Page 75 of Cast to be Mine

I wasn’t needed for this scene. Elena was still captive, so technically I could have been back in my trailer, running lines or napping or doing literally anything else. But I’d found a spot off to the side, perched on an equipment case under the shade of a massive banyan tree. I had no intention of moving because watching Micah work had become my favorite hobby.

He stood near the monitors, headset on, completely in his element. Jack and Buzz were positioned deeper in the fake jungle, their characters supposedly lost and desperate after being left for dead by the cyberterrorists. It was a pivotal scene—the moment where Jack’s cocky hero finally cracked and showed some vulnerability. Buzz’s comic relief character would step up to keep them both going.

“Let’s run it again from the top,” Micah called out. “Jack, I want to see more desperation in that first beat. You’ve been walking for hours. You’re dehydrated. You’re starting to think you might actually die out here.”

Jack nodded, though I caught the slight tightening of his jaw that meant he wasn’t thrilled about the note. But he reset to his mark without argument.

That was the thing about Micah. He could give direction that might bruise an ego, and somehow people just accepted it. Respected it, even. I’d seen directors who had to scream and threaten to get compliance. I’d grown up watching my father run sets like a military operation, assistants scurrying around with terror in their eyes, everyone walking on eggshells.

Micah wasn’t like that. He was in the thick of it. Hot. Sticky. Exhausted. But he still kept his cool.

“Action!”

Jack stumbled through the undergrowth, and this time I could actually see the exhaustion in his body language. His shoulders slumped. His steps were uneven. When he delivered his line about not being able to go any further, there was real defeat in his voice.

“Cut!” Micah pulled off his headset and walked toward the actors. “That was great, Jack. Really great. I believed every second of it.”

Jack’s whole demeanor shifted. He practically preened under the praise, his assistant materializing out of nowhere with a handheld fan and some kind of electrolyte drink that promised things that were impossible.

“Let’s adjust the angle slightly,” Micah continued, already conferring with the DP about camera placement. “I want to catch that moment when he looks at Buzz and realizes he needs to lean on someone for the first time in his life.”

I watched him gesture, explaining exactly what he wanted, and the crew moved to accommodate without hesitation. No eye rolls. No muttered complaints. Just smooth, efficient teamwork.

God, he was good at this.

It wasn’t just that he knew what he wanted—plenty of directors knew what they wanted. It was that he could articulate it in a way that made everyone else see it too. He painted pictures with his words, and then somehow the whole team came together to make those pictures real.

And he did it all without being an asshole about it.

“Buzz, on that next take, I want you to improvise a little. Stay in character but let yourself react naturally to what Jack’s giving you. Some of your best stuff has been unscripted.”

Buzz grinned, clearly pleased. “You got it, boss.”

They ran the scene again. And again. Each time, Micah found something to praise and something to refine, building the performance layer by layer until it was exactly right. I found myself leaning forward, completely absorbed in watching the process.

This was why I’d fallen in love with movies in the first place.

Not the glamour or the fame or even the acting itself—though I loved that too. It was this. The alchemy of it. The way a hundred different people with a hundred different skills could come together and create something that didn’t exist before. Something that would make people laugh or cry or think differently about the world.

Micah understood that. The way he treated every single person on set, from the stars to the grips, like they mattered impressed me the most.

“That’s the one!” Micah called out after the fifth take. “Beautiful work, both of you. Let’s move to the next setup.”

The crew sprang into action, resetting equipment, adjusting lights. Jack retreated to his air-conditioned tent for touch-ups, but Micah stayed in the thick of it.

I watched him crouch down to help a grip untangle a cable that had gotten caught on a root. The guy looked surprised. I was. Directors didn’t usually do that kind of thing, but Micah just handled it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This was dangerous. What I was feeling went way beyond physical attraction, way beyond a fun fling to pass the time during production. I was falling for him. Really falling. The kind of falling that ended with your heart splattered on the pavement if things went wrong.

He glanced over and caught me watching. For just a second, his professional mask slipped. I saw the heat. Desire. We’d stayed away from each other, but damn, it was so hard to keep our distance.

I was so screwed.

The afternoon stretched on. I was sticky and sweaty but still unable to tear myself away in favor of my luxury suite.

“Five-minute break, everyone,” Micah called out. “Drink some water. Nobody’s passing out on my set.”

That was another thing. He actually cared about the people working for him. I’d overheard him asking one of the PAs about her sick mother. He knew the names of everyone on crew, not just the department heads.