Chapter 4 #4
I had no idea what was going on with Ryder.
He’d started off the week fine, a fun-loving, laid-back member of our irreverent trio, but as the week wore on, he became gradually more withdrawn, his conversations clipped, his temper on a hair trigger.
I couldn’t figure out what caused the shift.
I chalked it up to stress at first—we all reacted differently under pressure—but Nate had been nothing but complimentary about our performances.
Maybe it was a Method acting thing, but that only made sense if Holden’s character was a surly jerk (he wasn’t).
Something didn’t add up, but I didn’t really know him well enough to probe much deeper.
All I knew was, the easygoing guy I’d shared seafood with was nowhere to be found.
“Uh-oh, Dad’s getting cranky,” Jason stage-whispered conspiratorially. I think he was as sick of Ryder’s temper tantrums as I was. Thank God Jason was a one-man comedy show, or I’d be tearing my hair out trying to navigate Ryder’s mood swings.
“Don’t blame me, blame Dimples McGee over here,” I told Ryder, jerking my thumb in Jason’s direction, sending the two of us into fresh fits of laughter. The joke wasn’t even all that funny, but it had been a long day, our vintage costumes were itchy and stifling, and we were both getting punchy.
Ryder huffed a breath and stood, stalking over to a deserted corner of a neighboring tent while Jason and I traded eye rolls.
“Cut! That was perfect,” Nate said a bit later, rubbing his hands together as he came toward us from behind the camera.
As a director, Nate was very animated, always talking with his hands, waving his arms around, or gesticulating wildly to get his point across, and his enthusiasm was contagious.
“Scarlett, I love what you’re doing. That playful innocence is exactly what I’m looking for.
I liked that thing you did with his arm at the end there, too.
” I beamed at his head pat and started walking with him toward the monitors to watch the playback.
“Actually, could we try it again?” Ryder called out, and we both turned back to look at him. “I feel like Scarlett was playing it kind of exaggerated and over the top while I was going for understated. Just felt like the energy was a little off.”
I’m sorry, what? Did he just insult me in front of Nate and the entire crew?
An angry heat licked up my spine at the thinly veiled dig.
How dare he call me out like that? I looked to Jason for validation—He’s being a dick, right?
—and he shrugged helplessly like, Temperamental actors. What can you do?
Nate split a look between Ryder and me. “Sure, we can do it again if you want. Scarlett, you good with that?”
“Sure,” I said briskly, feigning indifference, but inside, I was seething. Who does Ryder think he is, throwing me under the bus like that? If he wanted to be a moody asshole, that was on him, but I wasn’t just going to stand by while he turned me into roadkill.
I went to take my place again as the crew reset.
Unfortunately, this scene required me to straddle Ryder on a milking stool, flirty and smitten, which frankly felt outside my acting capabilities at the moment.
I attempted to swallow my irritation, but it went down like a porcupine.
I breathed deep and tried to backburner it instead, but that didn’t work either.
I was too hot and bothered to let this slide.
If we were both going to make it through this shoot alive, I needed to stand up for myself now.
“You know, if you wanted to do another take, you could have just said so. You didn’t need to trash me in front of Nate and the entire crew.” I kept my voice down, mindful of the boom mics dangling overhead that were specifically designed to pick up our conversation.
Ryder had yet to move from his perch on the milking stool, and he shoved his hair out of his eyes as he looked up at me impassively. “Trash you? That’s a bit dramatic. I did you a favor.”
I went rigid, the indignation I’d set to simmer now boiling over. “A favor?”
“You were overdoing it. The other scenes in this sequence are action-oriented and need that kind of energy. This one is quieter. It’ll have more emotional impact if it’s softer, more stripped down. Less forced.”
I gaped at him in shock. This was unreal. Instead of apologizing, he was doubling down. “I did it exactly the way Nate wanted.”
“I know what he asked for, but it’s not what the scene needs. Underplaying it is the right choice. Nate’ll see that on playback. So will you.” He spoke slowly, patiently, like he was humoring an errant child. It made me apoplectic.
“You can’t…you’re so…” I wanted to say something like unbelievable, but it wasn’t nearly a nasty enough adjective to describe his audacity. How dare he be this condescending? How dare he render me speechless?
“You ready?” Nate called, interrupting us, and I knew I had no choice but to table this for the time being. It was either compartmentalize my anger or risk looking petty and unprofessional in front of Nate, and I wasn’t about to let Ryder bait me into looking bad, no sirree.
“Sure thing,” I told him, then took a deep breath and folded myself back onto Ryder’s lap, hooking my hand around his bicep the way Nate mentioned liking.
Ryder tucked me into his chest with a cocky gleam in his eyes, lips twitching in triumph.
Even though I’d love nothing more than to smack that smug smile right off his face, I donned the expression of a lovestruck young woman and gazed at him adoringly instead. I’ll show you some overacting, buddy.
Well, fine. If this was how it was going to be, then I was glad to know the score.
Game on.