Between Takes

“Mona? Are you there?” An American voice asked, desperation leaking into her cheery tone.

I couldn’t have heard her right.

She couldn’t have actually offered me a job as an actor’s assistant. Because why would she do that? I’m not even remotely qualified. My sister was an agent too, and I’d learnt plenty from her drunken rants when one client or another got a bit out of hand. But that didn’t equal experience.

But what if I hadn’t misheard?

“So I’m clear: you want me to babysit an off-the-rails actor for six months?” My light Scottish accent deepened with my confusion.

Sherry chuckled. “That about sums it up. But if he asks, you’re his assistant.”

Fuck! She was serious.

I let my head fall back against the sterile white wall behind me. The jolt of my scalp lightly scraping against the brick stung, but it did nothing to ease my racing heart.

“And my sister thought I was qualified?”

“I know this would be your first assistant job, but Isla was certain you were my girl, and frankly, based on the tales she’s told me, I agree with her.” Her words ran at a mile a minute, stressed but still cheery as she tried to reassure me.

Isla, my talent agent sister, had abandoned both me and Edinburgh for rival Glasgow almost six months before. Why would she think I could wrangle difficult stars? It still didn’t make sense.

My background was in marketing. Although, I must have sucked at it because no way should I still be struggling to enjoy the job after two years and three attempts with different companies. I didn’t know the first thing about managing an actor.

Logically, I knew that was a huge issue here. And yet a stupid thrill continued working its way into my brain.

It would be something different, something challenging.

“What tales?” I asked, remembering Sherry was still there.

“She told me how you got MJ Harris on the stage during your college Freshers Week.”

My eyes fell shut, trying to suppress the memory of an itchy rapper who wanted to do nothing but snort his freshly delivered coke and skip out on a room full of drunk first years screaming his name.

He didn’t get the coke, and he didn’t skip out.

Only because I snapped a photo of him with the bag before snatching it and racing into the bathroom with it. He hadn’t been prepared for a fresh-faced second-year Fresher’s Helper stepping in and swiping his precious drugs. I’d dangled that tiny bag over the toilet with my phone in my other hand, poised to post it all over social media. His eyes had bugged out, but he gave in.

When the show ended, I was there, waiting at the side of the stage to return his prize. I didn’t care if he destroyed his brain cells with it. My job had been to get him on that damn stage. After that, he was someone else’s problem.

“I really need a repeat, Mona. Shaun is trying to dig himself into a hole. I’ve spent too much time making that man, and I won’t let his sorry attempt at self-destruction ruin it now.”

Okay, but a drug-addict rapper wasn’t the same as an award-winning TV star. Falling from grace or not, he was a big fish, and I was a tiny minnow. He’d stomp me into the ground without breaking a sweat.

“I need you, Mona. I’m desperate,” Sherry whispered, the words strangled with disgust. “He’s going to tank Mystery Lines, his latest TV project, and destroy my reputation. There’s an eye-watering amount of money riding on him getting to wrap, and I need a badass who won’t take his shit.”

Silence fell between us as I let her words sink in.

I’m a badass? Funny, I didn’t feel like one these days. I felt like a floundering failure who couldn’t figure out which way was up half the time.

“Please say you’re in on this!”

Despite myself, I grinned. Someone thought I could whip the golden boy of television into shape. Who cared if that person was my sister? Someone believed in me.

“Did I mention that I’m desperate and there’s a hefty pay cheque waiting for you?”

“How hefty?” I asked, pursing my lips to hold in any rash responses.

Pay at my current job wasn’t great. It was enough to cover the day to day, but I didn’t want to live pay cheque to pay cheque. I hadn’t been able to save very much and that wouldn’t change, not even with my frugal ways. Thankfully, I didn’t have student loans to worry about – one pro of being born Scottish: university was free. Even a slight increase would be huge.

My eyes bulged at the figure she quoted. If I planned it right, I could buy a house outright at the end of the contract with that kind of cash. “When do I start?”

“Oh, thank fucking god!” She sighed, and I could easily imagine her slouching down in an insanely expensive swivel chair. “Monday. You start Monday.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to agree when my brain connected the dots.

My eyes widened. Today was Friday. I would be giving only a few hours’ notice.

True, I’d had a lot of trouble finding a job I actually liked, but I’d never up and quit with no warning before.

“Mona?” Sherry’s cheery voice pulled me out of my panic spiral. She’d been talking, and I’d zoned out.

“Sorry. I missed that.”

“I said, because you’re coming to my rescue at the last minute, I’ll include a relocation bonus.”

I stared at the white wall above the stairs, frowning.

Relocation bonus. Why did I need a relocation bonus?

“The job’s not in Glasgow?” I asked, my words slow and measured as I tried to put the pieces together.

“No, dear. Shaun’s in Cardiff. I need you in Cardiff.”

Silence met her clarification. Quitting a job I hated with a shit supervisor was one thing. But packing up my life and moving four hundred miles down the country without notice? That needed a bit more thought.

And I had to do it all in a weekend.

“On Monday,” she repeated, concern diluting her upbeat tone. “Is that a problem?”

Was it a problem?

Isla had clearly given her stamp of approval. She wouldn’t miss me. My brother was in London and my parents had retired to Cornwall nearly a year ago. In Cardiff, I’d be closer to all of them. The fact was, there was nothing holding me in Edinburgh. I didn’t need to worry about leaving anyone behind. My life here was boring and predictable at the best of times.

“No problem at all. I’ll get everything sorted at my end.”

Once the words left my mouth, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. That is until I realised that I now needed to walk back into the office and give my dickhead of a supervisor three hours’ notice of my departure. I was nervous – hands-shaking nervous. I had no idea how he would take it. He’d either be gleeful or downright mean about it.

“I’ll arrange everything here too,” Sherry said, the edge in her voice raising my eyebrows. “I’m going to contract you with the agency rather than Shaun directly. If you run into any problems working for him, let me know immediately and I’ll jump in if you need help.”

What problems should I be expecting?

“By the time you arrive on Monday, the production team will have your passes ready. I’ll text you the details you need and send over the contract by the end of the day.” She cleared her throat, hesitating over something. “Do you have questions for me?”

Aside from what the hell am I getting myself into?

“What exactly does an assistant do?”

“Keep him on track, dear,” Sherry said, some of the tension draining from her voice now. “He’s in a weird place and following through with his commitments is sometimes challenging for him. Keep his schedule up to date, make sure he’s attending all his meetings – especially with the producers – get him to set on time, remind him to memorise his lines, manage his communications, run errands. Try not to piss him off.” Sherry chuckled at that. “But that’ll be nigh on impossible, so I’d ignore his complaining if I were you.”

The process sounded easy enough on its own, but throw in a volatile actor and it might not be as straightforward as it appeared.

I swallowed hard. It would be fine.

Besides, I was a badass now. I could handle anything.

“Congratulations!” Isla cried a couple of hours later.

Bang.

I jumped as she popped the cork on the bottle of champagne she held. I pulled my short pink hair back into a small but messy ponytail and sighed. I had two days to pack up my life and move. There was no time for hairbrushes or showers or make-up.

There was also no time for champagne and getting very, very drunk, but Isla wore a huge grin I couldn’t refuse. The pride shining in her eyes was my undoing. It had been a while since I’d felt deserving of it. Besides, a move like this was huge. Why shouldn’t I celebrate a little?

Despite my frazzled state, I accepted the glass with an answering smile of my own.

I’d found Isla in my flat with packages of flat-packed cardboard and alcohol when I got home. Now, we stood surrounded by boxes, most of them empty. Assembling them had been a sweaty feat that came with a lot of swearing and one too many paper cuts. Who knew you could get a paper cut from a cardboard box!

“How did quitting go?” Isla took a seat on the arm of my sofa.

I pulled a face and stuffed a wrapped plate into the box.

“Did he blow up?” Isla chuckled. “Oh, please tell me he made an absolute fool of himself?”

“Is, get real.” I rolled my eyes and continued wrapping kitchenware. “He was gleeful, belittling me and my life choices. I bit my cheek and waited through it. It was all pretty smooth sailing after that.”

Isla blinked at me, a frown forming between her brows. “No comment on the work you’d be leaving unfinished.”

“I offered to do a handover, but he didn’t want me to finish up any of my projects because, and I quote, my ‘work ethic would make a mockery of his highly respected clients’.” Read: tiny pet shop fronting a puppy mill.

Isla leaned back, absorbing the surprising turn. I’d been expecting a lot worse too.

“I’m just relieved to be free of such a mind-numbingly boring job.” I smirked, remembering how I’d exited the building. “I might have skipped through the foyer.”

Amusement twinkled in Isla’s gaze when she met mine. “You didn’t?”

I nodded. “My feet left the ground and everything. Security watched me go with a bemused smile. All I needed was a dye job, a pair of killer red heels and a yellow brick road, and you could call me Dorothy.”

But alas, I was rather attached to my pastel-pink shoulder-length cut. It stood out in stark contrast to my sister’s more conventional long honey-blond tresses. We shared our mother’s sharp features, which made us look younger than we actually were. Isla was two years older than me at twenty-seven, and even she got ID’d half the time.

“I’m so proud of you.” Isla raised her glass to the air in toast.

Funny, I thought I’d packed the glassware already.

“I’ve done nothing yet.”

“Nonsense. You’re taking a brave risk and I couldn’t be happier for you.” Isla took a seat on my sofa and sipped her bubbling glass. “You watch. This will be just what you need.”

I didn’t doubt I needed a change of pace. Something was very definitely lacking in my life, and nothing I tried fit. I wasn’t delusional; I knew this would be a challenge, but it felt right.

Right or not, my grin wilted at the edges. “Even though I only got it because of you?”

“Sweetheart, getting into this business on your own is really bloody hard.” She shrugged, taking a sip of champagne. “The entertainment industry is a nepotistic business. Do you know how many friends, siblings and children I’ve seen filter through my agency because they’re connected to one person or another?”

I shook my head. Isla worked with five other agents. It couldn’t be that many.

“At least a hundred in the last six years.” She shrugged, her eyes glinting with mischief as mine widened. “But I was one of them, so I’m definitely not complaining, and no one is going to bat so much as an eyelash at you.”

Isla tapped at her phone, her forehead creasing in concentration while she searched for something. The matter closed for her, and maybe it should be for me too. If it was normal, why should I care that I lacked experience? I’d been perfectly capable in uni. I’d managed people and schedules at the student union for most of my degree. Surely that counted for something?

I wrapped another plate in newspaper and moved onto the next, my jaw tightening as I watched my sister type away. She was supposed to be helping me. The contents of my entire one-bed flat needed packing and hauling an hour down the road to her flat in Glasgow in the morning. If we didn’t want to be up until 2AM, there needed to be more wrapping happening alongside the celebrating and distracted texting.

I didn’t think I had a lot of stuff, but it was hard to avoid the facts when faced with packing it all up and storing it. The truth was: I owned a lot of unnecessary shit. What single person needed twelve plates or twenty mugs? Yes, they were all pretty designs, but I didn’t have any friends left to entertain. It was all wasted money and space.

My smart speakers kicked in thanks to Isla, blaring “That Don’t Impress Me Much” by Shania Twain and scaring the bejesus out of me. Isla wrestled the plate from my grip, a huge grin spreading across her face again. Then she took my hands and pulled me away from the boxes.

When we were kids, we used to dance around the kitchen to this song. One of us was always tripping up our parents as they made dinner. An answering smile tugged at my lips.

“I told Sherry you were a badass, and you are. You just need to be reminded of it,” Isla shouted, jumping up and down to the music, her hair flying in all directions and her hazel eyes flashing with mirth. She used her grip to force my body to twist, but with at least two inches on my five and a half feet and considerably more muscle mass, she didn’t need to try too hard.

We collapsed onto the sofa as the song ended, laughing too hard to breathe. For a moment, I blocked out the practicalities and leaned into the excitement. Monday I’d be in a new city, with a new flat, a new job and new experiences. I didn’t know what was coming, but the uncertainty held its own thrill.

Isla pulled out her phone and started typing again. She dropped it in my lap before picking up a pile of newspapers. I glanced down at the phone, frowning. A striking pair of green eyes stared up at me from the screen.

“I’ll get some of these boxes filled. You do a little digging on your new assignment.”

Assignment. I snorted. That made it sound like I was a spy and he was my next target.

I scanned the page of articles that a search for “Shaun Martin” generated. The first couple of hits were from gossip websites, and I rolled my eyes at their clickbait-y titles.

THE TYLER–MARTIN BREAK NO ONE SAW COMING

WHO’S TO BLAME FOR SHILY SPLIT?

DRUGS, SEX, ALCOHOL AND ROCK-N-ROLL: TOO MUCH FOR SHAUN MARTIN?

SHAUN MARTIN CRASHES OUT. LILY TYLER TO BLAME?

On and on the headlines went. Some insinuated that Shaun was violent and that’s why Lily kicked him to the kerb after twelve years. Others suggested he’d only stuck with her for the fame. All of them quoted anonymous “sources” close to the couple. I knew enough about Isla’s job to not put any stock in some anonymous prat taking a pop at his or her friends. If they were even friends.

“Have you seen some of these?” I asked Isla, disgust heightening my voice.

She nodded. “I had a glance before I gave Sherry your number.”

“‘Acclaimed celebrity actor Shaun Martin crashes stunt car two weeks after pop-rock sensation Lily Tyler ends long-term relationship with him. Is this his cry for love or a cry for help? Sources close to Martin tell New Hollywood Tyler pulled Martin out of an abusive childhood home and gave him a career. After the breakup, he’s worried his career is going to slip away without her. He was going out with a bang, they said.’”

I glanced at Isla, dropping her phone on the sofa. “How can they print things like that?”

“It’s a tabloid paper.” She shrugged, not even pausing as she piled my DVDs into a box. “They print whatever they like and keep a staff of lawyers on retainer.”

The whole thing left a foul taste in my mouth. The man was hurting. Maybe he needed a little room to breathe without the world avidly watching him for the smallest crack.

Juggling a coffee cup while power walking across a busy, sprawling studio lot was my worst idea today. But it was only 8AM, and there was still plenty of time for bigger fuck-ups – not that I was planning to fuck up. It was just the kind of thing I was braced for after Sherry’s cryptic warnings and my internet searches.

It’s not like I didn’t set six alarms last night. I even skipped my morning coffee. All to make up for the fact that I woke at 7:15AM to the shouting of my new flatmates returning from some bender of a night out. I’d missed every single alarm and lost any time to dawdle with my own drink and sooth my jumping nerves.

In under an hour, I made it out of the shower, dressed, drove across Cardiff, picked up my security passes, and stopped to pick up his coffee order, as Sherry directed, from the Craft Services table at the studio. I didn’t really have time for it, but considering I wanted to make a good impression my first day, I stopped. Maybe it would sweeten him up and save me a lecture from Mr Hotshot actor on tardiness.

Although he definitely couldn’t talk.

Sherry’s extremely lengthy briefing email made it crystal clear that my real job was to keep him on time and out of trouble.

Skidding to a halt, I barely avoided getting run over by a rack of clothes. The wardrobe assistant scowled at me, her eyes fixed on the large soy milk mocha I held dangerously close to her treasures. She barrelled on and I blew out a relieved breath. Pretty multi-hued pastel hair or not, I didn’t want to mess with that death glare.

When the coast was clear, I snuck a glance at my watch. Fifteen minutes to make-up. Fuck.

I took off at a run – which, let me tell you, is not easy on grass; adding in ballerina pumps and a full scalding-hot cup of coffee was asking for trouble. But by some miracle, I didn’t spill it, and I even made it through the maze of identical-looking trailers. I followed a hunch that his would be the biggest, and I wasn’t wrong. I stopped near a trailer with a laminated sign of his name to catch my breath and compose myself before I approached the lion’s den and knocked.

My heart was still in my throat, but at least when I banged on the door, I was certain words would come out of my mouth.

Seconds stretched into minutes as I stared at the door. We didn’t have time for more of a delay, and I really didn’t want Shaun to be late to set my first day. What a failure that would be.

But knocking was gaining me nothing but bruised knuckles.

Sherry had been clear: Shaun was never on time these days. No way had he already left for make-up. Plus, I could hear the quiet buzz of a TV. The hotshot was in there, and he was ignoring me.

I’ve never been great with people ignoring me – just ask my brother. Call it youngest child syndrome if you want, but the fact is I learned how to make people give me their attention at a young age. And right now, some uppity TV star crashing to earth was not getting in my way.

With renewed vigour, I slammed my hand against the door repeatedly. It stung, but it was effective. The trailer rattled with my thumps.

Heavy footsteps raced towards the door and I stepped back. It narrowly missed my nose as it flew open.

“What?” Shaun Martin shouted, glaring down at me with hard eyes.

For a moment, I lost my words.

I’d seen pictures, of course, but nothing could prepare me for the real deal. The fire in his eyes proved he had a mammoth temper. With all that animosity centred on me, my brain stuttered.

But after a few breaths, I snapped out of it. I’d allowed no one to have that kind of power over me. Not my teachers, not my boss, definitely not my ex-boyfriend. I certainly wouldn’t start with Shaun Martin. If he wanted to glare at someone, he could look in a mirror.

I pushed my shoulders back, cleared my throat and offered my free hand. “Mr Martin, I’m Mona Baines. It’s nice to meet you.”

The glare went up a notch. Okay, so killing him with politeness isn’t going to work.

“May I come in?” I asked, trying for a sunny smile.

Somehow his face darkened further. He crossed his arms – his very muscular arms – and blocked the doorway.

“I have your mocha.” I offered the cup, forcing my smile back in place.

His face softened as his eyes dropped to the coffee, and I thought for sure that would be my in. But he didn’t ease his stance or so much as twitch towards the cup.

“Sherry said soy milk mocha was your drink.” I frowned down at the cup. Come to think of it, why did I believe his agent actually knew him? My sister had a file on all of her clients, but that didn’t mean Sherry was as diligent. “Never mind. I can get you something else from Craft Services.”

“Why is my agent telling you my coffee order?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

His eyes narrowed, and I took that to mean no.

My bravado slipped along with my smile. “I’m your new assistant.”

Silence followed my declaration. I had to give up on winning this asshole with kindness. Every time I smiled, his face darkened.

“Not a chance,” he muttered before swinging the door shut in my face. A distinctive click of locks followed.

I blinked at the plastic door. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“You did what!” Shaun roared from behind the door moments later.

I flinched. It was loud, okay? Maybe I should check in with make-up and let them know he’ll be late. Find myself a headset too, just in case anyone is looking for him.

Before I could move more than two steps, the door flew open. I froze, my wide eyes fixed on the handsome man using his striking green gaze to turn me inside out.

“You!” he shouted, pointing a long finger at me. “Just to be clear: I did not hire you. I don’t need you.”

He held the phone away from his ear as a shrill voice blared from it. I stood over six feet away, and even I could hear Sherry tearing into him.

“It was one time.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth. “They can’t get their knickers in a twist over one late start.”

It was actually five in two weeks. Sherry was a very talkative person, and then her briefing notes gave even more detail. Probably not great business practice, spilling your client’s secrets in writing, but right now, I was grateful.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m handling it.” He dragged his hands through his thick brown hair, tugging at the ends a little too hard.

Someone is stressed.

“That’s ridiculous,” Shaun muttered. “I’m the star! They wouldn’t.”

They so would – or so Sherry said.

Apparently, he wasn’t the easiest person to handle on set. Just two weeks into a gruelling six-month schedule and Shaun had already alienated half the crew. The producers had been amicable to start, but now they’d started to see that their chosen star was driving them into the sun.

The fight drained from Shaun’s shoulders and the tension bled out of him. Moments later, he slumped against the doorframe. His eyes scanned slowly up my body, and something about his unfocused but softening gaze made goose bumps break out along my arms.

My boss was checking me out.

It lasted for all of five seconds, and then my spine stiffened and I folded my arms across my chest. With a leisurely pace, his eyes rose to my hard face. He smirked before focusing his attention back on Sherry.

“Fine. But it’s a trial and when I say it’s done, it’s done.”

I was fairly certain Sherry wouldn’t agree with his estimations. He tensed and I barely stopped myself from smiling in triumph.

Take that, Hotshot!

“Are you fucking serious?” His eyes fixed on me, eying me like whatever threat Sherry had issued was entirely my fault. Given her desperation to get me here, I was fairly certain it was a threat. I glared right back at him. “Pretty sure I employ you, Sherry. Are you enjoying the beach house my fee earned you?”

Oh yeah, entitled asshole alert. Somebody had forgotten his roots.

My research said Shaun Martin didn’t come from an acting dynasty. He grew up in a small working-class South Wales town, went to a secondary school. If the critics were to be believed, he was a natural talent. He’d never had acting lessons, no Sunday drama clubs or drama classes in school. With all that, you’d think he’d be a bit more humble.

“I’m telling you this won’t work, but whatever.” His lip curled like a sullen child’s. All he needed to do was stomp his foot and the image would be complete. He grumbled one more time then hung up.

Shaun clattered down the steps and sauntered towards me. I tensed and eyed him like the shark he was. He took the coffee from my rigid hands. I was rather proud of myself for keeping the damn thing intact all this time.

“What did you say your name was?”

This close, I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. I wasn’t short by any stretch of the imagination, but he made me feel tiny and vulnerable. Not a thing I’d ever wanted from a man. And I wouldn’t start wanting it now.

“Mona.”

“Fine, Mona. It looks like you’re my PA.” He sipped the coffee, pulling a face when it hit his tongue. I hated lukewarm coffee too.

He lowered the cup and fixed me with a glower meant to make me sink into the dirt, I’m sure.

“Ground rules: Stay out of my way and we’ll be fine. Take my calls. Your number one job is to keep the producers and my agent away from me. Clear?”

Not bothering to wait for a reply, he turned around and walked back to his trailer. I followed him, disbelief and outrage warring for control of my mouth. Outrage won.

“No dice. I’ll do my job.” My firm tone caused him to spin around, a quirked eyebrow raised. “I’ll keep you on track and that includes keeping you out of a bottle and attending creative meetings with the producers who took a massive gamble on your falling star. My job is to get you through this show in one piece and make sure you’re still hireable.”

“Now, wait—” he started, but I raised my hand, cutting him off. His mouth hung open in shock.

“You may not like me. Or the situation,” I continued, raising my voice to discourage any more interruptions. “But I’m what you’ve got. It’s me or a huge fee when you fail to complete this show and maybe the end of your career as you know it. You have no choices left.”

His lips flatlined as my meaning sank in. If he didn’t get his act together soon, he could kiss his A-list status, and all the perks that came with it, goodbye. If he fucked up this show, he’d be too much of a liability for any of the big studios or production companies to take the risk.

With my speech done and my position clear, I waited. And waited some more. He observed me. His hard gaze bore into me, searching for a crack. I didn’t so much as flinch.

“Fine. It’s you. Now do your job and leave me the fuck alone.” Shaun spun on his heels and bounced up the steps.

The door swung shut behind him again.

Oh no, he didn’t. I stomped up to his door and slammed my fists against it. Not looking for a repeat of the last time, I backed away fast. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and put on my best “don’t fuck with me” mask and waited.

The door flew open, slamming back against the trailer.

“What!”

“You’re in make-up in five minutes.” I was rather proud of my cool, calm tone.

“Then I’ll go in five.”

“No. It’ll take you five to walk there. You leave now.”

His eyes skimmed my body before returning to my firmly set face.

“You’re a hard-ass. Anyone ever tell you that?”

With a grim smile, I crossed my arms and waited.

At that, Shaun Martin sighed and clattered down the steps before following me to make-up like an obedient dog.

But I wasn’t fooled.

When my phone rang the next morning a little after 3AM, I didn’t need to read the screen to know who it was. No one rang me before 8AM. Ever. My family valued their lives, and I wasn’t close enough to my old friends to call any of them at any hour. That meant it could only be one person and he was calling me before our ridiculous call time.

“Yes, Shaun?” My words might have been a little slurred. If he asked why, I’d blame the lack of coffee and the fact I was sat in my car in the studio car park with my head pressed against the steering wheel, wishing it were a pillow. Honestly, on what planet is a 4AM call time, okay? I’d felt sick just texting times over to the driver the production had hired.

“Why the fuck is there a driver at my door?” He didn’t so much as pause for pleasantries. Lucky for him, beneath his angry moaning I could hear a croak of tiredness.

“You have to be on set in an hour.” I forced a note of understanding into my voice. After all, I didn’t want to be awake either. “Make-up and wardrobe are expecting you in fifteen minutes.”

“Why did you let them call me this early?” he grumbled. “Tell them I’ll be there at ten.”

And that did it. My patience ran away from me and I gritted my teeth.

“I’ll tell them no such thing. Get in the car and do the job the producers are paying you a pretty penny to do.”

Without another word, I hung up and went in search of coffee.

I might have admired his pretty face and ripped body for a moment, but the man had a stick up his ass. I wouldn’t let myself forget that.

“You’re Mona, right? Shaun’s new assistant?” A tall, bearded guy stopped beside me while I mixed my second coffee of the morning. His lilting Welsh accent took his friendly smile up a notch. He wore a headset similar to the one hanging around my neck. “I’m Brian, the first AD.”

“What’s an AD?”

He frowned. “Have you ever worked on a set before?”

I shook my head, refusing to feel even the smallest twinge of doubt. I didn’t need to know the lingo to keep a firm handle on Shaun.

“Assistant director. I’m the guy in charge of set, the one who keeps this train on the tracks.” He pointed to a raven-haired woman pinning something to the wall. “That’s Leanne. She’s the crowd second AD. Talk to her if you’ve got any issues with the SAs.” He paused, his cheeks reddening slightly as he took in my pinched expression. “Sorry, habit. Support artists, or extras, as the wider world knows them – just don’t use that term where they can hear you. Leanne deals with getting them to set and keeping track of continuity.”

He spun around, his gaze scanning the wide-open space.

“Hey, Aidan!” he shouted, his voice clanging in the morning hush.

Yet another tall, good-looking man. What were they putting in the water around here?

Aidan’s gaze shifted from Brian to me. Although friendly, there was definitely an assessing light to the once-over I got. He was younger than Brian. I’d place Brian in his early thirties, but I’d hazard a guess that Aidan was younger than me.

“Aidan’s my right-hand man, my third AD. He handles the runners and directs the background most of the time. If you run into any issues with Shaun’s schedule or wardrobe, talk to me or Leanne. If it’s transport- or accommodation-related, check in with production.”

I scanned the bustling space as Brian explained how I should use the radio mic if I needed to reach people, and which channels to use. I nodded along while I watched people scramble about the space. Some positioned furniture and set pieces on the sound stage, while others checked equipment and adjusted lighting.

“All you really need to know right now is to stay out of the way. The rest you’ll pick up pretty fast.” He pointed towards a small group of people who looked younger than Aidan. They wore headsets and had radios clipped to their belts. “The runners can help with basic things, and if you ever get too busy, we can have them handle shepherding Shaun to make-up and wardrobe.”

I studied their fresh faces. They seemed innocent, like they might cry if Shaun inflicted yesterday’s stunt with the trailer door on them.

Before I could respond to Brian, Shaun arrived on set, baring his teeth and barking at anyone who dared cross his path. Brian snapped to attention, and everyone sprang into action. The sound stage cleared and an older man dropped his script, jumping to his feet with exuberance and open arms. He guided Shaun through the scene while a couple of extras – em, SAs – in everyday clothes positioned themselves around the living-room set.

Despite the early-morning phone call, I’d been feeling a wee bit optimistic. Shaun had been on his best behaviour after our rocky introductions yesterday, sitting through make-up without arguing and accepting criticism without snark. I thought I was home free, that Sherry had exaggerated.

“Can you get a fucking move on, Carys?” Shaun snapped at his beautiful co-star. Her mic kept playing up and the sound assistant struggled to fix it. “It’s not a hard scene.”

My jaw dropped open. Carys’s character was supposed to have found her mother’s mangled body. She needed to be highly emotional, but every time she started crying, he’d roll his eyes and shout, “Again.” It might not have been a hard scene, but the person acting as her brother was an utter dickhead. I’d struggle too.

They hurried on, but that didn’t appease Shaun. He really had a bee in his bonnet today. If even one member of the cast missed their cue, he muttered beneath his breath, causing the whole thing to reset. Eventually, muttering became too much for him and he resorted to growling.

Who the hell actually growls at people? TV stars, apparently.

Safe to say, the entire thing put the crew on edge, but it didn’t faze them. Production rolled forward despite the tense atmosphere.

I took to periodically feeding Shaun, figuring it was a regular low blood sugar thing and he was tired. Every time the director called for a break, I stepped in with a plate of cut-up fruit. Shaun scowled at it the first time, but eventually, he silently picked up a piece of apple and kept moving.

You’d think I’d enjoy the silence. Hell, I thought I’d enjoy it. All the better to appreciate his rock-hard body and gorgeous face. When he wasn’t speaking, he was rather nice to look at. He didn’t have a resting prat face, so I easily forgot the venom he could spit and found myself softening.

Of course, it never lasted.

He’d open his mouth and I’d scowl at myself for forgetting that beneath the pretty veneer lay a vile, bitter man. He shouldn’t have held the smallest iota of my attention. Yet my eyes always drifted back to him, caressing the ridges of his broad shoulders and his tapered waist with far too much interest.

Thankfully, or not, his bad attitude quickly escalated to shouting at the crew and his co-stars. One of the runners delivered him coffee and the glacial atmosphere went from frigid to deadly. The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty. He tried to hold a smile, but even from the sidelines, I could see the fragile edges slipping.

Shaun accepted the cup with a grunt, took a sip and spat it back out. The runner’s smile collapsed as his face turned ashen.

“Are you trying to poison me?” Shaun shouted, his voice cracking like a whip.

Silence swept across the sound stage. All eyes turned to watch Shaun, equal parts dread and fascination on their faces.

“The entire fucking production knows I’m lactose intolerant! So why the fuck are you giving me this?”

The runner flinched and backed away. Brian winced, but otherwise did nothing.

“I-I didn’t know,” the runner stammered.

“You didn’t know?” Shaun repeated, his voice deceptively calm. The runner nodded, his face frozen in terror. “If you’re too stupid to retain basic information, you’re not cut out for this business. Get off my fucking set!” Shaun roared, his voice echoing around the big space.

What the hell was wrong with these people? He was attacking a kid for an honest mistake and they were just standing back and letting it happen. He was out of line; he had to be stopped.

“Shaun!” I yelled.

“What!” he snapped back, his eyes flashing as they focused on me.

The runner staggered away, shaking and breathing hard. A red-haired woman about my age placed her hand on his shoulder and led him out of the warehouse.

“We all know you’re a hotshot. You don’t need to be a dick to the crew,” I shouted across the space, turning the tables on him. I power walked across the stage, anger fuelling my clipped and loud steps.

“If he wasn’t properly trained, he shouldn’t have been allowed near my coffee.”

“That’s fair, and I’m sure the production team is correcting it now, but you could have handled it better.”

Shaun stepped back as I jabbed my finger into his hard chest.

Damn! How much muscle is he carrying?

“He’s just a kid. He made a mistake, and he definitely didn’t deserve to be publicly belittled for it.”

Shaun ground his teeth. “He could have killed me.”

I snorted. “We both know that’s not true.”

Shaun stared at me, irritation shining from his hard eyes. He took a step towards me until our chests almost touched, and I had to crane my neck to meet his annoyingly attractive gaze. We were too close. I itched to wipe that smug smirk from his face.

“It would have set the production back.”

I shrugged. “I’d have found you some lactase, and you’d have gotten on with it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

I laughed. It wasn’t an amused sound. It was a sarcastic “give me a break” chuckle that I’d dredged up from the bottom of my patience barrel.

“It is that simple. You’ve been baring your teeth at people all day, but flying off the handle at an inexperienced kid… seriously, Shaun?”

Shaun crossed his arms and widened his stance. He glared at me, his eyes promising retribution.

“They all know you’re an arse, but they also know you’re hurting. They make allowances and give you space. You snap at Brian, but he’s too nice to tell you to fuck off. So, consider me their human shield. Leave the fucking crew alone, Shaun, or I swear you won’t have to worry about a young runner slipping milk into your coffee.”

As threats went, it was lame, but if he was really concerned about ruining his movie-star image by shitting himself in front of the crew, I’d happily help that anxiety along.

“You work for me,” Shaun said, invading my personal space until our faces almost met. His breath reeked like a distillery.

Drunk. He’s fucking drunk on set.

I was sure he’d been sober when he arrived. Where had he gotten it? A problem I’d deal with at another time.

“Only for six months,” I reminded him, “and I have a very clear mandate for that time. You can’t fire me, so show me your worst! But if you so much as scowl at another runner, I promise you’ll wish you’d never met Sherry. I will make your life a living hell.”

We glared at each other, neither of us willing to break eye contact or back down.

If I were a less intelligent woman, I’d think that light in his eyes was appreciation. I knew better.