“I assume you’ve seen it,” she said at last.
He gave a short nod. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You look like shit.”
The corner of his mouth tugged. “Appreciate the support.”
She didn’t move, just watched him with those piercing director’s eyes that missed nothing. They’d worked together before. Twice. Once on a gritty crime drama that had half the budget and twice the attitude, and once on a miniseries that had earned them both awards and more sleepless nights than he cared to count. Ellen had been the same both times: a sharp-eyed, no-nonsense director who stripped away ego and bullshit until nothing was left but the marrow of a performance. She didn’t play games, and she never flinched.
The first time they’d clashed, Jacob had lost a scene. Not because he’d missed his lines—he never missed his lines—but because he’d kept the emotion too tightly leashed. Ellen hadwaited until the cameras stopped, pulled him aside, and told him he had to let go if he wanted a masterpiece. She insisted without vulnerability, he would always fall short of brilliance.
He had never forgotten it.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “But you already know that. You’re Jacob fucking Wolfe. Your team’s holding the line. Liam’s team…” She hesitated. “Let’s just say they’re in uncharted waters.”
That got him to look up.
“Emma’s name is already trending,” she went on. “People’s imaginations are running wild. They’re not subtle about it.”
Jacob exhaled through his nose, the sound too close to a growl.
“You want me to lie and say this is a disaster?” Her tone stayed even. “From where I’m standing, on the show’s side—this is gold.”
His jaw tightened. “Gold?”
“That video is a masterclass in unresolved tension. The way you held him, the way he broke for you? Half the audience probably climaxed in their seats. Everyone wants to see what happens next.”
Jacob’s eyes flicked away, face tightening.
“I’m not saying I wanted this,” she added. “But I’d be stupid not to see it for what it is. This storm? I can ride it.”
She pushed off the wall and leaned against the tiny counter, folding her arms again. “I’m locking the set for all future intimate scenes. Just me, the essential crew, and the intimacy coordinator. Nobody else.”
His voice came rough. “For us? Or for damage control?”
“Both.” She gave a slight shrug. “It should’ve been protocol already. That kiss… it was too much. I take responsibility for that.”
Her words hung heavy, pressing into the small space.
She studied him for a moment longer, her expression almost soft now. “I’ve seen you tired. I’ve even seen you close to rattled. I’ve never seen you like this. You don’t usually break character, Jacob. Not like that.”
He said nothing.
“Most actors stay in control. They sell the moment but stay behind the glass. You two?” Her voice dropped. “You shattered it. No one in that room thought it was acting.”
His eyes cut to hers, flat and sharp.
“I’m not judging,” she said. “But don’t pretend it was just performance. I saw it. He felt it. And now half the world has, too.”
Jacob dragged a hand through his hair, breath heavy.
“You want to protect him?” Ellen asked quietly. “Then get your shit together, because Liam’s in freefall, and if you don’t stabilize, he will crash.”
She straightened, walked to the door, and paused with her hand on the latch. “I don’t care whether or not it’s real,” she said, glancing back. “But if it feels real on camera? That’s all I need.”
