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She grins. “I know, I know. Historical integrity, and all that jazz. But luckily, the newBridgertonspin-off just got pushed a couple of months, script issues, so we swooped in and grabbed some of theirs.”
“Nice work. How’s Lottie?” I ask.
“Having a blast at sleepaway camp,” Hazel whispers with a grin. It’s hard to believe she’s only a few years older than me, but already has a thirteen-year-old daughter. “I’ve only gotten one letter so far, and, in it, she thanked me six times for letting her go. So, she’s great. I, on the other hand, am checking the camp’s Instagram every few hours, desperate for a glimpse of my baby.”
“Aww, you’ll get used to it soon,” I squeeze her arm. “Think of it like a vacation.”
Hazel gives me a wry look. “You’ve clearly never worked on a movie before.”
I glance around, noting the grand scale. “They’re really going all out for this, huh?”
“That’s not always a good thing,” Hazel makes a face, but before I can ask what she means, the meeting breaks up, and Reeve heads over. He’s every inch the tortured artist: Tall and slim in dark jeans and a hoodie, with a pair of massive headphones looped around his neck, radiating a wiry, intense energy.
“I was thinking, about the ball scene at Netherfield—” he begins, and Hazel snorts, and gives him a good-natured smack on the arm.
“’Welcome, JJ, so glad you could make it,’” she says, exaggerated. “How was your trip? Is there anything you need?”
“I was going to get to that,” Reeve grumbles. He’s already got shadows under his eyes, and his dark hair is sticking out at wild angles. “But really, about this scene…”
“Give me the pages, and I’ll take a look,” I promise—and then let out a massive yawn. “Sorry, guys, I thought I’d sleep on the flight, but… That didn’t happen.”
Because I was too busy quaffing champagne and watching movies from my fully reclining seat. Whoops.
“Anna!” Reeve yells, and a second later, she materializes. “Can you take JJ back to the hotel for a nap before rehearsal?”
“Please.” Both Hazel and I add at the same time.
Reeve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The ‘Please’ is implied!”
We’re interrupted by one of the tech guys. “Can you come check the boards for tomorrow?” he asks, and Reeve turns on his heel and leaves without another word.
“He seems… Stressed,” I note with a wince. “On day one?”
“Technically, it’s day eighty-five for him,” Anna corrects me, as I say goodbye to Hazel and follow Anna through the maze of hallways, and back out of the house. “Pre-production has been a bit of a battle with the movie studio bosses, they’re all still fighting over the budget.”
So that’s what Hazel meant about more money, more problems.
“But Reeve will win, right?” I ask. “You can’t do a period production on the cheap. It needs to be lush, and lavish and… Expensive.”
“That’s what he keeps telling them,” Anna agrees. “But the suits have other ideas. They’re even sending some corporate bean-counter down to set to look over his shoulder,” she adds grimly.
“Because that’ll help Reeve’s nerves,” I crack.
Anna stops by an electric golf cart. “Your chariot awaits,” she says, gesturing.
“No way!” I laugh, delighted.
“With the hotel so close, it’s the easiest way to get around,” she explains, hopping on behind the wheel. I settle beside her, and we whoosh off with a whir. “Plus, since the speed of these things tops out at fifteen miles an hour, there’s way less chance of a sleep-deprived late-night crash!”
The cart takes us back down the winding driveway, and then off a side road, until we reach a sprawling country house-style hotel. “We bought out the whole place,” Anna explains. We reclaim my baggage from the front desk and wrangle it up to my room. “Guy and the other stars are in the big suites, and the rest of us… Well, the place has historic charm,” she warns me, “But also historic plumbing.”
“How historic are we talking?” I cringe, remembering my study abroad experience and the ice-cold morning showers.
“Your ensuite is having issues,” she clarifies. “But the front desk assured me their handyman has it next on his list. In the meantime, the hall bath is nice and functional.”
I sigh with relief. “I’ll take functional any day.”
“You’re a peach,” Anna beams, leading me off the elevator and down a crooked attic hallway with faded floral wallpaper. “You’re at the end there. Number fourteen. You’ve got my number if you need anything. Read-through is at four. Remember those pages for Reeve!”
