23. Awa
Chapter twenty-three
Awa
"And cut!" Edward shouts. "That's a wrap on the strip poker scene, everyone!" He claps in congratulations, and while most let out enthusiastic whoops or join in the applause, I can't contain my sigh of relief.
Three days.
The intimacy coordinator has been on set for three full days of filming. One day each for the scenes where both of the leads showed some skin, and a third for reshoots and a few risqué solo shots. I've never blushed so much in my life, or been more painfully aware of my self-imposed celibacy.
I understand the shots can be tricky. There are multiple angles and a thousand lights and sensitive mics that pick up everything from rustling clothes to a gaffer's sneeze, or a smothered giggle when someone stumbles upon a ticklish area.
I know that once the edits are done, the color is corrected, and the score is mixed, these scenes will have me pulling the sheets up to my nose and hiding behind my hands.
But right now? Right now I need a cold shower and to get away from the man I can't have but can't seem to shake.
Noah is engrossed in a call with someone from Majesty Films while Tabitha and Yong-rae talk next to the stage flat of Lucy's room. They're standing way too close for work colleagues, and when Yong-rae leans in to whisper something to Tabitha, she laughs like she's smitten. She might very well be.
Each time Lucy and Dean bared themselves to each other, I watched Tabitha's hard-won professional boundaries weaken.
With each take, she and Yong-rae pushed the realism of their on-screen intimacy further, kissed deeper, took longer to disengage.
Noah noticed it too; I think he even warned Yong-rae after the second day. But clearly, it changed nothing.
On-set romances are about as cliché as roses on Valentine's Day; unfortunately, they tend to be equally short-lived. I just hope Tabitha knows what she's doing.
"I'll be back in time for the afternoon filming," I call out to Rory.
I get a nod in response before she taps the shoulder of a passing PA and gestures to a few unsecured cables on the ground.
She runs a tight ship, and even though being exiled to the video village makes me feel like a rookie lawyer again, I can appreciate all the moving parts she has to manage.
I glance at my watch and curse; if I want to be on time for my lunch with Noah's colleague, Camila, my driver may need to run a few lights.
"So let me get this straight," I start, my voice coming out louder than expected after the second glass of Chardonnay. "You're Rory's sister?"
"Uh huh," Camila nods.
"You work with Noah?" I ask.
"Uh huh," she nods, smiling wide now.
"And you're about to be his sister-in-law?"
"You got it," Camila says with a laugh. I sit back in my seat and murmur a thanks when the waiter clears my empty plate.
That means Rory is also going to be his sister-in-law. I grimace inwardly. Here I was thinking he invited her along with us for drinks to increase his chances of getting lucky. They have a way better rapport than we do, after all. Now I know he was just trying to be a good brother.
Tant pis. Getting the wrong idea about Noah is practically a hobby at this point.
"Wow. I know this industry can be incestuous, but that might be a record."
She drops her head into her hands briefly, then looks back up at me, chagrined.
"I know," she almost wails, drawing out the last word.
Maybe we've both had a little too much to drink. I can't help that she's so easy to talk to. And it's not like I have any friends to speak of; my schedule barely allows time for sleep.
"But I promise I'm actually a lawyer. I'm not some glorified intern who got the job because my future brother-in-law works there. His brother and I weren't even engaged when I interviewed."
I sober at her statement, my expression turning serious.
"I don't doubt your credentials, Camila.
I looked you up before we met and saw you worked several years as a paralegal at Bannister, Banks, Smith no nothing. If there's more to the story, I don't know it, I swear.
Please don't let me ruin lunch just because I drank too much wine and let my mouth get away from me. "
I scan her face; she looks miserable. Her cheeks are drawn, and her eyes dart between me and the exit; she's panicked I'm about to leave.
I don't want to. I want to believe her and spend the rest of lunch gabbing with a promising new acquaintance. But it's safer not to. It's safer to stay closed off.
"Don't worry about it," I reassure her. Not to salvage the relationship, but to avoid a scene. "Lunch was lovely; I just have to get back to set."
She's buying what I'm saying about as much as expected, considering I'm not even trying to convince her it's true. Our conversation is stilted as I sign for the check, and we exchange awkward goodbyes before I'm back in the car.
I inhale a steadying breath before taking my tablet from my briefcase and scanning a contract amendment to distract from my warring emotions.
How could I be such a fool?! Here I am, doing my best to remain professional, while Noah's blabbing about our hookup and sending me off to lunch to be a punchline. How many more times am I going to let him hurt me?
He can consider our little truce over.