OLIVER #3
“It’s so interesting. I had no idea how many different angles it took to create one scene.”
He nodded, guzzling a bottle of water. “Yep. The wide master shots, then the medium ones, the close-ups, plus so many other additions. Retakes.”
“I always just thought it was filmed in the order you saw the movie in.”
“Nope. Editing magic. They splice it all together so it’s seamless.”
“No wonder it takes so long to film a two-hour movie.”
He chuckled. “There are a lot of moving pieces to each film. Before we shoot, there’s blocking, lighting, technical, rehearsals.”
“Wow. So do you go on to the next scene in the script?”
“Yes. It’s not always that way, but today, Davis wants to wrap this part up.”
“You were incredible.”
He grinned. “Thanks, lovely.”
“I can’t stay much longer. I only came to drop off the pie and chicken.”
He traced my cheek with his finger, his touch soft. “Thank you.”
I caught his hand and kissed it, somehow the busy set fading into the background and only him and his touch relevant. “You’re welcome.”
For a moment, there was only him and me. Our gazes locked, no one else around. I released his hand. “I should go,” I murmured, some strange emotion making my voice tight.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered, just as his name was called. He grimaced. “Or maybe not.”
“It’s fine. I know my way.” I slid from the director’s chair with his name on it. “I’ll see you later. Go and be brilliant.”
“I love—” He stopped and swallowed. “I love that you came to see me. It made my day.”
I smiled. “Good.”
He turned and walked away, once again effortlessly slipping into character.
He took his mark with Carl, both of them listening to Davis intently.
I made my way off the set, slipping out back and walking to my car.
My mind kept wandering to those words Oliver uttered.
“I love—” He had stopped himself and finished the sentence a moment later, but I couldn’t keep myself from thinking he meant to say something else.
It couldn’t be what I thought it might be, could it?
Suddenly, I heard rushed footsteps behind me. I turned around, not pleased to see Sheri following me. “Can I help you?” I asked as she caught up to me.
She regarded me, looking irritated. She was a beautiful woman.
Long, dark hair, tall and willowy. But her eyes were cold, and when she frowned, she wasn’t as pretty.
She looked hard and unkind. I blinked and, in an instant, she changed again, a wide smile on her face.
But it wasn’t friendly. It was calculating and hostile.
“I know you,” she said slowly.
“I don’t think so.” I tried to distract her. “I was watching your performance. You are so gifted,” I praised.
“Of course I am.” She waved dismissively, as if my compliment was her due. She tapped her chin, her long nails blood red. “Yes. I do know you. You-you’re the catering girl.” She looked shocked. Discontented. “He refused me for a catering girl?”
Something in her voice made me stiffen. “Excuse me, I’m not sure to whom you’re referring—”
She interrupted me. “Don’t be stupid. I’m talking about Oliver.”
I ignored her. “I’m an accountant.”
She burst out laughing. It was odd. Nothing on her face moved when she laughed. When I chuckled, lines appeared around my eyes and mouth. Wrinkles showed on my forehead. Everything on her remained smooth. It was a bit frightening.
“An accountant? That’s even worse! Why would he want someone like you when he could have me? I mean, I’m me, and you’re—” She stopped talking, flicking her fingers my way as if I was a small gnat bothering her. “Just a girl from a boring little town. A nobody.”
I wanted to roll my eyes at her ego. I remembered what Oliver had said. How she liked to tear people down to make herself feel better.
“Accounting is an honest career,” I pointed out. “And I’m excellent at it.” I crossed my arms. “And people in my life don’t consider me boring.”
“Really,” she drawled. “How…remarkable.” Her tone said it was anything but. “Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly. I should talk to him again.”
I saw red. The gall of her. And I was done with being polite.
“I wouldn’t resort to begging,” I advised. “You might look, ah, even more desperate. As for picking me, perhaps he has some taste. Honor. Oliver is a complex man. He prefers intelligence over manufactured beauty.”
She flushed a dull red, and her hands curled into fists. “You little bitch,” she seethed. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
I was done. “You started it, lady. Stay away from Oliver. He’s not interested.”
I turned and hurried away, climbing in my car and locking the door. She stamped her foot like a toddler and yelled something that sounded like “We’ll see.” I ignored her and drove away, trying not to laugh as the mud under my tires flew up and sprayed her.
Then I groaned. I had done exactly what he told me not to do. I should have kept walking and ignored her.
I needed to call him and let him know what I’d said. I had a feeling he would pay for my mouthing off.
I shook my head.
What had I done?