Chapter 24
MICAH
The first day of shooting on the beach was already testing my patience before we’d even rolled a single frame of footage.
I hadn’t fully appreciated how different everything would be with a hundred people and several tons of equipment trying to function on sand.
The soundstage was setup. Electricity. Lighting. Everything we needed.
Sand got everywhere. In the camera housings.
In the sound equipment. In people’s shoes, their hair, their attitudes.
Every step was a workout, and watching the grips try to lay dolly track on an unstable surface was an exercise in futility.
The track kept sinking on one side, then the other, requiring constant adjustment.
“We need more sandbags,” someone called out. “The reflectors keep tipping.”
“The generator’s overheating!”
“Where’s the shade tent? Someone moved the shade tent!”
I checked my watch. We were already forty minutes behind schedule, and we hadn’t even gotten to first positions yet.
Deep breath, Blackwell. This is what you signed up for.
I started making rounds, the way I always did when things got chaotic. Touch base with every department. Solve problems before they snowballed. Keep morale up even when everything felt like it was falling apart.
Who was going to keep my morale up?
Me. I’m the guy.
The beach we’d cordoned off was stunning—white sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying in the breeze. Exactly the kind of paradise that would make audiences forget they were watching a thriller. The contrast was the point. Elena’s perfect life, about to be shattered.
I just needed to actually capture it on film.
“Micah!” Toby jogged over, his clipboard clutched to his chest. “Wardrobe says they’re ready. Grace and Jack are both in their trailers.”
“Good. Let’s get them to set. We’re burning daylight.”
I positioned myself near the monitors, which were shaded by a large umbrella that kept threatening to blow away.
The shot was relatively simple—Elena walking along the beach, lost in thought, when she runs into her ex-boyfriend.
It was an early scene, establishing their complicated history before everything went to hell.
Jack emerged from his trailer first. He strutted across the sand like he owned the beach. He wore designer board shorts, his chest bare and oiled to within an inch of its life.
“Hey, does my chest look swollen enough?” he asked the nearest grip, flexing slightly. “I did extra reps this morning. Really wanted to pop for this scene.”
The grip looked deeply uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah, man. Looks great.”
Jack moved on to the next person. “What do you think? Swollen enough?”
I rubbed my temples. This was going to be a long day.
And then Grace came out of the wardrobe trailer.
She was wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, her hair loose and beachy, her feet bare.
She picked her way across the sand carefully, and even from this distance, I could see her squinting against the sun.
I couldn’t have them wearing sunglasses because I needed to see the whites of their eyes in the shot. I needed to see the fire.
“Grace, let’s get you to your mark,” the AD called out.
She nodded, moving to her starting position. I watched her take a few deep breaths, centering herself. Getting into character. Becoming Elena.
“Alright, everyone,” I called out. “Let’s do a quick rehearsal, then we’ll roll. Grace, whenever you’re ready.”
She nodded again. And then she untied the robe and let it fall.
I forgot how to breathe.
The bikini was simple, exactly what wardrobe decided was best. Navy blue and not overly revealing, but on Grace, it might as well have been lingerie. Every curve was on display. The dip of her waist. The flare of her hips. The long lines of her legs. Skin that glowed golden in the Hawaiian sun.
I was staring and I couldn’t stop.
“Micah?” Toby’s voice cut through my haze. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word came out strangled. I cleared my throat. “Fine. Let’s, uh, let’s run through it.”
Grace walked her mark, hitting every beat perfectly. She was supposed to look relaxed. A woman enjoying a rare moment of peace before her world imploded. And she did. She looked like a goddess emerging from the sea.
Focus, you idiot. You’re a professional.
I forced my eyes to the monitor, watching the frame instead of the woman. Better. Safer. The composition was good. The lighting was working despite our earlier struggles. This was going to be a beautiful shot.
“Great,” I called out. “Let’s roll. First positions, everyone.”
The crew scrambled into place. Jack positioned himself farther down the beach, where he’d enter the frame after Grace’s solo moment. He flexed. Strutted. I supposed it worked for the character.
“Action!”
Grace walked along the waterline, looking thoughtful and a little wistful. The camera tracked her movement smoothly.
And then Jack entered the frame.
“Elena.”
Grace’s head snapped up. The transformation was instant—her whole body tensed, her expression shifting from peaceful to guarded in the span of a heartbeat.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp and filled with authentic irritation.
They faced off, and I watched the magic happen on the monitor. Grace was drawing on something real. I could see it in her eyes. All her frustration with Jack, all her annoyance at his diva behavior, channeled into Elena’s contempt for her ex.
It was gold.
The last line wasn’t even in the script. She’d improvised it, and it was perfect.
“Cut!” I called out. “That was incredible. Grace, that last line—we’re keeping it. Let’s go again.”
We ran the scene four more times, each take better than the last. Grace was on fire, her performance crackling with barely contained rage. Jack, to his credit, was actually rising to meet her energy. Having something real to play against seemed to bring out his better instincts.
But I noticed something else too.
Jack’s eyes kept drifting.
During the second take, when Grace was delivering her monologue about why she’d left him, Jack’s gaze dropped to her boobs for a split second before snapping back up. During the fourth take, when they were circling each other, his eyes tracked down her body before he caught himself.
I couldn’t blame him. I was fighting the same battle. Every time Grace moved, I had to physically stop myself from watching the way her body shifted in that bikini.
Professional. I was a professional.
Thank God I’d worn loose khakis because my dick was about to prove me very wrong about being a professional.
“One more,” I called out after we’d adjusted camera angles.
Grace reset to her mark. She caught my eye across the beach and gave me a small smile—private, just for me.
Dammit. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from running right back to her last night on her knees in front of me.
“Action!”
The final take was flawless. Grace delivered every line with so much passion, it left everyone on set holding their breath. When she finally stormed away from Jack, leaving him alone on the beach, there was a moment of stunned silence before someone started clapping.
“That’s a wrap on this setup!” I called out, pulling off my headset. “Let’s break for lunch. Back in ninety minutes.”
The crew scattered immediately, gravitating toward the catering tent that had been set up under a cluster of palm trees. The smell of grilled fish and fresh pineapple drifted across the beach.
I should have gone straight to my production tent to review the footage.
I told myself to grab a plate and eat alone while making notes for the afternoon’s setups.
Instead, I found myself drifting toward where Grace pulled her robe back on, chatting with one of the makeup artists who was touching up her sunscreen.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Good work out there.”
She smiled. “Thanks. It felt good. Jack was actually giving me something to work with for once.”
“I noticed. Whatever you’re channeling, keep doing it.”
The makeup artist finished and wandered off toward the food. Grace cinched her robe tighter and fell into step beside me as we walked toward the catering area.
“I’m starving,” she said. “Worked up an appetite with all that hollering. I feel like I could eat everything on that buffet.”
“You’ve been running on adrenaline for the past three hours. You definitely deserve a big meal.”
We loaded up our plates with grilled mahi-mahi, coconut rice, and a tropical fruit salad that looked incredible. I steered us toward a quieter corner of the tent, away from the main cluster of crew members. Not hiding, exactly. Just not trying to be the center of attention.
Grace settled onto a folding chair and immediately started demolishing her food. I sat across from her, trying not to stare at the way the robe had shifted, revealing a strip of collarbone, the curve of her shoulder.
I wanted to peel that robe off her so badly it was physically painful.
“So,” she said around a mouthful of rice, “scale of one to ten, how badly did I want to actually punch Jack during that last take?”
I laughed. “I’d say a solid eight. Maybe eight and a half.”
“Only because I knew it would hold up production if I broke his perfect nose.”
“Very considerate of you.”
She grinned, spearing a piece of pineapple with her fork. “I’m a team player.”
We talked about the afternoon’s shots, debating whether the sunset would hold long enough for the golden hour sequence I wanted.
It felt normal. Natural. Like we were just two people enjoying lunch together, not sneaking around behind everyone’s backs.
I caught myself watching the way she licked a drop of coconut milk from her lip and had to look away before my body betrayed me in very obvious ways. Her cheeks flushed when she caught me staring.
Movement at the edge of my vision caught my attention. I looked up just in time to see Chantilly storming across the sand toward Jack’s trailer, her caftan billowing behind her like a battle flag. Even from this distance, I could see the fury radiating off her.
Jack was trailing behind her, his hands raised in a placating gesture that clearly wasn’t working.
“What the hell was that?” Chantilly’s voice carried across the beach, shrill enough to cut through the ambient noise. “You were practically drooling over her!”
“Babe, it’s called acting.”
“Don’t you ‘babe’ me! I saw the way you were looking at her. At her body. You think I’m blind?”
She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the trailer. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance in the sand. The trailer door slammed shut behind them, but we could still hear muffled shouting from inside.
Everyone could.
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Apparently.” I watched the trailer, half-amused, half-concerned. “Poor bastard.”
“Poor bastard?” Grace snorted. “He was definitely checking me out during those takes. Chantilly’s not wrong.”
“I noticed.” My jaw tightened involuntarily. “I didn’t love it.”
She looked at me, something warm flickering in her eyes. “Jealous?”
“Territorial,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
She flashed a smile.
The shouting from Jack’s trailer continued for another few minutes before going quiet. I made a mental note to check on him before we resumed shooting. The last thing I needed was a sulking leading man ruining our afternoon takes.
As I turned back to my food, I noticed a few crew members glancing our way. Nothing overt—just quick looks. But I clocked them. They’d noticed us sitting together.
No one said anything. But they were watching.
I needed to be more careful. We both did.
“We should probably…” I gestured vaguely toward the rest of the crew.
Grace nodded, understanding immediately. “Yeah. I should go check in with Patty anyway. Make sure I don’t have anything stuck in my teeth before we roll again.”
She walked away. I forced myself not to watch her go. Instead, I focused on finishing my lunch and mentally running through the afternoon’s shot list.
The afternoon went smoothly. Jack emerged from his trailer looking chastened, and whatever Chantilly had said to him seemed to have worked—he kept his eyes firmly on Grace’s face for the rest of the day, not letting them wander even once.
We got everything on the list and then some. The golden hour shots were even better than I’d hoped. Grace was luminous, her performance nuanced and heartbreaking in ways that made me forget I was supposed to be directing and not just watching.
By the time I called wrap, we were all beat and sunburned despite the gallons of sunscreen that had been spread around.
“Vans leave in twenty,” I announced. “Great job, everyone. Same call time tomorrow.”
The ride back to the hotel was quiet, everyone too tired for conversation. I sat near the front, deliberately putting distance between myself and Grace, who was somewhere in the back chatting with one of the costume assistants.
Professional distance. That was the key.
The van pulled up to the hotel entrance, and I immediately knew something was wrong.
There were people everywhere. Not hotel guests—photographers. At least two dozen of them, crowded around the entrance, and cameras at the ready. The moment our van came into view, they surged forward like sharks scenting blood.
“What the hell?” Toby muttered beside me.
The van doors opened, and the chaos hit us like a wave.
“Grace! Grace, over here!”
“Is it true you’re having an affair with Jack Montana?”
“Grace, how long has this been going on?”
“Does Chantilly know?”
“Jack! Jack, any comment on the affair?”
The questions came rapid fire. Flashbulbs popped like strobe lights. I saw Grace freeze in the van doorway, her face going pale.
I was out of my seat before I consciously decided to move.
“Everyone back to the van,” I ordered, my voice cutting through the noise. “Now.”
I grabbed Grace’s arm and pulled her back inside. The crew piled in behind us, everyone looking shell-shocked.
“Drive around to the service entrance,” I told the driver.
The van lurched forward, photographers scattering out of the way. I could still hear them shouting questions as we pulled around the building.
Grace sat wide-eyed, clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll figure this out.”
She nodded, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
This had gone too far.
I needed to put a stop to it. Fuck the studio and Chantilly.