Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(46)

From Brecken’s expressions and my own ears… I was bad. Really bad. And I didn’t even have a speech impediment to blame.

“Relaxxxx,” Brecken intoned. “You look like you, literally, have a stick up your ass.”

I rolled my shoulders, let out a deep breath.

“Nope,” she called out. “No change.”

“How can I relax when you pick apart every single thing I do?” I glared into the camera.

“I wouldn’t pick apart everything you do, dahling… if you actually did something right.” She drawled out the words in a ridiculous manner, clearly imitating me, my accent something she’d criticized for the last three hours.

“Did anyone ever teach you manners?” I stood up from the stool. “Or niceties?”

“Niceties will get you screwed in this business.” She came out from behind the camera and crossed her arms. Stared at me without flinching.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one she hates.”

Both of us turned at the voice, a low one, thick and masculine. Cole. Of course. The last thing this equation needed if Brecken wanted me to relax. He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut. Walked up to the monitor and looked at the still image. I did one of the Brecken UnAllowed Actions and chewed on my fingernail. She cleared her throat and he did what I hoped he wouldn’t do. Reached down and pressed a key on the board, my hesitant voice coming through the speakers and I winced as I stumbled through Brecken’s question, my response filled with enough Ums to drown a cat. He hit another button and the carnage stopped. “How long have you been working?”

“Three hours,” Brecken oh-so-helpfully supplied.

“Grab some lunch.” He nodded toward the door. Brecken didn’t move. “Go. I’ll work with her for a while.”

Oh no. No no no nonononono. I pushed off the stool and onto my feet. “I haven’t eaten either.”

“We’re making some progress,” Brecken jumped in. “You should have seen the first takes.” She didn’t move from her spot and I felt the immature desire to hide behind the woman I’d cursed all morning. Even she was better than him. His eyes laughing at me, a hundred opportunities for him to pick at me later.

“Not enough progress.” His voice had taken a hard turn, and she yielded, giving a tight nod and walking past the camera, her frame stooping as she reached for her purse. Then the door opened, she walked out, and it was just the two of us.

“Do you need a sandwich?” His eyes were level and steady on mine, his features quiet, giving no sign to the psyche underneath.

“No. I’m fine.” Despite my failed attempt to join Brecken for lunch, I couldn’t imagine eating, not right now, with the current state of my stomach—one rolling ball of knots.

He reached over and flicked off a panel of switches, and half the lights on me went dark. I was still standing, before my stool, and I stepped back a pace, my heel hitting the leg, and I pushed myself back onto the metal seat.

“I’m going to turn off the camera.” He reached up and pressed a handful of buttons, his hands sure, familiarity showing as he moved aside the cart and then grabbed an extra stool, sitting down in front of me, the front of his jeans tight as his knees spread, his posture relaxed, and his hands hung loose and clasped before him. “What have you guys worked on so far?”

“Just answering questions and then reviewing it on…” I pointed to the monitors and tried to think of how Brecken had referred to them. “The screen,” I finally said.

“Did she go over jargon, wordage and abstractions?” His voice was mild and I rubbed my hands on the front of my jeans. I should have washed them prior to wearing them. They were too stiff, too scratchy.

“Umm ... probably. It’s all starting to run together.”

“You don’t have to worry about jargon. You’re Southern, that’s okay. We don’t need you to sound like something you’re not.”

“She said I can’t say y’all.” One rule I could remember, only because I seemed to break it frequently.

He shrugged. “You can say y’all. Maybe not when you’re promoting a sci-fi thriller, but right now, that’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Wordiness, though, for you, might be a problem.” He leaned forward. “Rambling. Don’t ramble.”

“Yeah.” I winced. “I do that.”

“That’s okay. We’ll work on it.”

“You don’t need to. I mean—you’re busy. I can work with Brecken on it.” I nodded enthusiastically, like she was my new best friend.

He ignored the comment. “Abstractions are another thing you don’t have to worry about right now. But the verbal fillers, the ‘you knows’ and ‘uhhs’—”

“I know. And the fidgeting and the touching of my hair and blinking too much—” I stopped talking before my voice showed the thin ledge of hysteria where I sat. I looked away, focusing on a sweater that hung off a lighting rig. It was cold in there, without the additional lights. Maybe I could borrow it. Another layer between Cole and I seemed like a good idea.

He stood up and reached between his legs, grabbing the stool and dragging it closer. When he sat back down, there were only a few feet between us. “Summer. Look at me.”