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“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that the most dangerous stunt I’ll be doing is jumping off a chair. He directs eccentric postmodern dramedies, not shoot-em-up, explosive action flicks.”
“Actually,” Stelios interjects.
We both look towards him.
“You’ll be thrown off a train that’s simulating movement, then you’ll get back on the train from another vehicle. And there’s another one where you’ll have to jump from one car to another as they uncouple?—”
“You’re not helping!” I snap.
At the same time, Keenan says, “Over my dead body.”
I glare at him. “That can be arranged.”
“What has been arranged,” Rachel interrupts, holding up her phone, “is a stunt double. She’ll be here tomorrow. Vanessa, I still need you to work with Stelios on some of the easier stunts.” At Keenan’s growl, she adds, “Like stumbling into a wall. We need her face in some of the action shots.”
“No problem,” I say brightly, kicking Keenan’s shin.
He grunts, but keeps his mouth shut, apparently satisfied with the solution.
“C’mon, I’ll take you to your trailer, then you’re expected in costume for fittings. Can you manage that one on your own?” Rachel’s impatience is loud and clear.
I nod, though I haven’t got a clue where the costume department is. We were taken there earlier, but the film set is starting to feel like a maze.
We follow Rachel as she weaves her way through a lot filled with trailers. She stops in front of one with a sign on the door that says ‘Hailey Whitmore.’ “We’ll get the sign updated. Anything else I can do for you, or can you handle things from here?” Pulling her phone out, she taps the screen, then says, “Your schedule for the week has been emailed to you. Look over it when you get a chance, but also get your ass to costume. They were expecting you half an hour ago.”
Before I can tell her I’m definitely not going to be fine on my own, she turns and walks swiftly away, her running shoes crunching on the gravel. I look at Keenan who’s staring after Rachel, his expression bemused.
“Let’s have a look.” I push the door to the trailer open.
The interior is modern and posh with a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette. A gorgeous, overflowing Champagne and fruit basket sits on the kitchen table, a card nestled in the tissue paper welcomes me to the film. Tossing it on the table, I wrap my arms around myself, feeling self-conscious. This trailer wasn’t meant for me, but at least the fruit basket is.
“What’s wrong?” Keenan demands, his sharp eyes searching my face.
I try to tug my lips into a smile and fail. “A little overwhelmed.”
Not a little, a lot, but I don’t want to admit it. I’m on the verge of realizing my lifelong dream and the terrified child inside me wants to run away and hide under the covers. I’m a weak stand-in for the truly amazing movie star who was originally cast. What on Earth happened that I’m the replacement for Hailey Whitmore?
“What do you mean by stand-in?” Keenan asks, baffled.
I sigh, fighting the urge to yell at him for invading my thoughts. He can’t seem to help himself.
“You’re wrong. I can help myself, but in this instance, I choose my mate’s comfort over her privacy. Tell me why you feel like a weak stand-in compared to this… what was her name? Hailey something.”
“You’ve seriously never heard of her?” I flop onto a cream leather couch with a groan. “She’s one of the best in the business. An A-list actor with dozens of prime roles and awards under her belt. I’m nobody. How can I possibly compare to someone like her?”
“Why did she leave the film?” He sits next to me, his thigh pressing mine.
A wave of calm washes over me and I soak in his steady presence. “Laz told me it was creative differences, but that can mean anything.”
He leans against the back of the couch, pulling me with him, his arm around my shoulders.
I know I need to get to costume, but his warmth draws me in, holding me in place next to him.
“You told me Wesselman is known for his creative modern films, right?”
“Postmodern,” I correct him. “But yes, he’s a genius.”
