Page 3 of One Pucking Chance

He shrugs. “Eh, I might have missed that.”

Ignoring our argument, the director says, “Let’s call it for today. It’s all feeling”—he waves his hands around in a chaotic circle—“forced. We’ll finish the scene tomorrow, then move right into the boardroom scene. I think we’re spent. It’s been a long day.”

With a nod, I supply a smile of acknowledgment.

He turns around, raising his voice so everyone can hear. “Remember, if you signed up for the charity meet and greet tonight, make sure you’re here at seven o’clock sharp.” With that, he motions for the lighting engineers to join him, and the group steps off to the side. Let’s hope they’re discussing how to light the space so that the gaudy orange-and-brown decor running rampant makes me look less yellow. The shots I’ve seen thus far aren’t flattering.

My publicist, Miranda, likes to remind me that female actresses thatugly-up—her words, not mine—for a role tend to get more recognition come awards season. While there seems to be some truth to that statement, I’d prefer not to get recognition for my role as a grown woman with jaundice.

Turning, I walk away from the drab hallway, its wall adorned with mock-ups of unfortunate art from the seventies, and head toward the back of the set. Simon follows in step beside me. “I’m sensing some annoyance,” he says.

“You think?” I snap. “We’ve been filming for two weeks, and you still can’t seem to follow the script.”

He raises his hands, palms out—his fingers rapidly moving back and forth in the classic “spirit fingers” move. “Oooo, so sorry, Queen of Film, if I’m not living up to your standards.”

“I never proclaimed to be the queen of anything, but I do know how to follow simple instructions. I’ve had it with you adding things into every scene.”

“Stop taking everything so seriously.”

“This is a serious film.” My tone moves toward shrill. “It’s based on real events, a real woman’s life. It has to go a certain way. Annabelle is not rising to power to become the first woman to take over this Fortune 500 company just to throw it all away by kissing up on some guy in the hallway. You can’t just improvise like that.”

“You need to chill out, Annalise,” he counters, obviously annoyed.

“Oh, like you? I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Is it possible for you to show up to work sober?” I snap.

“I find that it makes it easier to deal with you.”

I simply roll my eyes and hurry toward my trailer, leaving Simon behind me. I slam the trailer door and release a groan.

Sprawled across the sofa in my trailer, Miranda looks up from her phone. She’s startled, and her eyes widen. “You okay there, Anna?” Sincere concern dwells within her big green eyes, and it brings my anger down a peg. I adore Miranda and don’t know what I’d do without her. While she’s technically my publicist, she’s so much more. She’s my best friend, assistant, and right-hand woman. More than anything, she truly loves me—and having someone in this industry of vultures at your side who does is priceless.

I release a frustrated sigh. “I can’t stand him.”

“Another day in paradise with the jackass, Simon Blackwood, huh?” She sits up.

“It’s utterly impossible for him to take anything seriously. He’s going to ruin the project!” With the index finger on my right hand, I begin ticking my points off on the fingers of my other hand. “He’s not right for the part. He changes the script. He’s constantly drunk. He has no work ethic. Oh, and he randomly kisses me on my neck!”

“What?” she gasps, leaning forward. “He kissed you on your neck?”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t part of the scene. The camera wasn’t even rolling.” I wave my hand in front of me. “Whatever, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s a long story. It’s just... I just can’t stand him.”

She supplies a small smile. “Well, there’s only another month of shooting, and then we’re done.”

“This cannot be another fiasco like the last movie. It has to be good.” My voice quivers.

“Anna, your last movie was incredible. It had the biggest box office release out of any movie you’ve made.”

“Yeah, but apparently, it was trash.” I plop down in a chair.

“According to your dad,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “And who is he to say, anyway?”

In terms of numbers, my last movie was my most successful. It had the biggest opening weekend box office earnings out of any other project I’ve been involved in. It even grossed more than a highly successful superhero franchise in its second week at the box office. Yet…when I look back at that project, I hate that all I feel is shame.

“You know it only made as much money as it did because of the motorcycle scene.” I blow out a puff of air.

“Well, it was hot.” She grins, wagging her eyebrows.

I pull a bobby pin from my hair and throw it at her with a laugh.

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