Michael drew his brows together. “In what way?”
She leaned over the desk toward him. “You are not to speak of this to anyone.” Her voice came out harsher than she’d intended and she realized she sounded desperate.
“You need have no fear on that account, Ms. Rossi. I will keep your confidence.”
“The key grip that my brothers insisted I hire is driving me nuts. I don’t want him on the set.” When he didn’t speak, but waited for more, she leaned back against the chair. “I am feeling a lifemate buzz from him, but I know it can’t be real.”
His eyebrows rose. “I, myself, experienced that this past summer.”
“With Princess Dixie, I presume. I’ve heard that congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, his face serious. “And I didn’t trust it because it flickered in and out. Are you experiencing anything like that?”
She shook her head. “It’s so consistently strong that I can barely think with him around. I know from personal experience that the buzz can be faked by a spell, but this man is purely human. This film is important to me — I can’t afford the distraction.”
“The lifemate buzz is not covered in the contract. If you think there’s a spell involved, I recommend getting the witches involved. Consider calling Chicory Connolly. But otherwise I regret to tell you that this contract stands unless he’s broken the terms in some way.”
She sighed dispiritedly. “So I am forced to continue working with him.”
Michael asked, “He’s a key grip, right?” Bianca nodded.
“And they handle the cameras?”
“Not directly.” She pursed her lips together. “They take care of the lighting and are responsible for rigging the cameras in place on the dollies or stands or helicopters — that sort of thing. Why do you ask?”
“Perhaps you could assign him to prepare something out of the studio,” he suggested. “In Town Square, maybe? I know you film there regularly. At least then he wouldn’t be around you.”
She shrugged. “I guess I could do that.”
“And let me get you Chicory’s number.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a business card. “She and her friends do some spell work for us, and also for the Sheriff’s Department. I highly recommend them in witchy matters.”
She reached out and took the card, feeling as though she were grasping at straws. “Thank you.”
He stood and handed her back the file folder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the resolution you were hoping for.”
She grinned wryly. “Unless you know a hit man.”
He raised a shocked eyebrow.
“Just kidding.” She waved a hand in the air. “I appreciate the advice to get him out of the studio.”
He leaned against his desk and waited.
She turned back toward him. “What if I can convince him to quit?”
“Under certain circumstances, that would void the contract. No threats or other illegal coercion, though. Or hit men,” he added.
“Understood.” She tapped the folder and stood, reaching out to shake Michael’s hand. “Thank you. Please give my regards to your father. And remember, tell no one.”
He nodded and assured her, “No one.”
As she walked back out in a fog of disappointment, her mind raced.
How could she get Blake to quit? She couldn’t threaten him, so trolls were out. Even gargoyles. But maybe she could entice him with money. He’d wanted the extra ten percent. Maybe he’d be willing to step aside if she offered him a generous severance package.
What did she have to lose? She’d give it a try.
And if that didn’t work, she’d use her vampire glamour on him. Humans couldn’t resist.
Or, even better, maybe she’d just glamour him first. That would save the studio the hefty severance package. She’d make sure he got the extra ten percent, then hire Lance at the regular price, and not be out any more money. Win-win-win.
She paused. Was she overreacting? Possibly, because of Thomas. The thought made her feel guilty. Blake had been so happy when she’d called him to offer him the job.
Okay, she’d give Blake a week first, just to see if things got better. Then, if they didn’t, she’d go ahead with her plan.
Blake spent the next week working hard and wondering if he’d made a mistake accepting this job. He felt drawn to Bianca, but every time he saw her, she ignored him. If he provided input during the morning meeting, she responded. Otherwise, she sent Ernie to him with messages instead of speaking to him directly.
He could tough it out, but did he want to? Ernie had confided to him that Bianca had wanted to hire Lance Uddy for this project. Maybe he’d free her up to do that. Because working in the same building and feeling this level of attraction to her was distracting him horribly. It was almost like he was being pulled to her magnetically. He had to struggle to focus on his work.
He looked up to see Ernie jogging toward him. “Another message from Bianca.”
Blake shook his head and groaned. “What is it this time?”
Ernie chuckled. “She wants to talk to you this time, dude. Face to face.”
“No way,” Blake said, disbelievingly.
Ernie nodded vigorously. “Yes way. In her office.”
“Wow. The inner sanctum,” he drawled sarcastically. “I don’t know the way.”
“Follow me.”
As they walked, Ernie joked around, finally drawing a chuckle from Blake. Then, appearing thoughtful, he said, “You know, I’ve never seen Bianca so frustrated around a guy. I think she likes you.”
Blake raised his brows. “I seriously doubt that.”
Ernie led the way into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. The doors closed, but the elevator stayed put. An intercom came on, asking who was requesting admittance. “Ernie Owens and Blake Gladwell, per Ms. Rossi’s request.”
Blake spied a small camera in the top corner, so he figured they could see who was there without asking.
The elevator began to rise.
“That’s a pretty high-tech toy just for screening visitors,” Blake mused, aware that they could be listening in and watching from the third floor.
Ernie shrugged. “The office is just outside the elevator doors, so it’s like knocking on the door.”
When the doors opened, Bianca motioned to them.
“Come in, Mr. Gladwell. Thank you, Ernie.”
Blake stepped inside the spacious room and looked around. A large conference table ran along the back and there were couches and seating around a fireplace closest to the elevator. Doors opened into what he assumed were offices on either side.
She led the way to one of the doors, and he followed her into her office. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this caught him by surprise.
This room wasn’t cold. There were artifacts and souvenirs from around the world. He saw a Senjafuda strap, a rectangle of wood from Japan that usually held a person’s name written in Japanese, on a bookshelf. Two African drums sat on the credenza on either side of a Grecian urn. Three large framed landscapes hung on the wall: one of a green Irish field and cottage, one depicting the Statue of Liberty, and the final one an oil painting of an Italian villa overlooking a blue ocean. Other smaller pieces were arranged tastefully on shelves. A glass case displayed several Oscars, along with other awards and statues.
But something else caught his attention. He approached the bookshelf, where a necklace was displayed on a stand. It was carved jade in a Maori design. “From New Zealand?” he asked.
A flash of surprise lit her face. He gathered that she didn’t think a good ole boy from Texas would know enough to ask that question. He should be insulted, he supposed, though she wasn’t the first to underestimate him. Don’t mistake the drawl and y’all to mean ignorant and uneducated, ma’am.
He simply smiled. “My parents took us traveling to many countries when I was growing up.”
She looked at him — really looked at him
— for the first time in a week. “You surprise me, Mr. Gladwell.”
“Please. Call me Blake.”
She hesitated, and then said, “All right. Blake.”
He loved the sound of his name when she said it, with a slight Italian accent.
“Please have a seat.” She motioned toward one of the two couches. Once he took a seat, she sank into a chair close to him. She leaned in and gave him an alluring smile. Her eyes grew intense, the vivid blue brightening attractively, and she held his gaze. “You want to leave this movie set. You’re tired of dealing with the director.”
He was distracted momentarily by the color of those magnificent eyes, but her statement jerked him back to reality. “Excuse me?”
She waved a graceful hand, continuing to gaze at him. “You would like to offer me your resignation.”
He stared at her, leaning back into the couch. What on earth?
He laughed. “Are you trying to Jedi mind trick me?” He put up his hand, Obi-Wan Kenobi style, and said, “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”
She looked shocked and put her hands in her lap. “What are you talking about?”
“What you were just doing.” He waved his fingers in the air between them. “Did you expect me to stare blankly and say, ‘Yes, I want to offer you my resignation. I want to leave this movie set. I’m tired of dealing with the director,’ like some hypnotized guy in one of your movies?”
Her lips opened, but she was silent. She looked shocked. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he knew she didn’t like it.
He leaned closer, until he was only inches from her. He could kiss her if he just leaned in a couple more inches. “I do not want to leave this movie set, and I do not offer you my resignation,” he told her in no uncertain terms
Bianca shook her head in apparent frustration. “Then will you accept a generous severance package?”
“What is going on? Haven’t I been doing a good job here?”
“You’re doing an excellent job.”
“Then why are you trying to kick me off the set?” His eyes flashed with anger and they stared at each other.
Finally, she looked away and sighed. “I’m not,” she replied, sounding resigned.
“Good. Then have a nice day, Ms. Rossi. I have work to do.”
He stood and walked toward the elevator.
Funny. He’d been considering how to get off the set earlier today, but there was no way he was going to be driven off. Or mind-tricked off. Or whatever she had just tried.
He was going to stay on the set of this film. Especially if it bothered Ms. Bianca Rossi.
He fumed as he worked that afternoon, asking himself why he was so incredibly attracted to such a witch, anyway. It was so hard for him to believe she could create a movie having anything remotely to do with romance. Monster movies, he could see. But romances? She was cold as ice, regardless of what he’d thought of her initially.
He stewed all the way through work and on the drive home. He was still angry when he called his brother that evening to vent. He thought he may even need to find a gym to burn off the anger.
“What’s up?” Steven asked in greeting.
Blake cut straight to his story. “My director did the weirdest thing today. She tried to Jedi mind trick me into quitting.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. She came right out and said you want to give me your resignation and you’re tired of working with the director.”
Steven laughed. “Is she as crazy as that sounds?”
“I’m seriously beginning to wonder.”
“Is this the same director you think is so attractive?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Blake grumbled.
“Have you asked her out?”
“She shot me down a week ago.”
Steven laughed. “You’re not used to being the pursuer, are you? You’re used to women throwing themselves at you.”
“I don’t have women throwing themselves at me,” Blake protested.
Snorting, his brother replied, “Even your ex-wife can’t stay away from you. Partner, I’ve got news for you. You might have to expend some energy wooing this woman. It’s a change for you, but it might just be good for you. Remember what Vince Lombardi said — It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get back up.”
“Steven?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow and see if you’re in a better mood,” Steven chuckled as he hung up.
Wildflowers
THE MORNING HAD ALREADY BEEN HECTIC. She’d arrived at six. Dunstan had greeted her with a mug of warmed B+3, her next favorite faux blood after Merl-O, which it was too early for. The meeting had gone from six until seven-thirty, and every moment that she was in the same room with Blake was sheer torture for her. She’d managed to avoid him over the weekend — she absolutely had needed some space from him — and she could still barely look at the man.
She was still embarrassed — and confused.
Why hadn’t she been able to glamour him? He was human, so it should have worked. She’d swear he was human. So she’d tried — and had ended up looking like an idiot in the process.
Maybe Michael Murphy was right and it was time for her to call in the witches for a consult.
The rest of the day had gone that way, off kilter.
The last scene had to be shot forty-three times. Count them. Forty-three. The actors playing the movie’s love interests, Caleb and Rachel, had almost slurred their lines. Had they been drinking Merl-O? Probably not, as they weren’t vampires, but what the heck? But when she’d asked them if they’d been drinking, they’d vehemently denied it.
And Blake Gladwell was back on the set. She could feel him, the buzz growing stronger and weaker, depending on where in the large lot he was. She really needed to send him into town. In fact, she would make that her next task. “Dunstan, would you please ask Blake Gladwell to get some shots in Town Square?”
He shot her a quizzical look. “Any particular shots you want?”
“Just scenery, covered in snow. It’s supposed to snow today about noon.”
“All right. I’ll send him and a few other grips out.”
“Good.” She sighed and got the actors ready for their next shot which — she swore — would not take forty-three takes.
In another half hour, she felt the buzz fade away, to her intense relief. Good. Blake was headed into town.
She got a text from her brother, Leo. “We need a status report, la mia cara sorella.”
She found Dunstan and told him, “Take charge. I need to report in to my brothers.”
He nodded, and she left the set to take the elevator up to the third floor. The elevator automatically took her up, as she and her brothers each had a tiny chip that communicated with the elevator and security systems in the building. She carried hers in a chain around her neck and they carried theirs in their wallets. As the doors slid open, Leo turned to smile at her. Orlando nodded.
She stepped out of the elevator and started giving her report before they could start grilling her. “Things are going well so far. It’s only been two weeks, but we’re on target schedule-wise.”
Leo crossed to her and kissed her cheeks, taking her hands. “That’s good to hear.”
Orlando said, “We also hear you’re a little high on the budget. You paid Blake Gladwell extra to get him on the set.”
She gave him innocent eyes. “You insisted I hire him. He had another offer sitting in front of him.”
“Just be careful. The catering bill just came in, as well.”
“That’s always high.”
“I’m going to talk with Ilene and see if she’ll give us a discount.” Ilene owned A Bite to Eat Café, which provided catering to the studio for all their films. “If she’s smart, she will,” Bianca said. “But she’s catering for Thanksgiving so don’t plan on scrimping there. Many of the cast and crew will be away f
rom loved ones, so I want to have a nice feast for them. I’m also giving them the afternoon off, but they’ll be back to work on Black Friday and Saturday. We can’t take any weekends off with such a tight schedule.”
“I understand.” Leo nodded. “You’re okay so far on both budget and time, so we just wanted to check in.”
“I have things well under control.”
“We heard there were forty-three takes today.”
“Do you have spies in my team?”
Her brothers smiled. Of course they did.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Luckily, that’s not the norm. Both Caleb and Rachel are pros.” She smiled at her brothers. “I need to get back to the set.”
“Yes, of course. We won’t keep you. Would you like to meet us for lunch?”
She shook her head. “I’m just going to grab something at the cafeteria today. I have a busy schedule. This is an important scene coming up.”
She walked back down to the elevator, rode it down, and walked back toward the set, her high heels clacking on the imported Italian marble tile of the lobby. She smiled at Cindy as she passed.
Back on the set, she could sense immediately that something wasn’t right. Instead of filming in progress, there was a crowd of people, both crew and cast, standing in a tight knot.
She hurried forward and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Dunstan jogged over to her, frowning. “There’s been some sort of mix-up with the makeup. It had some really strong allergen in it.”
“How will that affect the filming today?”
“Our main cast, including the hero and heroine, have bad rashes.”
Her heart sank. “How bad? Can we just cover up the rashes?”
“Bad enough that they’re actually swollen. We might be able to cover the rashes on their faces, but we can’t hide the swelling.”
She looked at him and lowered her voice. “What can we do?”
“We can switch to a scene with extras, but we’ll need to go into Town Square because we don’t have them lined up for today.”
“All right. Let’s do that.” She shook her head, her voice still low. “How could this have happened?” And then a horrible thought occurred to her. “Could the makeup have been tampered with?”
The Director Gets a Grip Page 5