The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind of negotiations and contract-signing. Through some wrangling, I was able to get both Jace Landau and Emmanuelle Jerrod signed. Not only that, but funding for the project was secured. All we needed to do was get the shooting schedule sorted out and we could begin. Luckily, this wasn’t some big-budget CGI extravaganza, so post wasn’t likely to take too long. If everything was looking to unfold the way it should it wasn’t unreasonable to have this picture out in six months.

And throughout the last couple of weeks Mia had been exactly the assistant that I needed. She was always by my side and taking careful notes, relieving me of the burden of having to keep all the details about what meetings and with whom straight in my mind. We’d only been working together for a short time and I was already starting to wonder how I’d ever gotten by without her. On top of everything, she’d been really hitting it off with Olivia. After their night out on the town the two girls became fast friends, and when Olivia’s week at my pace ended I couldn’t tell who she was more upset to have to leave.

The director that we’d picked, Michael Kennings, was another issue altogether. I’d picked him after going over the short films he’d put on YouTube. They were simple little vignettes of life in the city, and I appreciated his crisp, clear style and attention to detail. It was exactly the sort of look that I’d had in mind for a dialogue-driven piece like The British Job. Our interview went well, also. He was professional and had a great track record of turning in his work on time and under budget for the commercial agencies where he’d been employed. Sure, at twenty-five he was little young, but I figured he’d learn on the job.

However, this was his first big-screen production, and though working with first-timers was part and parcel of my niche, his greenness showed. The first issues happened when he met the talent. Michael was an earnest, sensitive type, and clearly wasn’t used to working with big-name and big-ego stars. My first alarm bells sounded when he met with the McDonnells and could barely get in a word edge-wise as they went on and on about their vision for the picture. He seemed too eager to please, and had a hard time imposing what he wanted on them.

If this is how he handles a couple of screenwriters from the Midwest, I remember thinking, then that doesn’t bode well for wrangling the talent.

Sure enough, at the first meeting with Emmanuelle and Jace, he was completely in over his head. The two stars took up all the space, and Michael couldn’t manage anything more than holding up a finger and hoping they gave him room to talk, which they didn’t.

“Listen,” I told him after the meeting, “you’re going to need to develop a little more of a backbone with these types.”

Michael nodded, his slight shoulders slumped forward.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m just used to working with commercial actors, and they’re nothing but professionals.”

He was right. Commercial actors and character actors were always more pleasant to work with. They were the types who treated acting like a job. Stars, on the other hands, were larger-than-life, and seemed to exist on another planet at times. It takes a certain type of person to think that they deserve to be the center spectacle of a multi-million-dollar production, and with Emmanuelle and Jace, it showed.

“I get it, and I knew you’re new to all of this. But you’re going to need to be sterner. Stars like these two are like big kids; they need structure and discipline. Otherwise they’re just going to start finger-painting all over the walls as soon as you give them an inch.”

A small smile crossed his face.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

I didn’t leave the meeting feeling all that much better. This project was going to lie or die by how well Michael could direct the talent, and the last thing I wanted was to have to replace him halfway through the production because he couldn’t keep the egos in line.

Mia and I had spent the last two weeks discussing nothing but work. She’d settled into live at the agency nicely, and our quick dinners out late in the evening after work were becoming a welcome routine. I’d almost forgotten what good company she was. And, more than anything else, she was down-to-earth. Id dated more than my fair share of women in the movie industry, and I’d gotten so used to their attention-seeking and dramatic behavior that I was starting to think that all women were like that. Hanging out with Mia, splitting a bottle of wine and eating dinner was, well, fun. She reminded me of the good parts about what I’d left behind when I moved to New York.

Before I knew it, the first day of shooting arrived, and I was more than a little nervous. However nervous I was, however, Michael was that times five. He walked onto the sound stage as though he were trespassing, and I could tell by the way Emmanuelle looked at him with her green eyes narrowed that she’d spotted him right away as someone she could push around.

So, of course, that's exactly what happened.

Taking my seat in the back, where I could watch the production without being a distraction, I scanned the place for Mia. Sure enough, she was there, sipping her coffee and trying to get her bearings. We made brief eye contact, and I could sense she was a little uncertain on how to conduct herself on set. I gestured her over to me, and she sat down in a free chair nearby.

"Doing alright?" I asked, keeping one eye on the set where Michael was awkwardly moving from actor to actor, giving them directions.

I swore I saw Emmanuelle roll her eyes when Michael walked away.

"Just a little nervous."

"You're nervous?" I asked. "What do you have to be nervous about?"

"I don't know," she said, holding her coffee close with two hands, her lime green nail polish a sharp contrast to the white of the coffee cup foam. "I've just never been on a set before."

"Really?" I said, a little surprised. "What did they have you doing over at Bronzeplate, exactly?"

"Like I said, just gofer work behind the scenes."

"Getting coffee for the bosses, then."

She flashed a little smirk. "Hey, I made copies every now and then."

"I hope you got someone to get that coffee for you, at least."

She smiled and looked down at her foam cup. "I told myself that however high up I got in the business, I'd always get my own coffee."

"Let's see how well you stick to that when you've got a five-million-dollar production to worry about and you can't spare a single bit of your mind on anything that's not totally essential."

She turned and watched the action of the scene for a moment.

"Still weird not being shut up in an office somewhere."

"That's no way to get used to this industry. You have to be on the sets, like this. You have to see how the talent interacts with one another. You have to get a feel for production."

"Do have to be here?" she asked. "I'd think you could oversee this production from anywhere."

"Nothing beats the hands-on touch," I said. "Once I feel confident that the crew has everything under control, I'll back off a little. But with this director…"

My gaze moved away from Mia and back onto Michael, who had cut another take and was speaking to Emmanuelle again. His shoulders were slumped and his arms flailed limply as he spoke to her. Emmanuelle, on the other hand, looked as impassive and imperious as Greek statue.

This didn't look good so far.

"Take these two," I said.

I gestured discretely to Michael and Emmanuelle.

"What do you make of that?"

Mia watched the two interact for a half a minute or so.

"Emmanuelle's not taking too kindly to his orders, it looks like. It's the first day of shooting, so I'd guess a hoity-toity actress like her is feeling him out, seeing what she can get away with. I mean, look at their body language- Michael looks like he's asking his mom if he can stay up an extra hour to play video games. And that he already knows the answer is ‘no'."

I nodded. It was a very solid assessment of the situation.

"I agree completely," I said. "You've got a real eye for personalities like those."

"Well," said Mia, "I may not have worked on set, but I did work with the producers and talent; I know how they can get."

I allowed a small smile to play on my lips.

"Let's get a little closer," I said. "I have a feeling this situation might need a little more than a light touch."

Mia looked excited- more than eager to get close to the action. As we made our way around the set to a better vantage point, I considered how promising she seemed so far- she just might have a future in the business if she brings this level of attention and professionalism to the other aspects of the job.

The two of us moved closer to the set, standing in a low-lit area as not to attract attention to ourselves. I wanted to see how Michael would handle this on his own. So far, it wasn't looking good.

"Just," he started off, already exasperated. "Just read the lines like they are on the script."

"I told you," Emmanuelle responded, her slim, ivory-white arms crossed over her chest, "I was reading the lines last night and I believe that my interpretation is a little more true to the character. I won't continue unless we at least give me suggestion a try."

"But…" continued Michael. "The script's already written. There's no interpretation necessary."

I shook my head, but couldn't help smile a little. It was a classic case of a woman poking at a man to see just what he was made out of. Emmanuelle wanted him to put his foot down, to tell her that it was his way or the highway. But instead, he gave frustrated explanations for why he wanted things done a certain way. I gave him about five minutes before he gave up and just let Emmanuelle have the run of the set. But seeing as how having a diva out of control on the set is about the worst thing imaginable for a production, I'd have to step in before that happened.

Looking at Mia out of the corner of my eye, I saw that she'd been observing the scene intently.

"Do you…do you mind if I talk to them?" asked Mia.

My eyes went wide; I couldn't help but be a little surprised.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Mia. "It's just a stupid ego thing with Emmanuelle. I've dealt with divas before."

Part of me wanted to keep my little assistant from messing things up further…but another part, the more insistent part, was damn curious to see if Mia would handle this. I debated the pros and cons for about five seconds before turning to her and flicking my head towards the set, making it clear that she had my permission.

A bright smile crossing her face, Mia scampered off onto the set. First, she separated Michael and Emmanuelle, bringing the actress over to the other side of the set and speaking quietly to her. I watched them carefully, my eyes flicking over to the other members of the crew, who were watching the action as though they were planted in front of a TV for a season finale.

Emmanuelle seemed to be listening carefully, considering Mia's words, whatever they were. Once she was done with Emmanuelle, she made her way quickly over to Michael, saying something quickly into his ear before rushing back over to my side.

"We ready?" said Michael, seemingly emboldened by whatever Mia had said.

"I believe so," said Emmanuelle.

And just like that, the take started with no fuss. I watched the scene for a time, noting that Emmanuelle was acting as she should, and that Michael seemed a little more certain of himself.

"What on earth did you say to her?" I asked, my eyes still on the scene.

"I just told her about method acting, about how great actresses don't need to announce what they're doing and how they're going to act before they do it. And that the true skill of an actress would be to infuse the role with their vision without the director even taking notice."

"And that convinced her?" I asked, still unsure.

"Well, then I added ‘…at least that's what Anne Hathaway told me'."

A dry chuckle escaped my lips. Mia'd managed to appeal to her ego and her insecurities all at once. Very, very impressive.

"And what about Michael?"

"Oh," said Mia, a sly little smirk on her lips. "I just told him that no one respects a pussy."

I guess that's one way to do it.

The rest of the shooting went well, though as the day went on, I noticed Emmanuelle flicking her sharp, green eyes in my direction more than once. Having the talent give me their attention wasn't new to me, and I realized that this was an issue that I'd need to address…in one way or another. I mean, I'd be lying if I said that Emmanuelle wasn't a beautiful woman; she had stunning green eyes, flame-red hair that complimented her cream-colored skin perfectly, and a body that was probably costing me thousands of dollars' worth of distractions for the male members of the crew. But I'd gotten involved with stars before- enough to know that it rarely ended well.

Mia was just as useful the rest of the shoot as she was during her "negotiations" between Emmanuelle and Michael. She seemed to have a sixth sense of just how to make herself useful. Whenever I needed something, I'd almost invariably turn to find her there, the item in hand or the task already accomplished. I found myself beginning to wonder if she was some kind of clairvoyant. But supernatural powers or no, she was clearly in the right line of work.

"I don't know about you," I said, sometime later during the shoot, as the afternoon turned to evening, "but I'd kill for a drink."

Mia nodded her head enthusiastically, showing that she was in complete agreement. I found that our previous closeness was starting to return. Nothing sexual, of course, but that I found myself able to interact with her as someone I had a shared history with, rather than someone I'd just met. And this was a relief, as carrying on the façade of pretending I didn't know her was beginning to be exhausting.

And I couldn't help but notice her in other ways. Mia was just as good-looking as she'd always been. Maybe even more so. She'd always been a beautiful girl, but when we dated in college –or, when she was in college- she still had traces of teenage awkwardness. Now, she had fully developed into a beautiful woman. Her face was stunning, and I couldn't help but imagine how her body looked under those simple, casual clothes she wore. I found myself continually needing to refocus on the task at hand.

It was only fitting that during one of these little drifts of my attention, when Mia was off attending to some other issue, that a young woman, one of the other assistants on set, came up to me to get my attention.

"Hi," said the girl, a cute little blond with an awkward, hurried way about her. "Are you Liam Thorne?"

"I am."

"Oh, OK, great," said the girl. "Ms. Jerrod asked me to ask you to meet her in her trailer in fifteen. She said it's script issues."

And with that, before I had a chance to respond, the girl was off.

Script issues, I thought, shaking my head.

Still, if the talent needed to talk with me then the talent need to talk with me. Making my way around the set, I checked in with various members of the crew, making sure that all was going well. After around ten minutes or so of checking up, I headed outside and arrived at Emmanuelle's trailer, giving the silver steel door a gentle rapping.

"Who is it?" came the sing-song voice from within.

"Liam Thorne."

A pregnant moment hung in the air.

"Do come in."

I opened the door to the trailer and was immediately walloped with the scent of lavender and tropical fruit. I felt my eyes water slightly under the assault of the smells that were laced through the air. Strange New-Age music played, the type of music you'd imagine hearing when you walked into one of those stores that sold nothing but beads and crystals. Stepping into the trailer, I noted that it was more like a small apartment than the typical actor's trailer. My mind began to come up with estimations for just how much this little set-up cost on a daily basis, but I put those thoughts aside.

"You asked to see me?" I called out, still adjusting to the smell of the place.

"Liam," said Emmanuelle from the other room. "Have a seat."

I continued to stand, not wanting to risk getting too comfortable and wasting more time than necessary.

After a few more moments, Emmanuelle emerged from the other room wearing nothing but a flitty, nearly translucent robe. Well, nothing aside from the lace underwear I could clearly see through it. Emmanuelle stood at the doorframe to her bedroom, her hands on the frame and her hips cocked to the side, a coy smile on her face.

"What a day, huh?" she said, looking me up and town with sensual eyes.

It didn't take a genius to realize what was going on here. Emmanuelle and I had worked together in the past, and her attraction to me was about as clear as could be. She was a beautiful girl, certainly, but you can only get involved in so many workplace entanglements before it starts to become very old.

Still, she looked damn good. I couldn't help but imagine what she'd look like bent over, that robe thrown over the curves of her lower back, my hands digging into the supple, fair skin of her hips as I drove into her over and over…

I snapped myself back to reality. Thoughts like this meant I needed to get out of here as fast as possible.

"Yes," I said. "What a day."

Emmanuelle sauntered over to me, getting in my personal space just enough to make it clear that she knew exactly what she was doing.

"It's so good to work with you again," she said, her voice as wispy and light as the scents that snake through the air. "After dealing with the…newbies on the set today, it was good to remind myself that we're all in very good hands."

I got the impression pretty quickly that she didn't call me here to discuss anything of importance. Well, importance to me, at least.

"Good to work with you, too," I said. "Thought I'd appreciate it if you went a little easier on the crew."

"Oh, you mean that feckless director?" she put emphasis on "feckless" in that old-timey actress way she insisted on speaking in. "It's not my fault that he has no understanding of my vision."

"Your vision isn't what matters. He's the director, so what he says, you do."

Her curved, red eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Always with the strong tone," she said. "And I see this time you have a little helper to assist you with keeping the workers in line."

I figured it was only a matter of time before she launched a barb at Mia.

"I don't have time for this," I said, turning my body to leave.

"Oh, Liam," she said, placing her hand on my arm. "Always so hot-tempered. Why don't you stay here for a spell- relax, a little."

She couldn't make her proposition clearer without letting her robe drop right to the ground. And to be honest, it was rather enticing. After all, I wasn't involved with anyone at the moment.

But I talked myself back into a clear-thinking state of mind.

"No time for relaxing," I said, gently removing her hand from my arm and stepping away. "In the future, don't call me for a private meeting unless you have something concrete to discuss."

Soon, I was stepping through the door.

"Farewell, Liam," said Emmanuel, her voice lingering in the air as thick and fragrant as her scents.

Shutting the door behind me, I shook my head.

Never a dull moment.