“Yes, I thought the warmer tone of this top would look better on Mr. Knight.” Her gaze flicks to mine before she quickly looks away.
“Also, I chose to switch out the buttons on the top to make them less the focal point and redo the collar. The top originally came with a wing tip collar, but given the scene this design is for, I don’t believe that’s the right look the character would go for.”
“And who asked you to do thi—” Rebecca’s scolding is silenced by Michael Keith’s hand in the air.
I know my glare in her direction is what makes her take a visible step backward, though.
“The scene? You know which scene this design is for? Did you have the sketches?” Michael asks.
“They were up here with you all,” my obsession says.
“Then how did you …”
“I memorized the script,” she answers in a hurry.
Michael looks over at me. “The shirt fits perfectly.”
“It's seventeen inches around to fit perfectly. Seventeen point two, to be exact,” she adds, then looks at me before averting her gaze. “I memorized that, too,” she says so low I might be the only one in the room who hears her.
“Brilliant,” Michael says, the British accent he usually keeps to a minimum coming out stronger. He claps and looks around the room. “Let’s make a movie.”
“You’re looking oddly content.”Michael Keith looks me up and down.
After wrapping up the fitting, we stayed a little longer to go over some logistics for the start of filming next week. Once this is done, I have my intentions set on another goal before leaving the studio today.
I glance over to see Michael watching me. The man’s eye is ridiculously keen. Which is why he’s poised to become one of the biggest directors in Hollywood over the next few years.
Especially if this film does well.
Not if,when.When this film performs above expectations.
Because there’s not a chance in hell I’m about to let it flop.
We’ve both worked our asses off to perfect this role. Michael with the script and direction techniques. And I’ve put in countless hours with my acting coaches. Above the hours I ordinarily put in, even when not working on a project.
“I’m excited about the movie,” I lie.
“Bullshit,” he calls me out, pulling a chuckle out of me. “If I had to guess, I would say it has to do with that costume designer you were eye-fucking in there.” He juts his head in the direction of the fitting room.
My grin drops.
“Eye-fucking?”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t quite that lewd, but you did signal her out to make sure she got the recognition she deserved.”
“You know it’s one of my pet peeves,” I tell him since this is far from the first time Michael and I have worked together. While I wouldn’t classify us as friends exactly, we do have a great working relationship.
“I don’t like seeing other people get screwed over,” I tell him. “Happens too fucking often in this industry.” While I’m young by societal standards at twenty-six, I’ve spent a little over a decade in this industry already.
Ten years in an industry run by some of the most egotistical people in the world means I’ve seen a lot.
“Don’t I know it,” Michael grunts. “At least you're not threatening another one of the writers.” He chuckles.
“I was eighteen,” I remind him.
“And he had two decades on you.”
He’s referring to an incident between a former writer of my old show and I after I found out two of the actresses on the set were uncomfortable being in the same room with said writer because he was known for being too fucking hands-on.
