Page 93 of The Hollywood Switch-up

She asks every day. She just doesn’t know how to do it without turning it into a note.

Olivia:

Call her. Please. I love you both but I can’t keep translating your sister into a language you’ll accept.

Erika shoved the phone into her pocket. Lily glanced at her face, then back at her brushes. “We’ll fix it later,” she said.

She picked up a smaller brush and started working on her under-eye bags.

The beach set hummed with activity—crew shouting over each other, the smell of sunscreen and coffee mixing in the salt air. Erika found her mark, sand already warm under her feet despite the early hour.

They were reshooting a scene from last week. Luna watching the sunset, alone, before Jake finds her. Simple. The kind of scene Martin loved to run fifteen times until everyone was raw.

Focus. Be Luna. Be Anneliese being Luna.

“Places in five!” someone called.

“I want to try something different with this scene.”

Martin was beside her. She hadn’t heard him approach—he had that ability, appearing like smoke.

“Instead of playing Luna’s isolation, I want you to play her anticipation. She knows Jake is coming. She’s pretending she doesn’t care, but her whole body is waiting for him.” He circled behind her, and his hand settled on her shoulder—adjusting her posture, the way a director would. Except his thumb pressed into the bare skin at the base of her neck and stayed. “Drop your left shoulder. There. The camera needs to see the tension in this collarbone.”

Every instinct screamed move. But directors touched actors. It was the industry’s oldest excuse, and Martin used it always just professionally enough to make her doubt whether she was reading it right.

“There’s a scene coming up,” he said. “Luna’s confession on the beach. Dawn light. Very intimate.” His thumb traced a slow arc across the nape of her neck. “I’d like to rehearse it privately. Before the crew arrives. Just the two of us, so you can find the vulnerability without an audience.”

“I think I can find it with the crew present.” She kept her voice Anneliese-light, Anneliese-easy. “An audience usually helps me perform.”

“This isn’t about performing.” His hand dropped. He stepped around to face her, aviators reflecting her own face back at her. “This is about trust. The kind you can’t manufacture in front of forty people.”

She met his reflected gaze in those mirrored lenses and held it. “Send the details through Lena. I’ll look at my schedule.”

Not yes. No, no. Anneliese’s specialty—the non-answer. Martin studied her for a beat, then smiled that thin smile that made her skin crawl.

“I’ll do that.” He turned toward the monitors. “Places, everyone. Rolling in two.”

The scene passed in three takes. Martin called cut each time with the flat disinterest of a man who’d already gotten what he wanted. Erika hit her marks, delivered her lines. Nothing registered except the phantom pressure of his thumb at the base of her neck.

She was heading for the water station when Isabelle intercepted her.

“Walk with me.” Not a question.

Erika fell into step beside her. They passed craft services, the controlled chaos of a set between setups. Isabelle led them to the shade behind the lighting truck.

“How are you finding Martin?” Isabelle asked. No preamble. No small talk.

Erika kept her expression neutral, but Isabelle’s directness made the Anneliese mask harder to hold. “He’s a visionary. Demanding, but that’s what makes the work good.”

“That’s a very polished answer.” Isabelle’s gaze was steady. “I’ve given that exact answer myself, for years. It’s the answer that keeps things smooth.”

The breeze shifted. Erika said nothing, because saying nothing felt safer than saying the wrong thing.

“I’ve worked with Martin for fifteen years,” Isabelle continued. “He’s brilliant. He can also be a lot, especially with his lead actresses. The attention, the private notes, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.” She paused. “It’s intoxicating until it isn’t.”

“He suggested a private rehearsal this morning.” The words were out before Erika could stop them. “Dawn call. Skeleton crew. Just the two of us.”

Isabelle’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes went very still.