Lighting changes. Position changes. Tone changes. Emphasis changes. Little tweaks to wordage. Swapping out streaming service names.
It was a lot.
And those lulls between while someone did whatever to prepare were boring. I must not have been the only one who thought so because every time there was a break, Tripp came over to me. Atfirst, I’d thought it was to get his phone to scroll, but he never took it when I offered. After noticing the strained smiles as they situated him back on his mark, I started going to him instead.
The videos for social media might’ve been more entertaining, but just as much work went into making sure his movements and words synced up to whatever viral trend they were doing. Most were cheesy—and they would probably be outdated by the end of the week with how quick the tides changed—but he still gave it the same level of attention and effort as he did everything else.
Even if he was very noticeably over it.
As more direction was given between filming, I channeled Tony’s assistant in my quest for efficiency and crept away to grab Tripp a water.
Only, I had no clue where to find said water. I knew there had to be some because he’d been offered drinks and snacks throughout filming, but I had no idea where I was going.
“You look lost,” a guy around my age said, taking pity on me as I neared one side of the room.
“Water?”
“Other side.”
What is it with me and going the wrong direction here?
He gestured outward. “I’ll show you.” We started walking before he asked, “New job?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I know you weren’t Mr. Carter’s assistant during filming. What’s your name?”
Mr. Carter. So official.
It was a stupid thing to be struck by. I was literally there because Tripp was an actor. But for whatever reason, it was easy to forget he was famous.
I belatedly realized he’d asked a question that I hadn’t answered. “Greer.”
“I’m Alfie.” He guided me out of the room to a long hallway. “Are you looking to get into the business?”
I bit back a laugh and shook my head. Even if I had an interest in dealing with the drama, two-faced people, and the intense lack of privacy that went along with fame, I had no acting ability. Zero. Less than zero, honestly. I would exclusively book roles as a zombie with as stiff as I was. “You?”
“Yeah. But after a million auditions and only two bookings, my true calling might be grunt work.”
I gave him a more thorough look. He was tall. Not Tripp tall, but around six feet. His body was leaner, too, but his buzzed blond hair brought out his blue eyes and his cheekbones.
He was cute enough to be on TV. Even if he had the same nonexistent acting ability that I did, there was always print work. Or background characters.
Or dead bodies on crime shows.
I could add those to my acting repertoire, too. Dead bodies and undead bodies.
We re-entered on the other side of the room, right next to a table that had a small spread of snacks, fruit, and drinks. I grabbeda water bottle and a protein bar, making a mental note to ask Tripp more about his preferences.
“How’s working for—” Alfie started before someone called his name.
I turned around to see that everything was back to chaos.
“Can I—” he tried before his words were again cut off by a shout. “Shit. I hope to see you around, Greer.”
“And maybe I’ll see you on screen soon. Good luck with auditions.”
He walked backwards as he pointed up. “From your mouth to the casting gods’ ears.”
