“And cut,” Rusty called. “Okay! That’s a wrap on that scene. Let’s move on.”
Emma pushed through the crew and disappeared into the back rooms.
Arthur watched her go, heart in his throat. He had the sinking feeling he’d just screwed up—properlyscrewed up, no excuses to make it better. No matter how much Rusty or Jennifer would tell him she was being crazy, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t feel better until she absolved him.
Jennifer giggled across from him. “Wow. She was actually pretty good. Why didn’t you do that the first time?”
Arthur laughed woodenly, still watching the doors. She was leaving, he was sure of it. He had to catch her.
“Okay,” Rusty continued. “Let’s keep going from that last line.”
Arthur stood, hardly aware he was doing it. “Two minutes! I need to use the bathroom.”
Annoyance flickered over Rusty’s face, then it was gone.
“Two minutes,” he said.
* * *
Emma was pulling on her handbag when he found her.
“Hey,” he said from her office doorway. “Can we talk?”
“Nope. Tell the director I’m not in any more scenes.” She jerked her head for him to move. “Come on, get out of the doorway.”
His hands flexed against the flimsy wood, and he was shocked to hear it creak. He let go fast. It had been a while since he’d misjudged his own strength.
“I just wanted you to know I’m suing you,” he tried. “You damaged some priceless equipment with that little stunt back there.”
No dice. He tensed, waiting for another knotty barb. But it didn’t come. She simply glared at him, shoulders up near her ears.
“Just get out of the way,” she hissed. “Iwillscream.”
He didn’t doubt it. He moved aside, barely resisting the urge to reach out and grab her shoulder. She was heading for the door, ready to walk back into the café and past all those people. If he didn’t say it now, he was never going to say it.
“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he said in a rush.
Emma stopped.
“It was out of line. I was thinking about what would be good for the scene, not for—” Arthur swallowed, uncharacteristically nervous. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
He smiled harder, sweat pricking his fur. He hadn’t genuinely apologized in a long time. He preferred empty platitudes, whatever he had to say to make things right. No guilt, no mess, everybody came out of it happy. He wasn’t used to this churning in his gut. He thought he’d escaped it with Claw Haven.
Emma turned. Her handbag dangled near her hip. It was very similar to the one she’d worn when they dated. Maybe it even was. The leather surelookeda decade old.
“You actually sounded like you believed that,” she told him.
“I did—I do,” Arthur said, surprised. Now he was thinking about it, blindsiding his ex with a romantic touch during a movie scene she didn’t want to be indidsound like a pretty stupid move.
“Look,” he tried. “I want to make things right. If you’re going to be hanging around set, we can’t have you throwing coffee in my face—”
“I didn’t throw anything at your face,” she said icily. “Yet.”
“Much appreciated.” Arthur tried another grin. It fell flat in a way that his smiles rarely did anymore. He thought he’d gotten them down to an art. Hehadgotten them down to an art. Except when Emma Curt was around, apparently.
“We don’t have to be friends,” he continued. “We just have to play nice. Let me take you to dinner. We’ll find some way to have a civil conversation.”
She narrowed her eyes. It used to drive him crazy when she did that. It meant she was scrutinizing him, sizing him up. So many people got flustered or giddy, too busy falling over his charm to look past it. But not Emma.
