out what he could.
Besides, maybe before he uncovered one part of his past, he could bury another—the image he held of Sabrina from days gone by. Maybe, he thought, just maybe it would be good for him to take on Gus’s project. Reality couldn’t possibly match up to the memory. He’d see her, talk with her, get her out of his head once and for all.
And when he was done with the project, he’d be done with her.
“I’ll do it,” Stef said suddenly.
“Wonderful.” Gus’s voice was delighted. “I’ll get some numbers from your producer and we can move things along. As far as the cable doc…” he paused.
“It’s as good as done,” Stef said, ignoring his bellyful of misgivings at the idea of working with Sabrina again.
Yeah, he was sure it was just misgivings.
3
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I have to have a fire truck on site?” Sabrina demanded of the faceless bureaucrat on the phone. “It’s not like we’re setting and filming open fires in the middle of a national forest. We’re filming on a street.”
She sighed, tapping a pen on the stack of forms in front of her. She knew the cycle of permit after permit after permit by heart. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Sometimes, the regulations made sense. More often, she suspected they were put into place merely to torment her.
“All right,” she said, giving in to the inevitable. “Off-duty cops and an off-duty fire truck on site at all times. If we get that, are we good to go?” At the affirmative answer, she gave a decisive nod. “Thanks for your help,” she said insincerely and hung up the phone.
At the burble and whir of the fax machine in the outer office, Sabrina glanced out her door at Laeticia’s empty desk—Kisha had finally gone into labor and Laeticia was with her, leaving Sabrina to fend for herself. Just what she needed. Bad enough she was facing the prospect of dealing with Stef Costas again; now her office routine was falling apart. She was a professional, though. She’d deal with the office and she’d sure as hell deal with Stef. He might have mowed her over at nineteen, not now.
Frowning at herself, Sabrina began to update her scheduling software with a list of shoots. A roving New York sex club, a lap dance tutor, a hotel for exhibitionists…Home Cinema wouldn’t know what had hit it. A lot of babies would be born nine months after the premiere, she thought, a broad smile spreading across her face.
Two years of being a production manager had made Sabrina an expert in problem-solving, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant. Laeticia made the office an oasis of sanity and order; Sabrina felt her absence keenly. The phone rang and Sabrina snatched it up, only to find a telemarketer on the other end. A raise, she thought as she hung up. Laeticia definitely deserved a raise.
Sabrina made a noise of frustration at the peremptory blat of sound in the reception room. The fax machine had gone silent; it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. With a sigh, Sabrina rose to take care of it. The signed contract for the documentary was coming through and the last thing she needed was to run out of paper in the middle of it.
She pulled open the doors of the metal cabinet that housed their office supplies. The only box of paper was unopened, which meant digging out Laeticia’s box cutter. Bumping her head on an upper shelf, she cursed just as she heard a noise behind her.
“You ought to be more careful, rushing into things like that. Then again, that always was your problem.”
Sabrina froze. The words vibrated in the silence of the room and shivered into the marrow of her bones. Slowly, she straightened up and turned, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
Stef Costas leaned against the wall just inside the door to her office. It snatched the breath from her lungs to see him there. A day-old beard darkened his jaw, framing his mouth. How she’d loved that mouth, addictive and enticing, hot and demanding on hers. How she’d loved him, once upon a time.
Once upon a time…the beginning of all good fairy tales. Theirs had been the fairy story of all time, a magical fantasy of true love.
Only they hadn’t lived happily ever after.
She concentrated on the memory, searching for composure. “Well, if it isn’t the famous Stef Costas.” She gave him a leisurely, intentionally insolent survey. It had been eight years since she’d seen him, aside from the nights he haunted her dreams. The years had stripped down his face to the sharp, tight lines of jaw and cheekbone, the black slashes of brow above midnight eyes, a sheaf of ebony hair hanging over his forehead. His was a face that conjured up thoughts of Alexander the Great, or Jason and the Argonauts. He’d grown leaner, tougher-looking and even more handsome, if that were possible. And, judging by the lack of a wedding ring, free of entanglements.
Stef gave her a mocking stare in return with those black, damn-you-to-the-devil eyes. “And if it isn’t the latest Pantolini producer.”
“Producer,” she repeated slowly, savoring the taste on her tongue. “I believe that makes me your boss, doesn’t it?” She saw a quick flash in his eyes before he banked it back. He still had a temper, that much was clear.
“The way I understood it, you were short a director. Let’s not forget I’m here doing you a favor—boss,” he said.
He also still had that annoying sense of superiority. “I don’t need a favor.” Her words were brisk, with a note of warning. “What I need is someone who can bring this documentary in on time, within budget and with the look and style I want. As long as we understand each other, we’ll do fine.”
His eyes were direct, with, she swore, a hint of enjoyment. “Yes, ma’am. Just one thing—we work with my director of photography.”
“I’ve already got a cameraman under contract.”
“Pay him off.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear what I just said. We’re doing this on budget. My guy stays.”
“No. Gus tells me you’ve worked with him on docs before, so you know how these things go. It’s one hundred percent intuitive, and you better get the shot right the first time, particularly when it’s live action. We don’t have the time—and I don’t have the patience—to break in a new cameraman.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been working with Kevin for seven years, he knows how I think. I don’t work without him.”
She’d dealt with cocky directors before. What was it about Stef that made her want to get in his face and match him attitude for attitude? Maybe it was the calm assurance that he’d get his way, or rather, that his way was the only way. If anything, that aura of unshakable confidence that he’d had in college had deepened and ripened with time. Unfortunately, it only made his dark looks even more appealing, she thought, leaning against the edge of Laeticia’s desk.
After all these years, Stef Costas was still stubborn, infuriating and just this side of a prima donna. He was also, in all likelihood, right about the cameraman. She could hear Gus’s voice now: “Make the maximum use of your resources. Let the talent do their jobs.” Stef was undeniably talented. She was damned if she was going to give in to him completely during their first disagreement, though. Do what’s necessary, sure, but she had another maxim—begin as you mean to go on.
It
