Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
We both laughed, and I wiped at my eyes and looked out the window.
I sighed in relief as I walked into my room later that night. I had been a nervous wreck about having dinner with the producer and his wife, but it turned out to be a nice evening. He was charming and gregarious, and he loved to talk. I didn’t have to say much. He was enthusiastic about the movie, the crew, the cast. He had worked with the director, Amber Grey, before. I was thrilled it was a woman, and I knew her work. She was a sharp, intuitive director, and I looked forward to meeting her and hearing more of her vision for the movie. She was also no-nonsense and ran a tight set.
I stripped off the clothes I had worn, letting down my hair and rubbing my aching scalp. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, unused to seeing myself with makeup on. I had to admit, I looked more grown-up and sophisticated. The outfit Cami had put together helped. The pants and poet shirt with the chunky jewelry had given me an air of smartness while still letting me be comfortable. The silk was soft against my skin, and I’d followed her advice to wear my hair up. Andi had approved, especially when I’d draped a shawl over one shoulder, the pop of color making the outfit perfect.
I kicked off the heels, groaning in relief. Even though they were low, I still found them difficult to walk in, and my legs and feet were hurting. How Andi marched around all day in stilettos was a mystery to me.
I rolled my shoulders, threw on the robe the hotel provided, and walked out onto the balcony. Below me, the lights reflected off the still water of the pool, the area empty. I couldn’t help but look over to the corner where the other pool was hidden. I could see the low lights but heard nothing carrying over the air. No sounds of splashing, nothing. I bit my lip in hesitation. The day had left me keyed up yet not wanting to write, my mind too tired. I had done so much sitting and being Amelia. I wanted to swim and tire my body out.
I made a decision and changed into my suit, pulling the robe back on over it. I headed to the other pool, going out the back door and taking the shorter route now that I knew it. I stopped at the gate, peering in, but the area was deserted, the surface of the water undisturbed. I swiped my passkey and went inside, closing the gate behind me. Dropping my robe on a lounger, I dove into the deeper end and began to swim, losing myself to the soothing rhythm of the strokes. I lost count of my laps, finally stopping when my arms grew tired and my body was relaxed. I treaded water for a moment, then swam toward the corner, sitting on the steps and letting the night air kiss my shoulders and arms. I dropped my head back, realizing I had forgotten to put my hair up. I had inquired at the front desk, but my clip hadn’t been turned in. I had others, but it was my favorite—especially for swimming as it held my hair in place firmly.
I would have to find another.
It was quiet and peaceful in the dim light of the corner. Tranquil.
Until the surface of the water rippled, and a voice interrupted my moment.
“Hiding in the shadows again, Mila?”
CHAPTER FIVE
NICHOLAS
The night after I’d met Mila, I’d slept badly and was in a foul mood when I woke up. I decided to head to the set and study the script. I always did better surrounded by the sights and sounds of the production. It helped to center me. Ground me to the character. Some actors spent as little time on set as possible, but I tended to remain as much as I could. Study the dailies. Commit the next day’s filming schedule to memory. Ignore the emptiness of my real life and immerse myself in the life of the character I was portraying. It was far more acceptable, no matter the role.
The highlight of the day was meeting the PA who had the nerve to be sitting in my chair when I got to set. Obviously new to the business, she had no clue, and she didn’t correct me when I called her “little gofer.” The name suited her—she seemed too young to be a professional PA, so I stuck to the nickname. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She was short and curvy. Her eyes were an unusual shade of golden brown—almost caramel, much the way I told her I liked my coffee. I had no idea the color of her hair since she wore a hoodie that covered her head, as if she were hiding. Every time I saw her, part of her was cast in shadow, so I couldn’t get a good look at her and figure out how or where I recognized her from. No one seemed to know her when I shouted for her, but she appeared a few times with a coffee for me, somehow getting the taste perfect each time. Something intrigued me about her, and I was sure we’d met. But she danced away every time I pressed her and, at some point, disappeared for good. Tony, another PA, got me another coffee, and I threw it away, the cream wrong, and the flavor off. I came back to the hotel and napped for a bit, had a solitary dinner, then went back to the script. I had hundreds of notes, questions to ask the writer. I looked forward to meeting him or her and getting a chance to pick their brain. The intensity of this role spoke to me; in fact, at times, it felt as if it had been written for me, the pain and conflict in his head so similar to what I felt so much of the time.