by Amelia Wilde
“Otherwise what?”
“Otherwise, what would be the point?” I throw my hands up in frustration and whirl toward the window. “If nobody thought it was worth anything, then all we’ve done is—”
“Make a movie?” Cannon follows me into the sitting area portion of the room. “Getting it done at all is a huge accomplishment. You have to know that.”
The ache behind my collarbone expands and pulses. “Look, I just… I have to prove all this was worth it. And if anything goes wrong, anything at all, nobody will believe I can do this.”
Cannon steps behind me, his reflection darkly handsome in the window. I watch his arms slide around me from behind like it’s happening to another person. A more beautiful person. A more deserving person. I want to cry.
Does he sense it, or does he see it on my face. “You can’t beat yourself up about this.”
“I totally can.”
“Listen.” A note of exasperation creeps into his voice. “Simon didn’t mean to—I don’t even know what he did, exactly. Drown himself? He didn’t mean to do it. Something else was going on with him. Who knows? Maybe it had to do with the heat. Maybe he sweated out too much salt, and all the water got to him.”
“That’s a good idea,” I tell him firmly. “More shade breaks.”
“Run the damn movie how you’re going to run it.” He kisses the side of my neck in the place that makes my knees buckle, and then he’s there to sweep me up into his arms and onto the bed.
“Not fair,” I whisper.
“What’s not fair is how much clothing you’re wearing.”
Cannon is ultra-efficient as he strips my shirt over my head and reaches for the waistband of my pants. Every touch leaves a silvery trail of anticipation, but—
“Wait.”
He shifts his weight so that we’re eye to eye again. “What am I waiting for? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“What if—” Cannon’s hands are still, but I want them to be moving. Simon is in the hospital, but I want him to be back on set in perfect health. The movie is good, but I want it to be amazing. “What if I fucked that up because of… this?” Once I let the fear off its leash, it runs wild. “What if I made that call about the water breaks and pushed them too far, because—”
“Because I’m keeping you up half the night?” Cannon’s eyes burn into mine. “It’s awful, you know, when you look at me that way.”
I throw my arm up to cover my eyes. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Juno Anderson, Ice Queen, is sorry?” Cannon clicks his tongue. “That’s not the woman I know. The woman I know never takes any prisoners.”
His hands work at the waistband of my pants again, sliding them down over my hips until he can tug them off both feet. Then he comes back up, hooking his fingers through the thin fabric of my panties. “Look at me,” he says, and I yank my arm away from my eyes to do it. “There’s only one way to move past this.” The corner of his mouth twitches. There’s the cocky, flirtatious side of him, back to tempt me out of my worries.
I shouldn’t let him, but when the fabric of my panties drags across my thighs, I don’t stop him.
It makes me completely irresponsible, but when he spreads my legs, I don’t stop him.
It makes me reckless, but at the first stroke of his tongue against my most sensitive folds, I throw my head back and bite my knuckle so my moan doesn’t travel through the wall.
He licks and teases until my clit is swollen and aching, until my hips rise from the bed, until I’m clutching the comforter for dear life, and further—until I explode on his tongue and gasping, I look up at him in the clear light of the room.
Cannon studies my face. “That’s better. But I think I can do more.”
He reaches over, flicks the light off, and doesn’t resurface for a long, long time.
21
Cannon
The bed is empty.
A sliver of bright sun cuts across my pillow, and that’s the first thing I notice—that it’s fucking bright out, and Juno’s not in bed. She’s not in the room, though across in my own room, a faint humidity lingers in the air along with the scent of her shampoo.
I thought she’d sleep in longer than that, given the activities of last night.
But no. Juno’s more high-strung than I thought.
Ten minutes after my breakfast has arrived, there’s a rustle at the door, a sheaf of paper shoved underneath. I go and retrieve it with my mouth full of a bite of over-easy eggs.
SHOOTING SCHEDULE UPDATES. That’s the title of this little bundle of joy. I take it back to the table and flip through it while I finished eating.
The main highlight: Juno’s pushed off the explosion scene. Way off. It’s barely on this schedule at all. Two weeks from now, preliminary setup is supposed to happen.
Her hands were shaking last night, but I thought she’d tough it out. Get the shots she wanted, and move on. This schedule isn’t going to do her any favors when it comes to getting things done early.
I’m supposed to be on the set in thirty minutes, and I spend all of them thinking about Juno. What is she trying to prove? She’ll swear up and down this is only about taking advantage of her big break, but by the tension that gathers in her shoulders at the end of every day, there’s more to it than that. The great Juno Anderson should be confident about crushing her big break, not waiting for someone to hand her a shiny medal at the end.
Maybe she does feel that confident. Maybe, for the first time in my life, I’ve played this thing exactly right. Maybe I’ve broken down her shell so handily that she can’t help but reveal herself to me every night.
Fuck, I love it when she reveals herself.
I smile about it all the way to the makeup tent.
* * *
On set, Juno is transformed.
She is utterly, deadly serious. The woman who was tentatively worried about bonding with the team for some feel-good bonus features is gone. Her militancy lends the set a realism I wasn’t necessarily prepared for. This type of filmmaking is supposed to be grueling work, but Juno has drawn a line in the sand.
Four days into the new regime, Matt and I are filming a series of scenes on the FOB set. It’s hot as fuck, and I felt Juno worrying about it the moment I got out of makeup. She’s been staring at everyone like they might collapse at any moment.
This scene was designed to add some action and suspense into the film, to reinforce our friendship, so Matt and I spent time running the lines the last couple days. On my previous movies, I might have put in a hot thirty minutes running lines with the lead actress, but nobody ever demanded it of me. Not the way Juno tacitly demands that everybody get their shit together. It’s tiring to put in that much work—about as tiring as it is to stay up into the early hours with her every day, but I’m too far in to stop either thing now.
It’s paying off. The desert wind licks at my cheek, and for a moment, all the cameras disappear. I feel myself slipping into him—into Dayton—and when I look at Matt, I don’t see the scrappy asshole who fought his way into the role. I see Wes, Dayton’s best friend. I’m already dropped in by the time she says “Quiet on the set,” and I don’t hear the rest of the back-and-forth chatter between her and the crew until she says “Action” and I walk into the scene like I’m living it.
“Should I care?” I ask Matt.
He stares straight ahead. “About what?”
“About that look on your face.”
“No look.”
I pause, take a breath, look out into the distance. “What do you think is out there?”
This is the meat of the scene, and the timing is perfect. I can feel it in my bones. Matt opens his mouth to speak—
“Cut!”
He whirls toward Juno, whose mouth is pressed into a grim line. “What happened? Shit, that was a good take.” He laughs a little, running his hand through his hair. I can see the frustration in his posture, but Juno doesn’t seem to notice it at all.
&nb
sp; “I think we have to break.”
She doesn’t see it, because her eyes are on me.
“I don’t,” I say from behind Matt. “Let’s reset and go again. There’s a good vibe this time arou—”
“No.” Juno rushes out from behind the camera and over to where we’re standing. She peers up at me, and all across the set, people are stopping work to look. “Your face looks red.”
I give her an easy smile, which is as much an acting job as anything I’ve done since we started making this movie. “We’re in the desert. I think that’s to be expected.”
A laugh goes up around us, and Matt saunters back to where we’re supposed to start the scene.
“It could be heat stroke.” Juno’s voice is low, urgent. “I’m not willing to take the chance.”
I stand up tall. “Five minutes, everybody. We’ll be right back.”
Juno’s mouth drops open. I’ve never openly stolen her authority right out from under her on the set, but honestly, this is all too much. “Five minutes,” she calls. It’s useless, since everyone is already fast-walking to their preferred break stations. I put my hand on the small of her back and steer her directly to the trailer, push her in, and slam the door behind us.
“You’ve got to stop.”
She rounds on me, defiant. “What was that out there? This is my set, Cannon. You can’t call for breaks and make me look like an idiot.”
“I’m not the one making you look like an idiot.” I stab a finger back in the direction of the set. “Everyone out there thinks you’ve died and been reincarnated as some horrible middle manager.”
“Someone said that?” A cruel pink rises to Juno’s cheeks.
“Nobody would have the balls to say it to you, but I’m saying it. You’re taking things too far. It’s a group of grown adults out there. I can fucking tell if I’m in danger of having heat stroke.”
Juno lifts her chin. “Safety is the number one priority of this production, and—”
I have to stifle a laugh. “Fuck that. Seriously, fuck that. The only thing anybody wants out there is to make a good movie, just like you.”
“You’re telling me nobody cares about the rules and regulations that keep us all from getting decapitated by helicopters?”
“That was one time!” I shout. “There aren’t even any helicopters in this production, and I don’t know who you think is working out there, but you’ve got the best in the business. Everybody’s following the rules and regs. I fucking promise you. The only person taking it to a ridiculous level is you.” Her chin quivers and she grits her teeth. “I’ve gotta tell you, if you want people to sign on to movies with you, you have to be less of a dictator.”
“That’s bullshit,” she says, the slightest quaver in her voice. “Lots of directors are total dictators.”
“Look. I shouldn’t have said it that way.” I step closer to her and listen to the change in her breathing. My own body responds to it. I start with a slow smile. “I brought you in here to show you that you can relax.”
“I can’t—”
“That’s not up to you.”
Before she can say another word, I pick her up in my arms and back her up against the wall, balancing that firm ass against the flimsy barrier of the trailer. Juno clings to me like I’m a line, her kisses hungry and searching.
“I have to get back out there,” she gasps.
“Not until you can behave.”
It makes her shiver in my hands, and in the cool of the trailer, I press against her, feeling the taut muscles of her legs contract as she wraps them tighter around my waist. I can feel the heat of her through our clothes. The deeper the kiss gets, the harder I get until every swing of her hips is pure, unadulterated torture. I swirl my tongue over her lips, over her neck, over that stretch of skin at her collarbone. She strains against me, trying to make contact, and that’s when I set her on the floor.
Juno’s panting, her hair a mess. “Not fair. That’s not fair.” She lifts her hands to her hair and shoves it back into place, somehow making it even worse than it was. Her eyes are pure lightning. “You’re—you’re going to leave me like this?”
I’m backing toward the door, back to the set, because I’m on a knife-edge of pleasure, and if she takes off even one article of clothing, we’ll both be fucked. “I’m leaving you with a choice.”
“What’s the choice?” She’s indignant, and it makes me want her even more.
“You can stay in here and… help yourself. Or, you can come back to work, act like a human instead of an evil queen, and I’ll give you three times as much later.”
She frowns then takes a running start and jumps back into my arms. Her mouth is frantic on mine, desperate, and when she pushes back, it nearly takes both of us out the door of the trailer. “You’re the worst,” she hisses, her eyes filled with unadulterated lust. She wriggles herself out of my arm, straightens her shirt, and leaves the trailer without looking back.
“It’s for your own good,” I call after her.
She responds with her middle finger in the air.
“That’s my girl.”
A second middle finger.
I follow her back out onto the set, where Matt is waiting.
“What did you do?” he says under his breath. “Show her a good time?”
I stare him down until he looks away.
22
Juno
In the middle of my brand-new shooting schedule, it rains.
It rains a ridiculous amount, and it’s all anyone can talk about. Apparently, it’s unusual for it to rain this much in this part of California this time of year. If the people at the hotel are to be believed, it’s a hundred-year event.
I care that the rain is here at last, but only insofar as it’s ruining my fucking schedule, beating it down with every drop of rain on the roofs of the FOB sets.
Deep breathing. So much deep, calming breathing.
I’ve spent the morning revamping the schedule to accommodate the missed shooting time, and now I’m going through a backlog of dailies that’s making me insane.
Not because they’re bad; they’re not bad. They’re good. Way better than I ever imagined they would be. A hopeful pride swells in my chest even to see the shittiest takes. I’m doing this.
And yet…
Maybe I’m not.
I watch them all once, then again, taking extensive notes. It’s going to be a process, the notes. I’ll have to narrow down the most important aspects, rank them in order of actual necessity, and streamline them so I can communicate what I want with the crew.
And all the while, I will have to stare at Cannon’s face without touching him.
I’m huddled in a tucked away corner of the lobby next to a rain-lashed window when I sense it.
He’s here.
It’s a skill I never thought I’d acquire, never in a million years, but I can smell Cannon on the other side of the room. It helps that he wears a signature cologne. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s expensive and it makes him highly lickable at the end of the day.
I cannot think about the end of the day right now. I have to focus on the work ahead of me. Letting it spiral out of control is not an option, so I brace myself for the moment ahead when Cannon will—
“Hey.”
That voice. That voice. I think of twisting my face into a disgusted grimace at the movie theater with my sister and want to reach back and slap Past Juno. She was an idiot.
Cannon bends down and presses his face into the curve of my neck.
“Hi.” I push him off. “You can’t do that here.”
“I can’t do that in this hidden alcove?” He sits easily in the overstuffed armchair across from me. “It looks like you came here on purpose.”
“I did. To work. Not to be distracted by you.”
He frowns. “Do I distract you?”
Hook, line, sinker. “In the interest of getting all of this done today, yes. Yes, you do.” I look him in the eye. �
��That’s an unfortunate side effect of… what we’ve been doing.”
“Back up.” He waves a hand in the air. “I’m not a disease.”
“Lust is a disease.” I must be channeling some puritanical pilgrim, because the moment the words are out of my mouth, I can’t keep a straight face.
Cannon snorts his laughter. “I’ll give you another take. That was…. I don’t even know what that was.”
I twist around in my seat, scanning the lobby. Except for one assistant getting a fresh steaming cup of terrible hotel coffee, it’s a wasteland. The nice thing about this alcove is that I can survey the domain without being seen. Once I tuck myself into the chair, I’m not visible.
I lower my voice regardless. “Knowing you’re on the other side of that door makes it impossible to work. And I need to work.”
He gives me a lazy, satisfied grin. “I came down here expecting complimentary chocolate chip cookies. I didn’t know I’d be on the receiving end of pure gold.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cannon leans in, balancing his elbows on his knees. “There are these… moments.” His dark eyes sear into mine, pure heat laced with amusement. On any other man, I’d hate this expression. On him?
Let’s just say I have to clamp my thighs shut tight to keep myself under control. And it’s still failing.
“Moments?”
“Moments when you’re brutally honest.” He narrows his eyes. “Sometimes, you can even be vulnerable.” He whispers the last word like a dirty secret, and with a pang, I realize it is. It might not be a particularly well-kept secret, but I’ve been doing my level best for years to rise above any feminine weakness.
That has worked about as well as staying away from Cannon has.
My breath catches in my throat, and without looking, I press the power button on the tablet, switching off the screen. “No,” I say out loud, and flick it back on. “I can’t do this right now. Be gone.”