14. Finn
FINN
“ Y ou don’t have to drive me to work,” Sierra said.
“I really do,” I said, waiting for the street to clear before pulling out of my building’s parking lot. “Firstly, because you’re my fiancée?—”
“Fake fiancée.”
I huffed. “Don’t say that too loudly. And secondly, I’m pretty sure your car is one pothole away from imploding.”
“Just because it’s not some ridiculous muscle car monstrosity,” she complained, squirming in her seat.
She’d already complained about being driven to work in something so flashy. I chose to keep it to myself that my Ferrari Portofino wasn’t even the most expensive car I owned. No need to give her more to complain about. “Your car is actual junk on wheels. It’s a road hazard.”
“It’s reliable,” she said. “Good old-fashioned machinery. Not this high-tech stuff that’s probably one good thunderstorm away from breaking,” she said, prodding at my dashboard. “This thing has so many buttons it could fly to Mars.”
“Stop touching things, Cinderella,” I growled, swatting her hand away. I had my music programmed the way I liked and my Bluetooth connected, and I didn’t need her messing with it.
“What do all these buttons even do?”
“Stop it.”
“Wait, does your car have Wi-Fi?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God!” she said. “This is ridiculous.” She touched a button, and the radio popped on. Her eyes lit up, a surprised smile stretching across her face. “Country? Well, then?—”
“Knock it off.”
“Am I about to find out you have cowboy boots in your closet and go line dancing on the weekends?”
“As if I have time.” I fixed the radio as a flash of heat prickled at my neck. I didn’t like her messing with my things, but I liked it a little too much when she smiled at me like that.
She pushed another button, and her phone connected to the Bluetooth. A signal beeped.
“New text message from…Ro,” an automated voice announced.
“Okay,” Sierra said, sounding a little panicked. “Now how do we turn it off?”
“I told you not to touch things,” I grumbled, glancing from the road to the touch screen she was fiddling with .
“Well, excuse me, I didn’t know it would take an electrical engineering degree to operate your car.”
“Giirrrlll,” the automated voice said, doing a horrible impression of Ro’s text.
“Wait!” Sierra said, frantically pushing more buttons. “How do we stop it?”
“You know what they say about having sex dreams,” the automated voice continued, reading out the rest of the message.
Christ ! I thought, trying to bat Sierra’s hands out of the way. This was not the kind of thing I needed to overhear while trapped in a car with her. Sierra’s entire face turned the color of a tomato.
The signal beeped again.
“New text message from…Ro,” the automated voice said again.
“Disconnect it!” Sierra practically screamed at me.
“Move your hand!” Her fingers brushed against the back of my hand, and my eyes narrowed. She wasn’t wearing the engagement ring yet. Maybe it hadn’t fit? If it needed to be adjusted, we’d have to get that done soon, before the tabloids started trying to zoom in on her hand.
I finally got the Bluetooth disconnected. “There, happy?”
Sierra settled into the passenger seat, her cheeks still as pink as a sunrise.
Tension settled over us like a strangling weight.
But now that it was silent in the car, I finally had a chance to think about Ro’s message I’d overheard.
Who the hell was she having sex dreams about?
I almost wished I’d let that next text play.
I cleared my throat as we arrived at the production lot. Focus . There was no time to wonder about Sierra’s fantasies. I was trying to market an awards contender. This movie was everything, and nothing was going to derail the PR plan, especially not Sierra’s sex dreams .
“Jillian has the first interview scheduled for this morning,” I said. “We’ll just crank it out before work and then she can get it circulating by the end of the day.”
“Great,” Sierra said, following me out of the car and through the office to the interview room.
“Hey,” Jillian said as we walked into a small room with an Every Day Is Sunday step-and-repeat set up behind two chairs. She’d arranged a small camera crew to record the footage.
Sierra looked around with apprehension.
“Just pretend they’re not here,” Jillian said, latching onto Sierra’s arm and ushering her into a chair while fluffing her hair over her shoulder.
I took the other chair. “I’m going to ask you two some questions.
Really simple stuff about the movie. You two just stare at each other adoringly and all that jazz. ”
“Got it,” I said, turning on the charm like a light switch. I grinned at Sierra. She offered a small, uncertain smile in return.
“Okay,” Jillian began. “Tell me what it’s been like working together these past couple of months.”
I stared into Sierra’s dark blue eyes instead of the camera. “Inspirational,” I said, my tone dripping with all the sincerity I could muster. “Sierra brings so much creative vision to the project.”
The camera panned toward Sierra. She looked at it from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, it’s been good,” she said, sounding a little wooden.
“Good?” Jillian said, prompting her for more.
“I mean, really great.”
I grimaced. Sierra wasn’t kidding about being a bad liar. “You have to give us more than good and great,” I muttered from the corner of my mouth .
Sierra flushed.
“And now that you’ve been working so closely, how would you describe each other’s biggest strengths?” Jillian asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” I said, looking at Sierra like she was the most dazzling person in the room. “Sierra is one of the most dedicated people I’ve ever worked with. And her attention to detail is what truly sets her apart.”
“Uh…well,” Sierra started, her voice wavering. “Finn…Finn is, uh…really good at…keeping everyone on track, I guess.”
“You guess?” Jillian said.
Sierra glanced at me, then away quickly. “I mean, he’s always, like, organized and makes sure we don’t, um…fall behind,” she said, stumbling over her answer as her cheeks turned even redder.
“Hey, that’s a compliment,” I chuckled, nudging her while trying to play off her awkwardness as endearing.
“Okay, let’s break for a second take,” Jillian said.
“What’s your deal?” I whispered to Sierra as the crew reset for another take.
“Me?” She stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “What’s your deal? Your fake charming mode is creeping me out.”
I glowered at her. “Do you actually want people to watch our movie or not?” I pretended to laugh, loud and hearty, as Jillian re-started the interview with another question. I casually put my hand down on Sierra’s knee, and her leg shot out like I’d knocked her knee with a reflex hammer.
I shot her a tense grin, left my hand in place, and squeezed gently, hoping she’d relax .
“You know what?” Jillian said, cutting the interview short. “I think we’ve got some workable stuff.”
I cocked my head, giving her a look . If we put this on the internet, people were going to think Sierra was being held at gunpoint.
“We’re gonna pull the audio and turn this into a podcast interview,” Jillian amended.
“Good idea,” I muttered, getting to my feet.
“Sierra, a word?” I inclined my head, and she followed me down the hall to my office.
I closed the door and turned to her. She had her arms crossed, her mouth set in a firm line.
“We need to improve that for next time. And you need to stop acting like I’m holding you hostage. You fumbled over every question.”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be so weirded out if you’d cut it out with the weird Prince Charming act.”
“Finn ‘The Face’ Lockhart is the public persona I’ve crafted for more than a decade. It’s who I’ve always been since becoming the spokesperson for Nexus Media and Hart of Gold. That’s who the tabloids expect to see. It’s who they want to see.”
“Finn ‘The Face’?” She frowned, clearly baffled. “Why would they want to see that? What’s wrong with the regular version of you?”
Her words startled me.
“I’ve gotta get to work,” Sierra said, rubbing her face with both hands. “Can we figure this out later?”
“Fine,” I conceded, watching her slip out the door. I was still processing the idea that she might actually like the real version of me—the grumpy jerk who got on her case about her work all the time.
Why would anyone like that guy? Oh, sure, he could be useful when a situation called for an asshole, but the whole reason I’d come up with “ The Face” was so I could charm people when I needed to. The real me wasn’t appealing…except, apparently, to Sierra Banks.
By the time “later” rolled around, we were on set filming a scene with our leads.
It was a fairly simple establishing shot with Tommy and Evelyn walking the streets of Boston late at night, following their second trip to the Mafia speakeasy.
Sierra stood off to the side of the soundstage, waiting to make minor adjustments to Shaw’s dress in between takes.
I’d been trying to talk to her for the last half hour, but unfortunately my mother was monopolizing her attention, and my phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
“What now?” I barked out, answering Brenna’s call.
“Set design just sent over their new renderings for the interior of the Chisholm house,” she said. “They need your okay.”
“I already forwarded them my thoughts,” I said, glancing over as I heard Sierra smother a laugh. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Mom had never really met any of my girlfriends since way back in high school—and even then, I’d always kept the interactions limited.
Controlled.
But there was no controlling Sierra, who seemed to have decided she needed to be my mom’s new best friend. “Something was off about the color palette,” I told Brenna, re-focusing. “Can you find our original meeting notes and send them to set design to make sure they’re on track with the vision?”
“Yep, I’ll get them the notes before lunch.”
“Good. We need approval from the art department by the end of the day so they can start set dressing tomorrow. I also saw the weather forecast for tomorrow, and it might be an issue for us with the location shoot. Get the location manager on the phone and see if we can fit it into the schedule next week instead.”
“Okay, I’ll keep you posted on the availability,” Brenna said, hanging up.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and walked over to the director’s monitor to watch the captured footage in real-time.
“Cut!” X called. “Let’s reset. Kaiden, throw your arm over her shoulder and tug her closer next time.”
The cast and crew reset the shot while my eyes darted over to Sierra.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” X called suddenly. “Watch that cord!”
I turned my head just in time to see Kaiden trip over an extension cord that had been dragged across the set. He tumbled over the fake concrete stoop at the front of the soundstage, careening into a crew member who knocked over one of the key lights.
Everything happened in slow motion. I watched the light sway, unbalanced, tipping onto two legs, right toward where Sierra was standing.
Where was the damn lighting tech? I wanted to shout the question at the top of my lungs, but there wasn’t time.
I was already running, snagging Sierra by her oversized cardigan and hauling her out of the way.
Smash!
The light hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces.
Thud!
I hit the ground next.
Oof !
Sierra hit me, my body cushioning her fall, taking the brunt of the impact as my arms locked around her.
I blinked up at her, catching my breath. Her eyes were wide, looking down at me, the shock written into the perfect, frozen O on her lips. All around us, fake snow drifted off the soundstage.
I reached up, catching a lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Are you okay?”
She blinked repeatedly. “What?”
“You’re not hurt?” Maybe the smarter thing would have been to try to grab the light before it hit the ground. It was expensive, and replacing it would delay filming, but in the moment, my first priority had been to grab her.
“No…no,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not hurt. Thank you…really…I didn’t even realize?—”
Her body shook, and my arms tightened around her. But the next thing I knew, she was being hauled away from me and set on her feet as the crew swarmed us. Chaos set in, questions being hurled back and forth, voices shouting.
I immediately missed Sierra’s weight and warmth, but I tried to push that thought away. I took X’s offered hand and let him drag me to my feet. He clapped my shoulder. “Close one. Are you good?”
“Fine,” I muttered, trying to get a handle on myself.
I turned to the crew, directing my frustration at them.
“We need a new light in. Stat! Someone clear away this broken glass, and tape down the damn cables before something worse happens. Quickly , people. I want production up and running in fifteen minutes. And get the on-set medic to have a look at Sierra!”
“I’m fine,” she protested. My mother had taken up position next to her, patting her shoulder. “Maybe just a little bruised. ”
“Get the medic now!” I snapped so loudly it sent two production assistants running with their walkie-talkies.
Then I turned on my heel and marched off toward my office, needing a breather where I didn’t have to worry about lights falling or wide, shocked blue eyes positioned so close that they’d been all I could see.