Rugged(36)

“We’re a pair of consenting American adults. I mean, we were. Consenting, that is. Still American and adult, unless something’s changed in—”

“You’re rambling,” he says, but he’s smiling again.

Good. My rambling is charming. Rambliness? Ramblance? Whatever.

“The point is,” I say, “we’re working together now. We had a good time—”

“A very good time,” Flint echoes. His eyes catch mine, and pretty much everything inside of me melts in the Jacuzzi of good sex memories. Memories only. Put the memory sign on the door and don’t forget to mop up before you leave.

“Right. But it was a one-time very good time. Actually, I guess it was technically a second-time very good time. Regardless, we won’t be repeating it. Okay?” Why does my voice squeak on that last word? And why does this conversation feel so damn familiar? Oh yeah, because it is.

“Okay,” he says, nodding, that muscle in his jaw flexing for just a moment. “No repeats. Just work. Lots of hard, focused work.” Mmmm why does that sound so hot? He leans closer, and now there’s an edge to his voice. “I do have some experience with that, believe it or not.” I hope that edge I’m hearing is determination, not the first sign of troubled waters between us. I mean, he’s agreeing with me, right? We’re both agreeing to put an end to the sexy shenanigans and get this show on the road. It’s for the best.

“Then I’ll see you bright and early for work, partner,” I say brightly. I even punch him good-naturedly in the shoulder. See, a couple of stalwart companions working together. Then I kind of inwardly scream, because punching good-naturedly hurts, dammit. Especially when your target is Flint McKay, musclebound brickhouse.

“See you then,” he says, and steps off the porch to climb into his truck. I go back inside and upstairs, keeping that stupid smile on my face.

In my room, I sit on my bed and type up all the production notes. My heart keeps pounding, not listening to any of the good common sense I’m laying down for it. You had fun, heart! And so did other parts of our body. A lot of fun, yes, but you can’t expect fun all the time. Sometimes you need to balance it out with work, and a vibrator.

But as I type and plan until the sky is dark outside and I’m bleary-eyed, I know I’ve still got Flint McKay on the brain. My mind is like a steel trap, and so’s my body. Once I learn something, I don’t unlearn it. And now that I know how good Flint is, how skilled, how hard and focused he can be when he’s at work…

I was never smart about playing dumb.





14


The wind’s blowing something fierce when I arrive at the construction site. But man, what a day to shoot. The sky’s a crystal blue dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the trees below the hilltop are still a soft blanket of golden and red leaves. My hair and my striped scarf whip around playfully in the breeze. The crew is talking to Flint and his workers, and they’re setting up shots, testing the light. Here I am, the mighty producer. What can I tackle today?

“Hey, are the honey wagons arriving soon?” a sweaty, balding guy carting cables asks as he walks past me. He winces. “I need a Port o Potty so bad.”

Glamorous!

As I head down the hill to wave the toilet-laden truck to the rest area, another, more familiar car shows up behind it. It parks, and a bright-eyed, chestnut-haired ray of sunshine pokes her head out the door. Ah, Callie Winston. My savior. Flint’s sister bounds up the hill toward me, grinning and waving. She also holds up a large Ziploc bag.

“Muffins!” she calls. “Blueberry and chocolate chip! Just baked this morning!”

Instantly, a flock of under-paid cameramen, PAs, and interns are pecking around Callie, like a gaggle of hungry geese wearing North Face. As she feeds my little Hollywood flock, I head over. She grins and puts an arm around my shoulder.

“Here she is. My favorite producer working with my favorite brother.” We head up the hill together. “Granted, he’s my only brother. But hey, you’re my only producer.”

“Where are the twins?” I ask, looking back at the car. Callie’s two year olds are the cutest, most demanding creatures on the planet, and I’m surprised they’re not tucked into their car seats shrieking and flailing and making precious little messes. Callie fluffs her hair and laughs that tired mom laugh.

“They’re staying with David’s mom for the day. Isn’t it incredible? Eight whole hours!” She sounds like such a thing has never been heard of before, like she’s discovered the Shangri La of free time.

“And you wanted to watch filming? I’m not sure that’s a good use of your precious liberty.” I laugh, but I’m a little confused, and a little anxious. There’s really nothing for her to do here, other than watch Flint measure stuff and curse on camera.

“Maybe I could help out? Catering? Chauffeur? Masseuse for attractive key grips?” She watches the hustle of everyone setting up the first shot and I see a longing in her expression that I’ve never witnessed before. Maybe staying at home with two small children all day long is getting to her. And maybe she won’t be so bored after all. I smile.

“Why don’t you bring any remaining muffins over to Imran at the craft table, and help yourself to some coffee? We can start there,” I say. She wraps me in a lady bear hug.