Page 100 of Cast to be Mine

The crew snapped into motion, grateful for the direction. Activity was good. Activity meant we could all pretend everything was normal.

Toby appeared at my elbow, tablet in hand. “Grace’s call time is in twenty minutes. Should I send someone to get her?”

“Have Patty do it. Keep it routine.”

He nodded and disappeared.

The morning crawled by. We shot around Grace for the first hour, getting coverage of Buzz and some of the supporting cast. Every setup felt like it took twice as long as it should. The energy was off. Everyone was distracted, sneaking glances at their phones between takes.

When Grace finally emerged from her trailer, my heart clenched.

She looked perfect. Hair and makeup flawless, costume pristine. The consummate professional. But I could see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. She was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

Our eyes met across the beach.

I gave her a small nod. Professional. Distant. She nodded back and walked to her mark. The second I called it, she disappeared back to her trailer.

Lunch was a disaster.

The catering tent, usually buzzing with conversation and laughter, felt muted. People clustered in small groups, whispering. When I walked in, the volume dropped noticeably.

Grace was nowhere to be seen. Patty told me she was eating in her trailer.

I grabbed a plate I had no intention of finishing and sat at an empty table, staring at my phone. The headlines had multiplied. Opinion pieces were already being written. Twitter was having a field day.

Some people were defending Grace, but they were drowned out by the noise. The speculation. The ugly assumptions.

My father had left three voicemails that I deleted without listening to.

All I cared about was Grace, alone in her trailer, probably reading the same horrible comments I was reading. She was probably regretting ever getting involved with me.

We pushed through setup after setup, everyone operating on autopilot. Any time Grace was on set, I saw the crew watching. Waiting. Looking for evidence to support whatever narrative they’d already constructed in their heads.

Which meant I had to completely ignore her.

33

GRACE

Isat on the small sofa, phone in hand, watching my career implode in real time. The headlines were brutal.

BREATHLESS DIRECTOR MICAH BLACKWELL IN SECRET ROMANCE WITH LEADING LADY

GRACE STONE: FROM HOMEWRECKER TO DIRECTOR’S GIRLFRIEND

DID GRACE STONE SLEEP HER WAY TO THE TOP?

That last one made me physically nauseated.

I scrolled through Twitter, knowing I shouldn’t, unable to stop myself. The comments were a cesspool of speculation and cruelty. People who’d never met me or seen a single frame of my work were confidently declaring that I had no talent. They were one million percent certain I’d only gotten this role because I was sleeping with the director. I was a gold digger, a manipulator, a whore.

So far, no one had figured out who I really was, but it was only a matter of time. I’d be exposed and then the headlines would shift to the nepo baby bullshit.

I knew Chantilly wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. The various sources were providing just enough factual information to prove there were people on the set talking shit. I didn’t know who to trust. Patty? The makeup crew?

I closed the app and threw my phone onto the cushion beside me. This was worse than the Jack thing. So much worse. Because the Jack thing had been a lie, a misunderstanding that could eventually be cleared up. This was real. Micah and I were really together. And now everyone was going to assume the worst.

Every performance I’d given on this movie would be questioned. I’d poured my heart into becoming Elena and none of it would matter. People would look at my work and see only the scandal. The director’s girlfriend. The actress who slept her way into the role.