His mouth twists into a sneer as he turns his back to me. “The whole marketing campaign is built around you doing your own stunts—the behind-the-scenes footage, the promotional interviews, everything. Your contract specifically states no stunt doubles. And we’re a month away from the big raft sequence, which requires perfect execution.”
The collective groans of the crew hit me like physical blows. This can’t be happening.
“I can do this,” I insist. My accent betrays me, rounding with each word, as it always does when I’m nervous. “I’ve trained for months. Something feels off with this sword. It’s heavier than what I’ve been practicing with.”
“Marcus!” Felix calls out above the uncomfortable murmurs. “Get over here.”
The head stunt coordinator emerges from behind the trunk of a nearby redwood. “What’s the issue?”
“Props must have had a mixup. This isn’t her weapon,” Dante explains, biceps flexing as he picks up my fallen blade. My cheeks burn as I catch myself staring at his arms, remembering how he’d pulled me aside earlier to warn me about the weightbeing off. If only I’d listened instead of being too proud to admit I was struggling.
Marcus examines the hilt, deep creases forming between his eyes. “You’re right, it’s not what we approved for this scene.” The validation in his voice only makes me feel worse about dismissing Dante’s concerns.
“Exactly,” Dante mutters. “We need her designated sword, the one balanced specifically for these early scenes where Robyn’s still learning.” He turns to me. “Your sequence requires specific balance points. The weapon you should be using is intended to be lighter than the waster you’ve been practicing with.” The gentleness in his explanation, especially after Felix’s public dressing-down, makes my heart race for entirely different reasons.
Marcus nods, agreeing with Dante and turns to the crew. “Props! Armory! We need the B-14 sword setup, now!”
“Why the hell wasn’t the right sword on set?” Felix’s face reddens. “Get her the correct weapon. And someone find out who messed up the equipment rotation so I can fire them. We’re not paying millions to shoot with the wrong props.”
The props master stammers something about inventory mix-ups, but Felix is already moving.
“With my regular sword, I know I can nail this,” I call after him.
“Here’s what we’ll do, sweetie.” His rancid coffee breath singes my nostrils as he walks back toward me. “We’ll reorganize the shoot. All dialogue scenes and basic choreography first. I’m giving you a month to master the advanced sequences before the raft scene—that’s your make-or-break moment. If you can’t handle it by then, we bring in a double, contract or no contract. Clear?”
I nod, relief and panic mixing in my chest. “Crystal clear. I’ll be ready.”
The condescension in his tone makes my skin crawl, but I keep my face carefully blank. His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before he turns to the EP and instantly switches personas.
“Victor! This staffing situation is exactly what I was telling you about.” He gestures at the sword with exaggerated frustration. “Let’s discuss this over coffee. Fifteen-minute break, everyone!”
One month to master this new sword, strengthen my body, perfect these lines, and prepare for the raft scene.
I’ll need to double my training, maybe even triple it.
And I’ll have to convince myself that putting my head underwater isn’t as terrifying as it feels.
As the crew disperses, I catch sympathetic glances from the sound team and realize there’s still a boom mic hovering above me.Ugh. I want to vanish. But before I can escape, I find Dante watching me.
“That guy is a fucking asshole,” he says.
Of course he heard everything. Having been dressed down like a child in front of a real fighter compounds my humiliation.
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Thank you for intervening with the sword.” The words taste bitter. I feel stupid and helpless, as if I’ve let him fight my battles. He pointed out the equipment issue earlier, and all I could do was criticize him about his lines.
His gaze turns all business now. “Just looking out for your safety.”
“Really?” The question slips out, more vulnerable than I intended.
“The safety of the crew is my job. And I know how much you value professionalism. Besides,” he continues, “I’ve seen too many people get hurt trying to prove themselves with the wrong equipment. Your choreography is solid, Reese. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Thanks for—” I pause, my tongue twisting itself into a knot.
“All good.” He shrugs, a strand of hair falling into his eyes, and he blows it out of the way with a cocky flick, like he’s James Dean.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being hard on you about your lines. Clearly I’m in no position to judge, since I can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence today.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead.
“I want this to work. It’s not just another role to me. It’s important. And—” I stop myself before I blurt out something horrifically earnest, like how terrified I am of failing and being stuck in rom-com purgatory forever.
