“My invitation get lost in the mail?”
“Private party. Just me.”
It’s not exactly the truth, but the last thing I need is one of Evan’s “keep your hands off the actresses” lectures.
I glance over at Neevah in the passenger seat. She’s poring over her script and doesn’t seem to even hear me. So much for us leaving work behind.
“Could we wrap this up?” I ask. “I have just a few days before the holiday break is over. I’m trying to unplug.”
“You have a plug? I would have pulled it years ago had I known.”
“So the permit for that site fell through,” I say, ignoring his jabs and returning to the reason for the call. We’ll never get off the phone if I don’t.
“Right. Henry sent over a few other possibilities,” he says of our locations manager.
“Like what?”
“Westward Beach.”
“Hell. We may as well film in my backyard. That would be less familiar. I don’t want to sell Westward Beach as the French Riviera.”
“We don’t have much time. We want to be on location in a month. Don’t shoot down every suggestion.”
“I promise to only shoot down the ridiculous ones.”
“You’re getting in that mode when nothing’s good enough.”
“No, just bring me better options. Damn, Evan.”
I feel Neevah’s eyes on me now, and I don’t want to have this conversation with her in the car. She’s not just my… shit, what are we calling each other at this stage? But she’s also an actor in this film. We try our best to shield our cast and crew from the behind-the-scenes madness producers deal with.
“Hey. Lemme get where we’re going and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“We? I thought you were alone.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Text Jill and ask her to send me three better options than damn Westward Beach. Bye.”
I disconnect before he can virtually waterboard me about who is with me. Evan would cough up a lung if he knew I was with Neevah. If he knew I’d kissed her. If he suspected I was wrist-deep in her panties not even an hour ago.
If I don’t want to drive the next hour with this hard dick under my seat belt, I’ll find something to think about besides Neevah slick and wet under my hand. Plenty of time to think about that when we get to Santa Barbara.
“Something wrong?” Neevah asks.
Nah. I’m always this erect.
“Uh… what?” I ask, hoping she hasn’t noticed.
“The call with Evan. It sounded like the location for next month has fallen through.”
“Oh. That. Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” I nod to the script in her lap. “How’s that going?”
“Pretty good. I guess. With so much focus on the musical numbers I had to get down, there’s some dialogue I haven’t memorized yet.” She puts her finger to her lips. “Shhhh. Don’t tell my boss. He’s a hard ass.”
“Funny.” I shoot her a speculative glance. “Do the actors think I’m a hard ass?”
“You know they all think you walk on water, right? You’re demanding, but not mean. They’ve all told me horror stories of directors chewing them out in front of everyone. Of directors coming on to them.”
Like inviting them for a few days on a private getaway…
