Chapter 14
MICAH
Grace was incredible.
I watched her from my chair by the monitors, unable to tear my eyes away.
Every scene, every take, she delivered exactly what I’d seen in that first audition.
The fire. The vulnerability. The raw talent that had made me stake my entire career on an unknown actress with a resume that fit on an index card.
My instincts had been right. She could do this. She was doing this.
The problem wasn’t Grace Stone. The problem was that Jack Montana sucked as a scene partner.
We ran through three more setups, and each one was better than the last. Grace found nuances I hadn’t even written into the script.
Little moments of hesitation, flickers of emotion that the camera absolutely loved.
I found myself leaning forward, completely absorbed, forgetting for whole minutes at a time that I was supposed to be directing and not just watching.
“That’s a wrap on this setup,” I called out. “Let’s take thirty for lunch.”
The crew broke immediately, gravitating toward the craft services table like moths to a flame. But I stayed in my chair, watching Grace descend the catwalk stairs. She was immediately surrounded.
Lisa got to her first, pulling her into a hug that made Grace laugh. Buzz clapped her on the shoulder, saying something that made her duck her head with a pleased smile. Even some of the crew members approached her.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance, but I could read the body language.
Encouragement. Support. One of the grips, an older guy named Tony who’d been working sets since before I was born, leaned in close to Grace.
I watched her nod, her expression shifting to something like understanding.
I’d worked with Tony on other productions.
He’d seen it all. He’d worked with Jack before.
Toby flopped into the AD’s chair. “Holy shit,” he said. “That was good, right?”
“Very.”
“What is it with Jack?” he asked. “Do they have beef or something?”
“You don’t need beef to be put off by the guy,” I said.
“Why did you sign him?”
“His face, his body, his fame, his wealth.” I shrugged. “He’s got the face that sells movies, and unfortunately, it’s turned him into a righteous diva. But he sells movie tickets. So what are you gonna do?”
The entertainment industry’s eternal question. It wasn’t like Jack’s diva bullshit was rare. The bigger the star, the bigger the demands.
I felt the weight of my predicament settle back onto my shoulders. I couldn’t fire Grace, not now that production was happening. And certainly not after she’d just proven she could deliver. But I also couldn’t sideline Jack Montana. You didn’t bench a superstar, even if he was a whiny diva.
The action heroes Jack played on screen were so different from the man himself.
On screen, he saved the world without breaking a sweat and he looked damn good doing it.
His public persona was the nice guy that was a little oafish.
Off screen, he couldn’t handle a first-time actress stumbling on her lines without having a complete meltdown.
The irony would have been funny if it wasn’t threatening to tank my entire movie.
I felt the energy shift and eyes all going in one direction. I turned to see what was happening. Jack. And Chantilly walked beside him.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Jack’s wife was an influencer with millions of followers and an opinion on everything.
She had the kind of aggressive energy that sucked all the oxygen out of any room she entered.
Her voice carried across the soundstage before she’d even made it through the door.
A voice that had your shoulders lifting to your ears. Worse than nails on a chalkboard.
“You’re the star, baby,” Chantilly said, her hand wrapped around one of Jack’s bulging biceps.
The shirt was intentionally too small to make him look even more ripped.
I watched them approach, Chantilly’s designer heels clicking against the concrete floor. She was dressed like she expected paparazzi around every corner. Full glam, tight dress, enough jewelry to fill a Tiffany’s pop-up.
A memory surfaced, and I had to smother a chuckle.
Callum. My brother Callum had gone on a date with Chantilly once, back before she’d sunk her claws into Jack.
It had been a disaster of epic proportions.
I remembered the story about the emergency text he’d sent to Drew.
A fire alarm was pulled, and long story short, the woman that had been at a dinner meeting with Jack Montana at the same restaurant ended up marrying Callum.
And Jack married Chantilly. Match made in heaven—or hell.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text. Your worst date is on my set right now.
The response came almost immediately.
Callum: I was planning to come check out the production one of these days. Now I won’t go within a ten-mile radius. Good luck. You’re going to need it.
I pocketed my phone and stood, watching Jack and Chantilly make their way across the floor. Grace had noticed them too. I saw her shoulders tense slightly, saw the way her chin lifted in that stubborn way.
I needed to get to her before Jack did. I couldn’t have that fucker and his barracuda wife undoing all the progress we’d just made.
I crossed the distance quickly, intercepting Grace near the craft services table. “Hey. Got a second?”
She looked up at me, those blue eyes still bright with the adrenaline of her successful takes. “Sure. What’s up?”
I pulled her a few steps away, lowering my voice. “Listen. When you’re acting with Jack, I want to try something. I’ll stand just off camera, right behind him. And I want you to pretend he’s not even there.”
She blinked at me, those huge, beautiful eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t look at Jack. Don’t react to Jack. Look at me instead. React to me.” I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of how that sounded. “It’s just an experiment. To see if it helps you find what you had in our private rehearsals.”
Grace was quiet for a moment, studying my face like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. I noticed her blue eyes weren’t just a standard blue. They were ringed with a darker shade. Then those baby blues dropped to my mouth.
I knew exactly what she was thinking about.
“You want me to act like you’re my scene partner,” she said slowly. “Even though Jack’s the one on camera with me.”
“Exactly. He gives you nothing anyway. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Play off me.”
“Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”
“Good.” I stepped back, putting professional distance between us. “Let’s get through the rest of today. We’ve got this.”
After lunch, we reset for the next sequence. Jack had emerged from whatever pep talk Chantilly had given him, looking marginally less murderous. He took his position without complaint, though the tension radiating off him was palpable.
“Alright,” I called out. “Same scene, but now we’re getting Jack’s coverage. Grace, remember what we talked about.”
She met my eyes across the set and gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
I positioned myself just behind and to the left of Jack, close enough that Grace could see me without it being obvious to anyone else what we were doing. The camera would capture her looking in Jack’s direction, but her focus would be entirely on me.
Jack delivered his line with his usual movie-star intensity. But Grace looked right through him. Her eyes found mine, locked on, and suddenly she was Elena again. Terrified, desperate, running on fumes but refusing to give up.
The words poured out of her with devastating authenticity. Every beat landed exactly where it should. I watched her and felt my breath catch in my chest. Fuck me. I wanted to be the one to rescue the damsel in distress.
She was great.
“Cut! Moving on!”
We ran the scene again from a different angle.
Same result. Grace kept her focus on me, using my reactions to fuel her performance.
I checked the playback, making sure it was the shot I was looking for.
The footage was electric. Even Jack seemed to pick up on the shift in energy, his own performance sharpening in response to having something real to play against.
By the fifth take, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be directing. I was too busy drowning in those blue eyes.
Every time she looked at me, the way the scene demanded, I felt it like a physical touch. Heat spreading through my chest. My pulse kicking up a notch. The rest of the set fading away until it was just the two of us, connected by something that had nothing to do with the script.
I wanted to kiss her again.
The thought hit me like a freight train. I had to look away to break the spell before someone noticed the director was having an inappropriate reaction to his lead actress.
“That’s a wrap on this setup,” I managed, my voice coming out an octave higher than usual. “Set up the next one.”
The crew moved into action around me, but I stayed rooted to my spot, trying to get my heart rate under control. This was dangerous territory. I knew better than to let personal feelings interfere with a production.
But knowing better and actually doing better were apparently two very different things.
Toby appeared at my elbow with the shot list. My stomach dropped when I realized what scene was next.
The kiss. The scene that had started this whole problem.
Except today, she wouldn’t be kissing me. She’d be kissing Jack.
“Let’s get the lighting set up,” I said.
The crew swarmed the generator room set while I stood there, trying to convince myself that the sick feeling in my gut was just stress. The pressure of a difficult day. Nothing to do with the image of Grace’s lips on Jack Montana’s perfectly chiseled face.
Grace had been whisked away by hair and makeup. When she returned, she looked tousled and stunning. And fuck, the ugly green monster was roaring within.
I knew it was ridiculous. Knew it was her job. Knew that screen kisses meant nothing. They were choreographed moments, technical exercises, about as romantic as filing paperwork. I’d watched hundreds of them over the years and never felt anything but professional detachment.
But this was different. This was Grace.
Jack took his position against the metal beam, his hands behind his back in the ropes that were very real. He looked every inch the action hero. Muscles straining against his too-tight shirt, jaw set with determination. The kind of guy women swooned over.
The kind of guy Grace was about to kiss.
I felt something ugly twist in my chest. Jealousy. Pure, irrational, completely inappropriate jealousy.
I wanted to say we were cutting the kiss. Did we really need it? We could do the whole fade out before their lips touched. Figure out how to restructure the scene to convey the emotional moment. The integrity of the movie could survive without this particular kiss.
“Micah,” Toby interrupted my thoughts.
I turned and saw Chantilly beelining for me with fury in her eyes.
“Listen, pal, my husband won’t be kissing anyone,” she snapped.
“Excuse me?”
“No. Kissing.”
“Why?” I asked, looking to Toby for explanation.
“It’s in his contract,” Chantilly said, raising her chin. “I insisted on it when we got married.”
“No one told me any of that,” I said. “It’s in the fucking script.”
I had no idea why I was arguing against something I actually agreed with her on. It was the principle of the matter. My movie.
“He isn’t kissing her,” she hissed.
My hands immediately went into my hair. And then I got an idea that might save Jack, Chantilly, me, and the movie.
“What if you do the kiss?” I said. “We put a wig on you to match Grace’s hair. Put you in the same clothes. We’ll reposition the cameras to hide your face. I’m not going to pay you or credit you, but that’s the only option. And you need to understand Jack already signed a contract.”
She rolled her eyes. “And we both know he could get out of it.”
“Babe?” Jack asked from where he stood against the beam.
“Fine,” Chantilly said.
“Makeup!” I called out. “Wardrobe!”
Five people descended and whisked Chantilly away.
She returned wearing an outfit identical to Grace. She was a little taller, but we’d fix that later. I nodded in approval. She stood beside me while Grace and Jack went through the rescue scene. I called cut and gestured for her to take Grace’s spot.
“Think it’ll work?” Grace whispered from beside me.
“Absolutely.”
“Thank God,” she said with a sigh. “I’m so glad I didn’t have to kiss him. I don’t think I’m good enough to pretend I like it.”
I laughed. “Understandable. You two are like oil and water.”
Which I was perfectly okay with.
“When we shoot my side of the kiss, will you be standing in for Jack? Basically the same build. Easy enough to put a wig on you.”
I almost choked on my own spit.
Oh shit.