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“She took my role.”
“Only afteryoulost it by losing the script.”
Brooke rolled her eyes.
“As if there were any plot points to spoil — the entire thing is color-by-numbers. It’s so close to being a remake of every nineties comedy movie, it might as well star Chevy Chase.”
Our conversation had sparked Isaac’s interest, and he stepped closer.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be on this set, Brooke.”
His voice was lower than I’d heard it before; it was practically a growl. The way he’d said her name almost made it sound like a threat.
“I have permission to be here,” Brooke said, flicking a visitor’s pass that she’d hung from her bikini bottoms. “Dean’s publicist said that we need to hang outconstantly, didn’t she, sweetie?” She planted a kiss on his cheek and he looked away from her.
“I don’t think this is what she was talking about,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “This is a closed set — there aren’t any journalists here.”
“Everyone’s a journalist these days, right? All it’ll take is one crew member with a cellphone and good timing to catch you with thisamateur,” she looked at me as she spat the word, “and your career is over.” She fluffed her brown hair around her shoulders. “So I think I should stay here, because we clearly can’t trust your judgment.”
She waved cheerfully at Preston, who pretended not to see her.
“Places, everyone.”
In this scene, I would lounge on a deck chair with Dean and sip a cocktail while several hot guys in the pool played volleyball. They would invite me to play, I’d say no, and then Dean would say something dumb and I’d make a big show of joining in to spark Dean’s jealousy.
Brooke was right — it was like every nineties movie rolled into one.
I took my place on a deck chair and someone from the crew passed me a drink that looked like a cocktail, but tasted like blended pineapple, watermelon, and ice. It was delicious, and it took all my self-control not to drink the whole thing before we started filming.
Preston sat in his chair and adjusted his sunglasses.
“Background!”
The shirtless men in the pool began their volleyball game and the other extras pantomimed conversations while I waited for my cue.
“Action!”
I could still feel the cameras on me, even though I was getting better at ignoring them.
“I could stay here forever.” I leaned back in my chair. “Do wehaveto go home?”
Dean — as Tom — raised his sunglasses as two extras walked towards us in bikinis. One gave him a small wave.
“I could get used to this place,” he said. “But what about your job? How much demand for investment bankers could there be out here?”
I shrieked and almost spilled my drink as the volleyball zoomed between us and bounced on the pavers. I knew it was going to happen since it was in the script, but I hadn’t expected it to fly so close to my head.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said, and I could tell that even though he was reciting lines, he really meant it. He hauled himself out of thepool and ran after the ball with water dripping off him, scooped it up, and jogged back to us. “Would you like to play? My team’s short one player.”
Dean’s attention was absorbed by the two girls in bikinis, so I raised my sunglasses and looked directly at Wyatt.
“I don’t think so. I’m here with my… friend.”
“Well, if you change your mind…” Wyatt flashed a sexy grin, and I knew without looking that there was a camera behind me. I’d started noticing these things — how the guys used their faces and bodies when they knew the cameras were watching. And I’d started doing it, too.
“Okay.” I smiled as he dove back into the water, all wet and glistening.
Dean — as Tom — told me I wouldn’t help anyone win a volleyball game even if I was playing against a team of sloths. That was the last straw for my character. I stood up and ripped off my tank top, remembering what Wyatt had said about the importance of looking sexy and seductive, and dropped it on the deck chair. I pulled my skirt down my hips as I walked, letting it drop around my feet as I neared the edge of the pool.
