Page 38 of Cast to be Mine

A grip scrambled up the stairs to fix the problem, but the damage was done. Grace stood frozen on the catwalk, her face pale under the stage lights. I could see her hands shaking from here.

“Maybe we should get someone who can actually walk,” Jack said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Christ, this is amateur hour.”

“Jack.” My voice came out with every ounce of authority I could force into it. “That’s enough.”

“Is it? Because I’m standing here waiting while your discovery trips over her own feet.”

The silence on the set was suffocating. A hundred people, all of them watching this disaster unfold. All of them wondering if I’d made a massive mistake. There were always leaks. Everyone signed NDAs but leaks happened.

My disaster would be hitting the gossip blogs by the end of the week.

I looked up at Grace. She was staring at the floor of the catwalk, her jaw clenched, her whole body rigid with humiliation. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. The pressure getting to her, the magnitude of the moment crushing that spark I’d seen in rehearsals.

Grace forgot her lines.

“I can’t work with this amateur!” Jack’s look of disgust would wither a seasoned actress. “She’s shaking like a leaf and forgetting her lines on the first take. This is a joke.”

The crew went still. Grace froze, color draining from her face. Jack didn’t wait for an explanation. He ripped off his mic pack and hurled it at the nearest grip, who ducked just in time.

“I signed on for a real co-star, not some nervous wreck who can’t hold it together. Fix this or find someone else.”

The silence that followed Jack’s exit was deafening. A hundred people stood frozen, watching the aftermath of Hurricane Montana tear through our first day of shooting.

Grace hadn’t moved from her spot on the catwalk. Her cheeks had gone from pale to neon pink in the span of three seconds. The kind of flush that came from pure humiliation. She looked around the soundstage. I watched her realize that every single person—grips, camera operators, makeup artists, craft services—was staring at her.

From Jack’s trailer came the unmistakable sounds of a full-blown tantrum. Something crashed. Glass shattered. His voice carried through the walls, muffled but still audible. “Fucking amateur… waste of my time… call my agent…”

I pressed my fingers against my temples and tried to massage away the headache that was already forming. Day one. We hadn’t even finished the first scene. The meter was running, my lead actor was destroying his trailer, and my leading lady looked like she was about to shatter into a million pieces.

Our eyes met. Her blue eyes were glassy, filling with tears that caught the stage lights and sparkled like diamonds. Her lower lip trembled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling what I knew was a sob.

Then she bolted. She flew down the catwalk stairs, nearly tripping on the bottom step, and disappeared through the side door before I could say her name. The murmuring started immediately.

I wanted to defend her. I wanted to turn around and tell every single one of them to shut the hell up, that they had no idea what they were talking about. Grace Stone had more talent in her little finger than most of them would see in their entire careers.

But I couldn’t. Because the ugly truth was that they weren’t entirely wrong.

Jack was a spoiled diva with an ego the size of Texas. His reaction was wildly disproportionate. Throwing a mic pack? Screaming at a first-time lead in front of the entire crew? That was bullshit, and I’d be having words with him about it later.

But underneath all that theatrical outrage, he had a point. Grace had been bombing. The confident woman from our private rehearsal had vanished the moment the cameras started rolling. She’d been shaky, uncertain, nothing like the actress I’d cast.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

“Everyone,” I called out, my voice cutting through the whispers. “Take ten.”

Ten could be ten minutes or ten hours. They all had radios. They’d all be called back when I got my set together. Assuming I managed to iron out the kinks that were the size of tidal waves.

Nobody argued. The crew scattered, probably grateful to escape the tension. Toby appeared at my elbow, his face pale.

“Micah, what do we do?”

“Handle Jack,” I said. “Get him calmed down. I don’t care if you have to promise him a producer credit and a foot massage. Just make sure he’s ready to work when we come back.”

“And Grace?”

“I’ll handle Grace.”

I didn’t wait for his response. I was already moving toward the side door she’d disappeared through, my heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the production schedule and everything to do with the image of those tear-filled eyes.