there would’ve been someone stationed outside the door to keep her from wandering into the shot.
“There you are.” Sydney jumped as Pepper seemed to appear behind her from out of nowhere. To be caught that unawares, Sydney must have been more exhausted than she realized.
She put a hand on her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Pepper said, her Southern accent thicker than usual as she bit off the words. “But where on earth have you been? We’ve had quite a bit of excitement on the set this morning. Didn’t you get my messages? I’ve been trying to call you.”
Sydney hadn’t. Her phone was tucked inside her purse, still on airplane mode. She rifled through her handbag until she found her cellular, her fingers first finding her keys, a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer and the small bag of pretzels they’d given her on the plane before she located what she was looking for. She pulled it out and changed the setting. More than a dozen calls and texts blew up her phone.
As director of public relations, she was rarely out of touch. She gave the messages a cursory glance before dropping her phone back into her purse and returning the bag to her shoulder. Most of the messages were from Pepper. She would deal with the other texts and voice mails later. As she braced herself for Pepper’s inquisition, she wondered if subconsciously she’d forgotten to turn on her phone to avoid questions about her absence before it was absolutely unavoidable.
And that time was now. Better to head off the questions by volunteering information.
“I had to go out of town this weekend and my return flight was delayed.”
“You what?” Pepper asked. “Where’d you go? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Sydney waved off the question as if it were no big deal. “Long story. But tell me, what’s happening here?”
Just as Sydney hoped, Pepper lost the scent of her own inquiry and pounced on the decoy.
“Oh. My. Gosh. You won’t believe it.” Her voice was a hushed stage whisper. She looked around as if worried someone might overhear her. “Bill Hines had to take a personal leave of absence. We walked in this morning to find out that we have a brand-new director. At least for the time being.”
Pepper pointed with her nose toward the other side of the large kitchen. Sure enough, there stood a tall, dark haired, broad-shouldered man talking to the executive producer, Aiden Woods. Sydney couldn’t tell what he looked like because she could only see his profile. The men stood behind the set lights. The new guy’s features were somewhat cloaked in shadows.
“Don’t let his good looks fool you,” Pepper said. “The guy’s a slave driver of the worst kind.”
For some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep, Pepper’s melodramatics struck Sydney as funny. A small hiccup-laugh escaped.
“Right. You laugh now, but just wait,” Pepper warned. “He was not too pleased with you this morning when you missed your call time.”
“What?” Sydney asked, suddenly sobered by the news that she might be in trouble. “I didn’t have a call time.” Yes she did. “Well, not an individual spotlight, anyway.”
Pepper put up her hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the carrier pigeon. I am just giving you fair warning.”
Now that the news had had a chance to sink in, Sydney found herself getting a tad irritated. This guy comes in unannounced and takes roll? No. They weren’t used to checking in, and as far as she was concerned, they weren’t going to start now. Who did he think he was, coming in and shaking up a system that worked just fine?
“Why didn’t he just shoot the scene without me?” Sydney asked.
“He did. Sort of. Ooh, come here. Let’s go find A.J. and Caroline. They’re hiding in your office.”
Sydney stole one more glance at the new director. “Is he really that bad?”
Pepper grimaced and grabbed Sydney by the hand, all but dragging her the long way through the building, via the front reception area, circumventing the new guy, Aiden and the rest of the crew.
“Who the hell is he, anyway? And who does he think he is, coming in here with an attitude?”
Pepper didn’t answer. Their friends weren’t in the office but had ventured out to the craft-services table, which was tucked into an out-of-the-way alcove in the back of the Celebrations, Inc., Catering Company shop.
“Look who I found.” Pepper was still using that absurd stage whisper.
A.J. and Caroline took it one step worse. They pantomimed a mixture of shock and relief. What? Were they no longer allowed to speak at a normal decibel? They whisked Sydney into the office and shut the door.
“Oh, my dear God,” said A.J., finally using normal volume. “Where have you been?”
A.J. raked her hands through her hair, looking panic-stricken. That was when Sydney realized something was very wrong. Pepper might be the resident drama queen, but A.J. was calm, cool and levelheaded. Usually, Sydney envied her composure. When A.J. flapped, there was reason to be concerned.
“That doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Please fill me in on what’s going on.”
A.J. explained how Aiden had said Bill Hines had a family emergency and had introduced Miles Mercer as the new interim director.
“Miles Mercer…?” Sydney repeated. “Where do I know that name from?”
“Come here.” Caroline motioned Sydney to come behind the desk. She typed something into the computer’s internet browser. A long list of hits came up for…Miles Mercer. When Sydney saw the thumbnail of the Past Midnight movie poster, the pieces began to fall into place.
That Miles Mercer.
She’d heard of him and his scary movie, Past Midnight, a low-budget horror flick. Everyone had heard of him. Not only was he a local boy who’d made good, but a few years ago, the movie had been a runaway box-office sensation, and was declared a cutting-edge approach to filmmaking.
What the heck was he doing here on the set of Catering to Dallas?
“Really?” She pointed toward the door. “That’s him?”
“Yes,” said A.J. “Apparently, he’s a good buddy of Aiden’s and flew in immediately after Bill asked for leave.”
“Do you know he’s only twenty-nine years old?” Pepper asked. Even though her expression was disapproving, her eyes were large and held that certain awed reverence reserved for only the most gorgeous men. “Bless his heart, but that’s too young to have been called a genius. Don’t you think?”
Sydney commandeered the mouse and clicked on the first Miles Mercer listing on the browser page—one of those “e-encyclopedia” sites that offered comprehensive morsels of info in easily digestible bites. She quickly read what it had to report about him.
Yes, he had apparently been heralded a genius among the Hollywood types for his innovative movie-making style. It also noted that he’d made Past Midnight when he was in college. He’d
