Chapter Eleven Saylor #2
“You absolutely will not start the week thinking about a man, Saylor Cherise Davis. You are above letting a man dictate anything about you—especially your thoughts,” I scolded myself as I shivered into some semblance of self-control.
At least by the time I’d shut off the water, the throbbing deep in my core had subsided.
I dressed for business in a cropped, sleeveless black knit top over a pair of wide-legged charcoal pants.
A black blazer with sleeves I pushed up to my elbows came next.
Then I slid my feet into a pair of hot-pink wedge sandals to complete the look.
After tossing my hair up into a messy bun, I slicked on my makeup—a subtle professional look I’d perfected from watching makeup tutorials on TikTok, and from what I’d learned in my makeup classes for film school.
Breakfast was a bowl of quick oats topped with baked apple slices and cinnamon, which I ate leaning against the island in my kitchen as I scrolled through emails from my partners in our group project.
We were meeting at noon to finalize our film before presenting it in class on Wednesday, and I wanted to be on top of whatever last-minute changes our director had thrown at us.
I sighed when I saw he wanted me to rearrange the showdown scene in the parking lot with the monster-stalking scene.
That one move alone proved how few sci-fi movies Barry had ever seen.
My eyes took an involuntary tour around the inside of my head as I wondered for the bazillionth time how our group had elected him to direct our film.
Yet knowing what I was up against allowed me to start formulating my arguments for why I wasn’t going to make that edit.
After running some water into my cereal bowl, I left it behind in the sink.
On my way out the back door to the garage, I snagged my messenger bag from its spot slung over a kitchen chair, scooped my keys and my purse from the end of the kitchen counter, and headed out to my car.
As I passed the SCR house on my drive to campus, I glanced over at the passenger seat where a vision of Cash admiring my wheels flashed into my head.
He hadn’t made a comment about me being a rich girl.
Instead, he’d admired the care I took of my SUV.
I’d been expecting a shot at my family’s wealth, which usually happened whenever I gave a guy a ride, but Cash seemed to take it in stride, as though I should be driving a fancy German car.
The entire time we’d spent together on Friday afternoon and evening, he’d kept surprising me—in good ways.
Damn it.
I should probably cancel our date. It would be easy to hide behind finals prep without it being obvious I was trying to avoid him.
Except then I’d probably have to explain to Dalton and Taco why I’d begged off.
I was sure to see them at the SCR house on Saturday for the annual house cleanup party the guys gave the Little Rhos every spring before finals.
Judging by the startled expression of the guy exiting the car beside mine when I parked in the lot across from the Film building, I may have slammed the door a bit hard.
Whatever. Reaching the conclusion I couldn’t play games by avoiding Cash had ticked me off.
Mainly because he was taking up so much headspace after I’d promised myself not to let him.
After all, he was just a guy exactly like every other guy.
A memory of his smoldering gray-blue eyes behind his nondescript black mask at Mardi Gras danced in my head.
His gaze had zeroed in on my mouth right before he set his lips on mine, and…
now my panties were damp as I stomped across the asphalt to my first class.
I slid into my usual seat near the front of the room for Sound Design and sighed.
“That rough of a morning, huh?” Barnard “Call Me Barry” Brown said as he seated himself beside me.
The guy was pretentious and such a prep.
He never skipped a chance to remind everyone his family had come over on the next ship following the Mayflower.
Why he’d chosen to attend Mountain State mystified me.
The entire time, he’d been trying to impress me, yet all I could see was someone who was never going to use his degree.
He was destined to return to Massachusetts after graduation, join his dad’s financial firm, attend fancy cocktail parties and snooty DAR events, marry, have the obligatory two children, and probably cheat on his wife.
“Something like that.”
“What you need is a coffee.” His oily delivery made my skin crawl, and involuntarily, I leaned away from him. Apparently, he noticed, as his tone changed to business. “We can grab one after class, discuss the changes I think our movie needs.”
“That’s a discussion for the group, Barry.” I lifted my messenger bag off the floor and pulled my laptop from it. “You called a meeting for one o’clock, so I can hold off giving my input until then.”
“You always have to be difficult,” he whined. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
“You mean thoughtful and group-oriented, correct? After all, our professor is going to grade us as much on group cooperation as on the finished product.”
From the scowl on his face, I could see he wasn’t impressed by the facts I’d delivered in my saccharine-sweet tone.
Like I cared.
A wall of sound crashed into the room, saving me from having to engage in any more conversation with the pompous jerk.
I’d been sidestepping his not-so-subtle come-ons all semester.
If not for the group project that could make or break my GPA, I’d have told him to jump off a cliff months ago.
Pulling a breath in through my nose, I reminded myself I only needed to make it through to Friday.
Then I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.
The experience of working with an unreasonable, disorganized lech of a director had taught me something more valuable than the lessons the professor had included on the syllabus: when my gut told me to resist, to stand up to the group, I needed to listen to it.
Even if it cost me a job in the real world.
After a couple of minutes of the mind-numbing thundering of car engines competing with the soaring orchestral music of a movie score, the room abruptly dropped into blessed silence. Then our professor stepped up to the podium.
“Oscar-worthy, do you think?” she asked the class, a trap in her tone.
The silence of chairs creaking as people shifted in them, a pen softly tapping against a notebook, and a subtle throat-clearing prompted her to raise her eyebrows as she scanned the room. My recent personal pep talk kicked in, and I raised my hand.
“Without the context of the visual scene, it’s difficult to judge. However, based on discussions we’ve had this semester, it would seem that one or the other is called for. Unless the director and sound designer’s goal is to overwhelm the audience, leaving them catatonic in their seats.”
Beside me, Barry squirmed.
“Let’s look at the visual context.”
The prof hit a switch on her podium, lowering the lights in the room.
On the screen behind her, a scene of a convoy of vehicles that looked to have been lifted from a recent Mad Max movie and placed on the moon with poorly constructed CGI appeared.
As they raced directly toward the viewer, the wall of sound hit, and I had to close my eyes.
Mercifully, the trauma ended a couple of seconds later.
When the lights came back up, the professor was standing in front of her podium, her arms crossed over her chest. “Barry, I’m interested in your vision here. What point were you making with this mashup?”
“Ah, Dr. Gardener, I—”
The prof’s eyebrows ticked up another millimeter.
“I thought bringing the sounds together would intensify the viewer’s anticipation of the climax of the scene.”
“Uh-huh. Is that the part where the vehicles careen over a cliff?” she asked.
How Barry couldn’t hear the trap in her tone was a mystery. Or maybe not, considering how clueless he was about what constituted a decent sci-fi flick.
“Well, yeah.”
The defiance in his tone made me wish I’d chosen to sit on the end of the row where I could discreetly pick up my things and move away. I absolutely did not want Dr. Gardener to think I was Barry’s ally.
“Miss Davis, what is your take on that?”
Damn it.
Then I decided the professor had actually helped me out in the upcoming showdown.
“I don’t know when this film was made.” I turned my head in Barry’s direction. “Last year in Film 201?”
He seemed to shrink a bit in his seat. Clearing his throat, he said, “Uh, no.”
Horrified, I blurted, “Was this your final project in this class?”
He shrugged.
I blinked and returned my attention to the professor.
Taking a breath, I said, “If I’d designed the sound for this scene, I would have considered something muffled since it’s taking place in the vacuum of space.
The emphasis would have been on the dialogue in the comms as the characters raced across the lunar surface. ”
The prof nodded. “An informed choice, Miss Davis.”
I could feel Barry’s glare against the side of my face as Dr. Gardener led us through the projects of several other students in the class.
On the plus side, two other members of our group for Film 301 were also in this Sound Design section.
On the down side, Barry was probably going to throw a tantrum when I said no to his last-minute editing changes on our project.
When class ended, I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder and started down the row in the opposite direction of my unwelcome seatmate. Taking the long way around to exit the screening room was a small price to pay for skipping a confrontation over Barry’s hurt feelings.
I should have known he wouldn’t let it go that easy.
As I exited the building to head to the Union for some much-needed coffee, someone grabbed my elbow, jerking me back.
“You didn’t have to throw me under the bus in there,” Barry snarled. “I’ll remember that when I turn in my director’s notes on our project.”
I stared him hard in the eye then flicked my gaze down to his viselike grip on my elbow and back to his face. When he didn’t take the hint, I said in a deadly even tone, “Remove your hand from me. Now.”
“Or what?”
“Or the lady will have a witness when she reports you for assault,” a rich gravelly voice said from behind me.
Barry’s eyes widened a fraction then narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who heard Saylor tell you to take your hands off her.” Towering over Barry’s 5’10” frame and probably outweighing him by fifty pounds, Cash’s sheer physicality was enough to force Barry to take a step back.
Barry redirected his focus on me. “Why do you have to be a challenge?” he whined.
“Because I have zero interest in you, which your inflated ego can’t seem to figure out,” I shot back.
“Oh, and Barry? The entire team turns in notes on the other members. You may be the director, but you don’t have the final word about how the project played out.
You may want to remember that when you’re writing your director’s notes. ”
I spun on my heel and headed in the direction of the Union. A lovely spicy citrusy scent wafted over me as Cash fell into step beside me.
“Are you on your way to class, or can I interest you in coffee at the Union?” he asked, a smile in his voice.
Shooting him a side-eye, I asked, “Are you a mind reader? I was just headed to the Union for some much-needed caffeine.”
Lightly bumping his shoulder to mine, he said, “Brilliant minds think alike.”