I spin my head round so fast I almost give myself a neck injury.
“As in, I could drive you back to London if you wanted,” he explains. “Rather than you getting the train. I’m heading to Finsbury Park, so you’ll be able to get on the Victoria Line train all the way down to Brixton. I’d feel guilty having you wait around to get the train when I’m driving that way anyway. And I’ll let you choose one or two songs we can listen to on the journey, if you like.”
I smile down at my hands in my lap. “Very generous. Uh… okay then, I guess it would be handy just to jump in the car with you when we finish up. As long as you’re sure.”
Of course, I should have said no. I don’t know why I’m putting myself through more torture, accepting an invitation like this. Plus, if he does end up getting Mae’s number, he mightwant to talk about that on the journey home, and I’ll have to listen. I need to go back to thinking about him as my irritating work nemesis.
“Are you okay?” he asks as we pull into a parking space.
“Yes,” I reply, flustered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You have the… you look tense.”
“You were going to say I have the crinkle, weren’t you?”
He laughs, putting on the handbrake and turning the engine off. “Seriously, are you all right? You’ve been very quiet. My parents didn’t freak you out, did they? I know they can be a lot.”
“No! No, they’re wonderful,” I tell him sincerely. “You have an amazing family.”
“Good. Are you worried about the feature?”
I blink at him. “Huh?”
“Max Sjöberg.”
“Oh! Yes, that’s it. I’m worried about the interview.”
“No need to be,” he assures me, undoing his seatbelt and opening the car door. “You take the lead on it. I won’t get in your way.”
I lean back on the headrest and close my eyes for a moment, wishing my head and heart weren’t such a mess, before forcing myself into work mode, hopping out of the car ready to sit down with a brilliant actor.
Unfortunately, my zest for the interview is a tad premature—Max has another busy day of filming lined up, and Mae is doing her best to work out a time to squeeze us in. We don’t get our hands on him until the afternoon, and by then he’s exhausted and grouchy. Sitting in a trailer in costume, he leans back, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. He watches me suspiciously while I press the Record button on my digital voice recorder and flip through my notebook to a blank page.
“How long will this take?” he asks gruffly, looking towardMae, who is lingering in the doorway. Next to me, Ryan shifts his weight uncomfortably.
But I’m not fazed by his attitude. I get this all the time.
“We won’t take up much of your time,” I promise confidently. “These filming days get long, don’t they? But they can’t be as long as the ones you had to do on the set ofAmbition.”
He raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “Now, that was a long time ago.”
“Didn’t you have to film all through the night, like three days in a row?”
“Four days in a row,” he corrects, stroking his chin as he thinks back on it. “Not easy for a kid of ten years old.”
“I read that you fell asleep under a pile of coats waiting for your scene.”
“And got sat on by the late, great Bill Olin,” he chuckles, his expression softening. “He was a fine actor, but I still wouldn’t recommend getting sat on by your heroes.”
“Sage advice.”
He smiles warmly at me. “I haven’t thought about that film in a while.”
“I watched it recently.”
“Yes?”
“It’s still so relevant.”
