Chapter Two
Sophie Daniels adjusted her sunglasses to cover more of her face and did her best to ignore the small crowd that had gathered on the far side of the security perimeter. She didn’t see any flashbulbs going off, but that didn’t mean there weren’t members of the paparazzi mixed into the crowd. Her best bet was to ignore them all and get to work.
Of course, that would be easier if the director—Milo Migliore—weren’t such an unmitigated ass. They had done the first part of the filming in Dallas, and other than the heat (what kind of hell stayed almost 100 degrees well into September?), it had gone fairly well. Milo was a bit too convinced of his own artistic superiority, though, especially given the fact that this movie wasn’t likely to end up winning any awards. Sophie hoped Milo would be satisfied with one or two takes of each scene, though.
Sometimes, though, she wished she could have retakes of the scenes in her own life. Honestly, that would be more useful at the moment than any second or third takes for this movie.
Of course, most of her life would end up on the cutting room floor, if that were the case. Especially her latest, overly publicized breakup with British rock star Niall Adamson.
Speaking of unmitigated asses.
What on Earth ever compelled me to think I should date a musician?
Heaving a sigh, she moved toward the door of the Podunk restaurant that Milo had decided had “the right atmosphere.” Sophie would’ve preferred it to have just the right lighting, or enough space for all the equipment, or any number of other elements that made the filming easier—but that wasn’t her call.
It’s really time for me to direct my own film.
Or maybe produce.
Brushing aside the vague sense of dissatisfaction she seemed to carry with her everywhere these days, she reached out her hand to open the door—only to be beaten to it by a man standing behind her.
She jumped and squeaked in surprise. She wasn’t used to losing track of her surroundings that much. For all she knew, he could’ve been a member of the paparazzi—not that they were likely to get past the security perimeter, even on a small, public set like this.
But when she turned around, she came face-to-face with what looked like a real, live, authentic cowboy. Two of them, in fact. The one holding the door open wore a straw cowboy hat, and he was actually tipping it forward just a bit with his other hand. Startled, she swept her glance over him. Plaid shirt, worn blue jeans, dusty brown cowboy boots.
When she looked at his face again, she found him grinning at her, a bright sparkle in his light blue eyes.
He is pretty enough to be one of my costars.
Blinking herself out of her surprise, she said, “Thanks,” and swept inside.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cowboy finish tipping his hat as he said, “Ma’am.”
Ma’am? When did I become old enough to be a ma’am?
She realized as she moved toward the rest of the crew that she had completely ignored the beautiful cowboy’s friend.
Well, chalk up another point toward being a snobby bitch.
Niall’s parting words still shook her, though she didn’t like to think of that horrible, public scene.
At that moment, Milo finished his conference with the director of photography, who hurried off to see the lighting guys. Milo turned, catching sight of her, and then the cowboys behind her.
Here we go.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his anger thickening his accent as he waved his arms around. “You are not allowed in here. You must go.”
Sophie strolled over to one of the restaurant’s booths and sat down to watch the show.
The other cowboy—the one who had not opened the door for her—responded by waving the pass he wore on a lanyard around his neck. “Fire Marshal,” he answered laconically before jerking his thumb toward his friend. “Assistant Fire Marshal. Required to be here by city ordinance.”
City ordinance? More like wide-spot-in-the-road ordinance.
Milo huffed, but he relented, waving one arm imperiously toward some tables and chairs that had been shoved out of the way. “You stay out of the way.”
The two cowboys strolled over and took seats, watching with avid interest.
Sophie moved out of the way and flipped through her script, rehearsing her lines silently while Milo got the first scene of the morning with her costar, Lyle Dunbar.
But for the first time in ages, she couldn’t concentrate on memorizing what she needed to say in the next scene. She could feel the cowboy’s gaze on her—and despite her usual experience with fans who stared too much, it wasn’t in some creepy way.
Every time she glanced up at him, he was watching her.
In all fairness, so was his friend. But his friend’s stare didn’t send a frisson of excitement sliding down her spine.
Given her track record, of course, it was probably for the best that she had decided not to date again for a good long while after Niall.
Anyway, she reminded herself, it didn’t matter how pretty he was. She had no intention of ever going out with someone as woefully unworldly as that beautiful cowboy must be.
No, their lives were worlds apart—and they would stay that way, too.