Page 30 of Cast to be Mine

I’d liked it. Really liked it. And not because she was good at her job. I’d liked it because it was her lips on mine, her breath mixing with mine, and that sweet body pressed against me.

“Shit,” I muttered to the empty soundstage.

This was exactly the kind of complication I couldn’t afford. Grace worked for me. She was my lead actress, and I was her director. The power imbalance alone made any kind of personal involvement completely inappropriate. She depended on me for this role, for her career. What if she thought she had to sleep with me?

Grace wasn’t like that. She’d kissed me because the script called for it. Because she was doing her job. To her, it was nothing but a role and I was the one getting worked up over nothing.

I was the one with the problem.

And I hadn’t even thought to call in the intimacy coordinator. We had one on payroll specifically for moments like this—someone whose entire job was to choreograph physical scenes, establish boundaries, make sure everyone felt safe and comfortable.

But I’d assumed we’d stop before the kiss. I’d figured Grace would pull back at the last second, that we’d save the actual contact for when we had Jack in the scene and proper protocols in place.

I hadn’t expected her to commit so fully.

I should have been prepared. I should have protected both of us from this exact situation.

The sound of voices drifted in from outside—the crew returning. I forced myself to take a breath. By the time the first construction worker came through the door, I had my expression under control.

“How’s it looking?” I called down, grateful for the distraction.

“Should have the bulkhead finished by tomorrow,” the foreman said. “You want to walk through it?”

“Yeah. Give me a second.”

I descended the catwalk and spent the next hour inspecting every inch of the set, discussing lighting placement with the gaffer who’d shown up to start preliminary work. I threw myself into the technical details because that was what I needed.

By the time I left the soundstage, the sun was setting.

Grace had been acting. That was all it was. She’d been doing exactly what I’d asked her to do—committing to the scene, giving me an honest performance.

I started the car and drove home, windows down, trying to let the ocean air clear my head. It didn’t work. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was still thinking about that kiss. Still feeling the ghost of her touch.

Inside, I poured myself a whiskey I didn’t really want and stood at the windows overlooking the beach.

I had a movie to make. A cast and crew depending on me to deliver something great. I couldn’t let this derail everything I’d worked for.

On-set romances were legendary in Hollywood, and not in a good way. Plenty of potentially great films had imploded because the director couldn’t keep his focus on the work and his dick in his pants. Relationships that started in the pressure cooker of production almost never lasted anyway, and when they ended, everyone suffered. The tension bled into the work. The film suffered. The box office tanked.

I’d seen it happen. I knew better.

I arrived at the soundstage Monday morning with coffee for everyone. We were moving forward.

Grace showed up ten minutes early, which I appreciated. She wore jeans and a simple t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Morning,” she said, and there was that smile again.

“Morning. Coffee?”

“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

Jack arrived fashionably late, of course, trailing his assistant who carried his protein shake and what looked like a custom leather script binder. Buzz and Lisa came together, already deep in conversation about some restaurant they’d both been to.

“Alright, everyone,” I called out once we’d assembled. “Let’s pick up where we left off. Scene twelve, the first confrontation. Grace, Jack, whenever you’re ready.”

I watched Grace take her position. She knew exactly where to stand without me having to tell her.

Jack moved into place opposite her, and I called action.