouse. She had to fight her way past every chauvinistic pig in her industry, working ten times as hard as them to prove her worth and claim her position.

“It meant something to me.” His hands find their way to my hips, and he pulls me closer. The very real smell of alcohol on his breath increases my disdain for this man.

“Don’t—” I whisper, an air of fear weighing heavy in my voice.

“Everyone’s gone for the night,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

I put my hand against his chest, creating distance between us. Lifting my face, I hold his gaze. “Ralph, it’s just not a good idea.”

Ignoring my protests, he dips his face to the crook of my neck.

“Cut!” the director calls.

My body relaxes, and I move to step back. But I’m startled when Simon places his lips against my exposed skin, supplying me with a soft kiss.

“What was that?” I whisper-shout.

He shrugs and gives me a coy smile. “Just improvising.”

I roll my eyes. “There is no improvising needed on this scene, Simon. Stay on script.”

He squeezes my hip. “Some of the best parts of movies are when the actors go off script.”

I push his hand away and take another step back. “Well, don’t go off script on my neck.” Irritation saturates my words. “Not to mention, you can hear, right? You heard thecut?”

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