Page 37 of Cast to be Mine

She offered a nervous laugh. “I will be. I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Jack walked in twenty minutes late. I wasn’t all that surprised but there would be a conversation.

And then we were rolling.

I called action and the set fell silent. The camera started its slow crane movement as Grace stepped into frame on the catwalk above. She looked the part—hair wild, jacket torn just right—but something about her posture was off. Her hands trembled as she reached for the railing, a faint shake that hadn’t been there during our rehearsal. She delivered the first line with the right edge of panic, but her voice wavered on the second, cracking where it should have held steady.

I leaned forward, watching the monitor. The actress I’d seen in rehearsals was gone. It felt like day one nerves all over again. What had changed in the ten days since our private session?

I told myself not to panic. It was the first scene. There were bound to be some hiccups. She’d find her footing. I considered calling cut and restarting, but I needed to let it play out.

Jack entered from stage right, hitting his mark with that signature swagger. He launched into his opening line, all cocky menace, and Grace responded. Her eyes locked on his, but she stumbled on the third beat, glancing down for half a second like she’d lost the thread.

Jack looked directly at the camera and ultimately me through the lens.

“Cut,” he snapped, even though I hadn’t called it. He turned on her, pointing a finger up at the catwalk. “What the hell was that? You call that acting?”

Grace stared at him. “I’ll do it again.”

“If you can’t handle that basic scene, how are we supposed to get through the rest of this fucking movie?”

“I can,” Grace said, but even I didn’t believe it and I was rooting for her.

I called action again, watching the monitor with a knot forming in my stomach.

Grace reset on the catwalk, shoulders squared, chin up. She looked ready. She looked like she had slipped into the character and was about to deliver an Oscar-worthy performance.

She didn’t.

Jack delivered his line with precision, stepping forward into the light exactly as we’d blocked it.

Grace opened her mouth. “I think you underestimate how much I have to—” She stopped. Blinked. “Wait. That’s not⁠—”

The wrong line. She’d delivered the wrong goddamn line.

“Cut,” I said, keeping my voice level even as my chest tightened.

Jack threw his hands up. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Let’s reset,” I said into my headset. “Take it from the top.”

The crew moved quickly, no one saying a word, but I could feel the shift in energy on the set. Whispers. Sideways glances. Everyone knew what was happening. Everyone could see that my leading lady was falling apart.

Jack stomped back to his starting position, muttering something under his breath that I chose not to hear. His body language screamed irritation. Jaw tight, shoulders rigid, that vein in his temple starting to pulse.

“Rolling,” Toby called out.

“Action.”

Grace moved along the catwalk, her footsteps echoing in the sudden silence. She rounded the corner and her boot caught on a cable that shouldn’t have been there. Her ankle twisted. She stumbled forward, arms pinwheeling, and barely caught herself on the railing before she went over the edge.

“Cut!” I was on my feet before I even realized I’d moved. “Grace, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was tight, embarrassed. “I’m fine. Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Who left a cable on the catwalk?” I snapped, scanning the crew. “That’s a safety hazard. Get it cleared. Now.”