Page 14 of Unscripted with Mila

His laughter floated behind me. “See you later, Shortcake.”

* * *

Twice, I heard him asking for me while I was on set. Once, I actually went and got him another coffee when I heard him complain about a cup someone else had brought him.

He smiled widely when I handed it to him. I tried not to react to the warmth and sexiness of it. Or the fact that I felt that sensation when our fingers brushed together briefly.

“You always hide under a hoodie, Shortcake?” he asked.

“Stack,” I replied. “It’s Shortstack.”

He shook his head. “I’m not big on pancakes. But I love cake. I think I prefer my name.”

I tamped down the thrill his words caused. Nicholas Scott had his own nickname for me.

I only shrugged and hurried away.

When we left the set, I sighed in relief. Andi looked at me quizzically.

“What’s wrong, kiddo? Too much?”

“No, it was great. I can only imagine how crazy it will be when there are more people there.”

“The actors arrive tomorrow. I heard Nicholas was around at some point. He likes to scope out the set early, I was told.”

I hummed, not speaking.

“He was in a bad mood, from what I understand. Kept shouting for some poor assistant. Shirley, I think I heard.”

“Huh,” I muttered.

“Tomorrow, we’ll meet with the director for breakfast. Then you’ll meet the cast the day after.”

“Okay.”

She glanced at me. “You okay, Mila? You’re pale.”

I sighed. “I’m fine.”

She frowned but didn’t say anything. She tapped out some messages on her phone then looked at me, her voice cautious. “I know today and tomorrow you want to be comfortable, but…”

I laughed as she trailed off. “I will wear one of the outfits Cami put together for dinner tonight and our meetings, Andi. I won’t go in looking like a bum.”

She joined in my amusement. “You don’t look like a bum, Mila. You look cute, actually. But about seventeen in your hoodie and leggings. I want the cast to meet the author. Not my shy Mila. Can you do that?” she asked gently.

“You want me to play a part as well,” I replied.

“No.” She shook her head. “I want you to believe you belong here. That you deserve what is happening. I want you to embrace and enjoy it.”

Her words hit me, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

She leaned over and grabbed my hand. “You are so talented, Mila. So deserving of this. I believe in you. Your family does. Your legions of fans do. You have to believe it too.”

Tears filled my eyes.

She was right—no matter what my family said, or the fact that this deal had happened—I always felt as if I wasn’t quite good enough. That someone was going to stand up and point their finger and call me out for being a terrible writer.

“Thank you.”