Page 45 of Cast to be Mine

Oh shit.

15

GRACE

The look on Micah’s face sent a jolt of heat straight through me. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his gaze dropped to my lips for just a fraction of a second. The professional mask slipped, and underneath I saw something raw. Hungry. Like he wanted to devour me right there in front of the entire crew.

My breath caught in my throat.

For one electric moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, dangerous, like standing too close to a lightning strike. I could feel my pulse hammering in my neck and the flush creeping up my cheeks.

Then he blinked, and the mask snapped back into place. “We won’t need another angle,” he said. “That shot will be just fine.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “That’s a shame.”

Something flickered in his eyes again. Want, frustration, maybe both. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

He turned away and called out to the crew. “Let’s reset for the next sequence!”

I watched him walk back to the monitors. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. He wanted me. I could see it in the way he held himself, like a man fighting against his own instincts. The way his jaw clenched whenever I got too close. His eyes kept finding mine across the set, even when he was supposed to be focused on something else entirely.

But he wasn’t going to act on it. Not while I worked for him. Not while there was a power imbalance between us. And somehow, that restraint made me want him even more.

Some guys would have pounced at the first opportunity. I’d met plenty of them in this industry, men who saw an actress as a conquest. They confused professional proximity with personal invitation. They were the ones who got too handsy or suggested running lines in their hotel room. The assholes that made you feel like your career depended on how well you played along.

Micah wasn’t like that. He’d had every opportunity to take advantage of our situation and he hadn’t. He’d been nothing but professional, even when I could feel the tension crackling between us like static electricity.

It made me respect him. Trust him. Want him in ways that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

We shot two more scenes before Micah called it a day. The crew started the long process of breaking down equipment and securing the set for tomorrow. I lingered near the monitors, watching Micah review the dailies, waiting for a chance to say goodbye.

He looked up as I approached, and there it was again. That flash of something more before he schooled his features.

“Great work today,” he said. “Really great work.”

“Thanks to you.” I meant it. Without his patience and his creative solution to the Jack problem, I’d probably be in my apartment on my second bottle of wine with my career in shambles. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“You did the hard part.”

We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. I wanted to say something more, but what? There was nothing to say. Toby appeared at Micah’s elbow with a panicked expression.

“Micah, we’ve got a problem with the underwater rig for tomorrow’s sequence. The technician says the pressure gauge is showing irregular readings.”

“I’ll be right there.” Micah’s attention shifted immediately to the crisis at hand. He gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry. There’s always something.”

“Go.” I waved him off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hesitated for just a second, like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. I watched him go, checking out his butt and not feeling even a little guilty about it.

Patty appeared at my side with my bag and a warm smile. “Car’s waiting for you out front, Ms. Stone. Driver’s name is John. He’ll get you home safe.”

Right. The driver. Part of the insurance requirements for lead actors—no driving yourself during production. Too much risk of an accident, too much liability. I’d protested at first, feeling like it was overkill, but after a fourteen-hour day on my feet, I was grateful for it.

John was a quiet man in his sixties who didn’t seem interested in small talk. He navigated the LA traffic like someone who’d been doing this for decades while I sat in the back seat and let my mind wander. The day had been a roller coaster. The lowest of lows and then the highest of highs.

My apartment felt smaller than usual when I walked through the door. Or maybe I just felt bigger, like the experiences of the past few weeks had expanded me somehow. Was I getting a big head like Jack? God, no. I would stay humble. I never wanted to be like him.

I kicked off my shoes, changed into sweats, and poured myself a generous glass of wine. What a whirlwind the last couple of weeks had been.