Just a Little Camera Shy: A Scripted for Love Novel

by MK Meredith

  “It’s my job to have vision as well, and I think yours is too shortsighted.”

  Roque sighed. “Look, I told you this project was particularly important to me. I need your vision to see my vision. I know what I want.”

  “If you don’t like my work, you have options. You’re a Gallagher. Call your dad.”

  Roque gritted his teeth, working hard to keep from shoving the man’s words back down his throat.

  Just then, Addi stepped between them and placed a hand on Doug’s arm. “Mr. Kemper, do you have a second for me? I’m so new to this, and I have so many questions about directing and was hoping you might humor me over some lunch.”

  She guided the man to a table under a large umbrella, then served him a plate and drink. Sitting herself across from him, she smiled and nodded, and Roque watched in awe as the broomstick slowly slid from the man’s ass. Every time Addi declared, “I had no idea,” his director fell further under her spell, and if he didn’t know better, he’d worry he was falling under it, too.

  She laughed with her head tilted back, waving her hand at the man as if he’d just made the funniest statement she’d ever heard. Probably gave her some line about putting her in his next film. Roque furrowed his brows. He couldn’t see her ever working with a man like Doug.

  She bit her lip, tilting her head, and he caught himself staring at her chin. There was something damn sexy about the almost-there cleft. He pressed his lips together and went in search of his own plate of food. Somewhere separated from directors and chin dimples.

  On the front porch, away from the cast and crew, he ate his lunch and calculated his options. He’d get the money from Fairmont because he didn’t have any other choice. Lunch would be the perfect chance to get the check. No more excuses. He felt like a juggler in a circus keeping a tight hold on Addi, his director, and the ever-tightening budget without losing his grip.

  Addi’s smiling face interrupted his thoughts, unrelenting and as distracting as he’d feared. What kind of man did she date? And why the hell did he care? The thought wouldn’t die. Did she like someone who made her laugh—she had a great face for it—or the philosophical type who waxed poetic with observations about the state of mankind? He could see her admiring both.

  The last woman he’d dated wouldn’t know what “existential” meant. It wasn’t her fault really; she’d been raised for only two things. To marry well and live in Beverly Hills. She hadn’t been uneducated, just unaware of any existence besides one spent marching the sidewalks of Rodeo Drive.

  She’d been fun, but she probably wouldn’t say the same about him. He’d worked—all the time. And in the end, her need to see and be seen with her man outweighed the guaranteed residential zip code she’d achieve by sticking with him.

  It was all for the better. His film had been approaching inception, and the closer the day came, the more demanding his schedule grew. He didn’t have time for relationships. He didn’t have room for error. Besides, he’d already learned the very difficult lesson of how badly he failed those he loved.

  He wiped his hands on a napkin, set his empty plate aside, and pushed up from his seat. Walking across the colorful porch to the steps, he took them one at a time. The whole plan had been to keep his distance from Addi. Helluva good job he’d done at that. He’d wracked his mind to find an alternative position for her, but the project was too important to let her loose on set.

  He counted off the number of steps to the driveway and then along the front of the house to get an idea of the size of the space for another shot he had in mind. Addi probably had the measurements somewhere. She was quickly inserting herself as part of the team, so the chance for that distance he’d been hoping for got smaller and smaller. As it was, in the few hours since that morning, she already had the crew wrapped snugly around her little finger, including his cantankerous director. He’d never seen anyone move so fast as when Addi asked his people to help her—even SueAnn. They’d all be best friends by the week’s end, then he’d be in real trouble. He shook his head, tucking away the measurements for later. Addi had a way about her, to be sure. No one else had ever scattered his thoughts so efficiently. And that was something he’d do well to keep to himself, or he’d never hear the end of it. He worked hard to be taken seriously.

  And he could see that she felt the same way concerning her ability to work for him. She’d proved his initial teasing wrong in a hurry, and he could relate. His modeling career had produced nothing but flak from his family and friends even if he’d been able to put himself through school because of it—one of his proudest accomplishments. The ribbing was good-natured to be sure, but it still caused an itch under his collar. The only one who’d never poked fun at him was his mom. She’d reminded him of how intelligent he was every day since he was a little boy. She’d thought of him as her “beautiful” child. He’d hated that word as a kid. No boy wants to be called beautiful. But his mom had had a way with words like no one else. Now he’d give anything just to hear her call him that one more time.

  His throat tightened.

  That was the exact reason he needed to succeed with this project.

  All of his hard work, everything he’d missed—it had to mean something, to be for something.

  He didn’t think he could take it if it wasn’t.

  Addi waved as the last crew member walked out her front door. “I’m almost done. Go ahead and I’ll lock up.” She sighed as she slid from her crouched position onto her butt and leaned back against the wall.

  Finally.

  The crew had filmed well into the night. New takes and retakes layered upon one another until they blurred into one long take for Addi. The whole process was new to her, and the learning curve left her exhausted. She knew from the beginning her plan wasn’t going to be an easy one, but too many nights like this, and she’d surely expire. As it was, it would be hours before she could go to bed, and the idea of writing was a joke. She’d finally gotten her hands on the health and safety laws and procedures but still had to read through them. The quickest way to lose her job was for Roque to lose his crew.

  There were only a few more minutes left before she had to turn out all the lights, and at half past eleven, the prospect did not please her. One too many practical jokes by her brother and sister left her fearful of what she couldn’t see and who might be lurking behind each corner. It was a consequence of being the youngest sibling.

  It hadn’t been until she’d found the lockup sheet in the folder Roque had given her that she realized living in the house under his nose would be trickier than she’d expected: all equipment turned off, lights turned out, alarm set.

  Stalling for a few more minutes of light, Addi walked around her bungalow taking in the familiar and the not so familiar. With all the equipment, the makeup and costuming trailers outside, and all the crates for the set designers, the crew had to utilize every nook and cranny. She could see her home, but it was half hidden under the production facade of Hollywood—and film equipment. She stared at the corner of the front room where she wrote most of the time. It looked unrecognizable. Where her antique desk used to be sat a stack of steamer trunks. Her framed rejection letters were replaced with faux family photos. She sighed. Soon, she’d get back to her life…soon.

  Grabbing a Greek yogurt, apple, and a bottled water from the fridge, Addi found a flashlight, then, walking back through the house, secured all the windows and double-checked all the equipment. Before locking the back door, Addi stepped through to the stone path that meandered through her backyard to a sloping trail and eventually opened onto the beach far below. The ocean beckoned her, but she hadn’t even an hour to spare for playing in the moonlight. The longer her writing waited, the longer it would take for her dreams to become reality.

  She did, however, have a moment to pull in the night’s still-warm, damp air. Above the endless ocean of midnight silk, the moon’s light rode each crested wave and bathed the evening in a glow of cool blue. The beautiful landscape and mem
ories of her aunt called to her. This was the one place where she’d always felt like she belonged. Addi’s love for her home swelled in her heart with desperate affection.

  Aunt Addi had understood her better than anyone from the moment she was born. It was her aunt who’d introduced her to romance novels and romantic movies, much to her mother’s exasperation. Aunt Addi, you don’t need to fill her head with any more nonsense.

  Her mother had never meant anything by it, but it had been the “any more” that had hurt. When Aunt Addi had died, she’d left a letter, explaining she’d wanted her niece to have a home where she could create and be as fanciful as she liked. A place where she wouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage and would be free to pursue her dream. Unfortunately, her aunt had had more faith in Addi than sense. At least that’s what her family believed. She was sure of it.

  She couldn’t lose it. Wouldn’t lose it. She’d prove her aunt’s faith was deserved. She’d write every free moment she had, and she’d land that contract.

  So she needed to prioritize, she needed to write, and she needed to face the dark of the night—afraid or not.

  Determined, Addi marched back into her home and locked up. Finally satisfied all was locked down, she set the security alarm and, with a shaking hand, flicked out the last light. Immediately plunged into darkness, she pressed her back against the wall and willed her panicked heartbeat to calm down.

  Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, ears ringing, every sense on high alert. She picked her way from the kitchen to the back hallway, using the flashlight, careful not to knock into any of the expensive set pieces. That was a bill she’d rather not add to her list.

  She used a bent hanger she’d stashed away earlier in the day to hook the pull rope and yank down the attic door. Once she’d made her way up the stairs and over to her makeshift bed, the warm glow of the lamp released a sigh of relief from her constricted lungs. Forcing her breath to slow, she demanded her mind let go of the shapes and shadows it swore lurked around each corner on the way. She’d laugh at herself another time but not tonight. There was too much at stake. Right now, nothing was funny about her circumstances.

  Addison Dekker would show everyone that she didn’t need anyone to save her, coddle her, or take care of her.

  Maneuvering the pillows against the wall, she settled back into them and stretched her legs out in front of her. With her laptop on her thighs, she studied the policies and procedures followed by the film industry.

  What she really wanted to do was write. Writing was her gateway to planning, plotting, and dreaming about a world where she couldn’t lose. Each letter, each word, drove her forward to revealing the next adventure, the next lesson, the next love.

  Roque’s charming smile stilled her fingers. She shook her head to rid her mind of the vision, but it persisted. Demanding excellence, he remained—studying her, challenging her with those blue eyes and sexy smirk.

  He’d impressed her today, even though taking his instructions annoyed the hell out of her. Every time he told her what to do, the devil in her made her find some way to tease, but she couldn’t deny the respect that grew from watching him handle his crew, his project. The man had a vision, one he was determined to reveal on film. He had passion and drive, something to prove, though she still couldn’t imagine what. The drive she understood. His urgency to see a passion manifest into a living, breathing entity mirrored her own.

  Leaving the lamp on, she turned on her side, catching a glimpse of herself with the attic reflected behind her in an antique mirror leaning against the far wall. This was a side of herself she didn’t necessarily like the looks of, but she, too, had drive and something to prove.

  If only she could do it without getting caught.

  Chapter 5

  Addi’s alarm sounded, and she fumbled to turn it off. The pounding in her head argued that five a.m. was an abhorrent hour, and she agreed, but she couldn’t risk being found in her pj’s.

  Every muscle in her body ached as she stretched against her hard, makeshift bed. She turned onto her back and draped her hand over her brow to shield the still-glowing lamplight from her sensitive eyes.

  She turned off the lamp and glanced about the attic that was still bathed in the gentle light of the moon through one small round window near the apex of the vaulted roof. A large beam ran the length of the roof, like a spine, with crossbeams that ran wall to wall. The bones of the bungalow. Straight and strong, just like she needed to be.

  “Ugh, if the moon’s still out,I should be, too.” Her voice was a haunting echo in the silence of her home. She was wont to talk to herself anyway, but it seemed very clandestine in the dark when she was kind of, maybe, breaking the law. Breach of contract at the very least. Okay, maybe more. Addi shook her head to rid the worry and the lecturing, nagging voice.

  Hollywood could handle it.

  Pulling the bedding up on her bed, Addi glanced at the clock, a spike of worry sharp at the base of her neck. Roque’s schedule showed start time at seven but anyone could show up at any time.

  She grabbed her overnight bag and hurried down to the bathroom. The irony that she had an overnight bag in her own home didn’t escape her, and she shook her head with a chuckle of derision. The glow from the moon was now accompanied by the very early rays of sunrise. She yearned for a shower, but until she knew exactly what the morning schedule would be, she didn’t dare.

  With a quick face wash, a little makeup with extra eyeliner, and her hair slicked back into a tight high ponytail, she cleaned away any telltale signs she’d used the bathroom—Roque noticed everything.

  The sun was persistent, light filtering through the blinds, and Addi gave a quick check out the front window. All clear. Skirting the set pieces in the living room, she made her way back to the attic.

  Tossing yesterday’s clothes in a pile, she pulled on a crisp white button-up and deep cherry slacks. Grabbing black patent wedges and a matching belt, she then made her way back down the ladder.

  After everything was closed back up, heels on and belt in place, Addi heaved a sigh of relief and yawned. Damn, she was ready for bed.

  An hour later, Addi walked out from the kitchen, two cups of coffee in hand, as Roque stepped through the front door. His look of surprise would have made her giggle if she hadn’t been concentrating so hard on not spilling her peace offering.

  A rush of awareness warmed her chest when he raised a brow in hesitant question, those damn eyes narrowing with a questioning look. He slowly set his bag at his feet as if a sudden move might spook her. Once he straightened back to his full height, she offered him a cup.

  He wrapped his long thick fingers around the porcelain, overlapping hers. His touch seemed to steal the air as she slid her fingers from beneath his, and her breath hitched.

  “Everything okay?” He looked at her.

  Heat flushed clear to her hairline with his question. With a quick shrug, she rubbed her hand against her slacks, then tucked it behind her back. “Of course.” Her breathless tone fell on her own ears, and she winced.

  With a quick nod, he headed toward the kitchen.

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. What in the hell was she doing? Without question, she admired his work ethic and the way he handled his crew. Looks were one thing—and man did he have them—but men with integrity and compassion were on the endangered species list. So it made sense that she was attracted to him.

  What didn’t make sense was why she felt so shy about it. That was very un-Addi-like. He threw her off her game every time she got lost in his gaze or distracted by his touch. She’d have to stay on her toes around him. Following him into the kitchen, she blamed the uncharacteristic sensation on her situation. There was a lot at stake.

  Roque sipped the coffee, a look of pure joy shining from his too-blue eyes before he narrowed them again and pinned her with a look. “What’s the catch?”

  Addi smiled. “I want to call a truce.”

  “A truce?” His que
stion was hesitant. “I didn’t realize we were at war.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, to be fair, you probably weren’t, but I took a little pleasure from pushing your buttons.” She held up her hand with her pointer finger a small distance from her thumb to indicate just how little.

  He studied her for a beat. “I give. You’re right. You can be hardheaded and abrasive.” His face remained serious for a beat then crumpled with a chuckle.

  “Hey, I said ‘a truce,’ no name calling.” Secretly tickled by his assessment, she grinned. After being thought of as ditzy or flighty—at best—for so long, hardheaded and abrasive was a step in the right direction.

  Roque took a seat at the table. “Okay, okay. A truce.” He took another long swallow of his coffee. “Damn, this is good. I’m impressed with what you’ve shown me so far. Speaking of which, why are you here so early?”

  Addi took the seat adjacent to his. She ran her fingertip along the edge of her cup.

  Roque shifted in his seat. She glanced up to find him watching her finger’s slow perusal along the ceramic’s edge. Her body’s immediate response annoyed her which, unfair or not, made her want to make him pay. Again, just a little.

  She bit the end of her finger, sucking the tip, and then picked up her cup for a sip.

  His gaze locked on her mouth, and she struggled to keep from smiling.

  Could he suffer from the same attraction? All of her little ploys to throw him off-balance had been met by a cool professionalism she had to admire. Maybe that rock wasn’t as cold as the name implied.

  Good. It wasn’t right for her to suffer alone.

  He cleared his throat, pulling his eyes from her finger, and made a show of straightening the linens on the table.

  She sipped from her cup then said, “To your first statement, thank you. My work, no matter what it may be, is important to me. Second, this is my home. I prefer to be the first in and the last out when possible. It gives me reassurance. Besides, I figured it was my job to get things opened up and the coffee started.” Placing her cup on the table, she tapped the ceramic once with her nail.