And we go again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, after what feels like hours, we break for lunch.
I’m so done with the whole situation that as soon asDeidre dismisses us, I storm out of the café, not even caring where I’m going. Stomping through the slushy snow covering the paved parking lot, I make my way to the back of the building, where there’s a small, enclosed tent set up, a table laden with food on the right and a few seating areas and space heaters on the left.
A couple of production assistants and crew members sit at one of the tables, but the tent is otherwise empty. That is, except for the pair of broad shoulders currently taking up enough space to block the entire buffet.
“Excuse you.” I elbow my way past his dumb blue sweater, grabbing a plate and practically throwing food on it without even looking at what I’m serving myself.
Grayson doesn’t say anything. But he also stays firmly planted in my way, not moving an inch until I pivot on my heel and flounce over to an empty table. Or at least, it’s empty until he slides into the chair across from me.
“Seriously?” I don’t even bother to swallow the bite of turkey sandwich I just shoved into my mouth before snapping at him.
“Charming.” His smile drips condescension as he takes a quite dainty bite of his own sandwich.
“Go sit somewhere else. Anywhere else. I was here first.” Do I sound like a petulant child? Yes. Do I care at the moment? Fuck no.
He pops a chip in his mouth, crunching it loudly and excessively, like he knows it’s my least favorite sound in the entire world. “I’m good here, thanks.”
“So it’s not enough for you to ruin my movie, you also have to ruin my lunch?”
“Is it your movie? Here I was, thinking filmmaking was a collaborative art.”
“You know what I mean, asshole.”
“Tsk tsk.” He wags his finger. Legitimately wags his finger. “Such language is harmful and abusive and will not be tolerated on set.”
I want to grab that finger and shove it up his ass, but he isn’t wrong about the whole avoiding harmful and abusive language on set deal. And the union would probably really look down on actual physical violence between costars. “Your performance in there was harmful and abusive.” Not my best comeback work, but it’ll have to do.
“Just doing the best I can based on the quality of the material provided.” He grins before chomping down on another chip.
Mother. Fucker.
Taking another aggressive bite of my sandwich, I let my eyes meet his and don’t back down. After a swig of water without breaking eye contact, I shift my tone, hoping to catch him off guard. “Why are you here, Grayson? Did you really wait all these years, biding your time for another opportunity to torture me?”
His perfectly full and absurdly stupid lips turn down ever so slightly before he catches himself and rearranges them back into a smirk. “Not sure what you mean by that second question, but as for the first, if you must know, I saw your name on the screenplay and said yes before even reading the script.”
I huff out a laugh, not surprised at the admission, but shocked he’d actually make it. “So this truly is aboutmaking me miserable,” I mutter. At least now I know where we stand. I grab my plate and push back my chair, preferring to eat in the bathroom rather than across from Grayson fucking West.
Grayson’s arm darts out to stop me from leaving. He hesitates for a second, not making contact with me, just creating an entirely unmovable barrier. “Wait. I didn’t mean it like that.” He sits up straight in his seat, bringing himself closer to my eye level. “Just that I saw your name and thought this would be something more along the lines ofMidnight Sunset.”
My brow furrows, and although I don’t move back to retake my seat, I retreat a couple of steps. “You sawMidnight Sunset?”
“Of course. At Sundance. It was brilliant.” He shrugs like he hasn’t just detonated a bomb in my chest. “And so when I got the call from my agent, I thought that’s what this would be. And my manager insisted it would be good for my career, so here I am.”
Setting my plate down on the table, I slide back into my seat. “No offense, but low-budget-emotional-feminist- grief manifesto doesn’t exactly seem like your kind of project any more thanNo Reservationsdoes.”
“It’s not, which was kind of the point.”
“Ah, ready to hang up the machine guns and try something different?” I ask the genuine question before I can catch myself. It’s amazing how easily I’m distracted by a little flattery.
He hesitates for a half second, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that might have been a burst of self-doubtdarkening his eyes. “I’d like to start exploring some more serious roles, try something new.” The words sound stiff, like he doesn’t quite believe them.
I take a long swig of water. “Well, if you could cut the crappy attitude for a few minutes, you might realize that this project is, in fact, something new. For you, anyway.”
