“Being within fifty feet of me assures you every headline you want, doesn’t it?” With a casualness he didn’t really feel, but would grate on Cait’s nerves regardless, he leaned back against the railing and stacked his hands behind his head. “Once upon a time, you claimed I was good for your Q Score. Looking for a second bite of the apple, Caity?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your ego is simply unbelievable, Finn. Believe it or not, this is not about you. In fact, the very last thing I need—or want—is the kind of headlines you bring. I’ve grown up, worked damn hard to improve my craft and cleaned up my image. I take my job seriously.” She eyed him with something he could only call distaste. “Since you can’t say the same, why don’t you just go back to Monaco until this is in the can? That would be very helpful for my comeback.”
Oh, he’d definitely hit a nerve. Anger flushed her cheeks, and she gripped her tiny purse until her knuckles turned white.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an early call in the morning and should probably get some sleep.” With that, she stalked away, head held high, and wrenched open the door to the ballroom to disappear inside.
Cait still liked to get the last word. Blaming him and storming off in a huff was her usual M.O., so that much hadn’t changed. It was practically a repeat of that last night at his place. Everything had been his fault. Never hers.
He, however, had to think about bigger issues than Cait’s temper. Too many people were involved in Folly. Money and reputations were at stake. And he would not let Granddad’s glee at having Folly made be dampened by Cait and her possible dramatics. He would keep this project in line even if he had to kill people to get it done.
Finn gave himself a hard mental shake. He had to be rational about this. In the long run, Cait might prove to be a good choice for Folly. If she could pull off Rebecca, her name and potential star power could boost Folly’s box office revenues and award chances.
That didn’t mean it was going to be less of a hellish mess in the meantime, though.
Caitlyn closed her door against the heat and spread her arms to embrace the icy chill of the air-conditioned trailer. Yesterday she’d neglected to crank the thermostat down before she left and had come back to a trailer almost as hot as the outdoors. But today … Bliss, cool bliss.
Her sweaty skin felt better almost immediately, and she peeled off the dress sticking to her back and hung it in the closet. Another thing she loved about this role: the fashions of the Forties were flattering and feminine and made it easy to really embrace Rebecca’s character. In this heat, she was very glad Folly wasn’t set in an era where she’d have to wear corsets and mountainous dresses. If so, she’d be battling heatstroke about now.
In just her underwear, she went to the fridge for a bottle of water. She left the door open while she took a drink, letting the cool air from inside wash over her.
She’d been in London too long, gotten used to what they amusingly called “summer” and forgotten how stinking hot and humid summer could really be in some parts of the country.
Walter Farrell had been an assistant director under her father for many years, and had learned his philosophy about authenticity from the master. Like her father, Walter felt being in a similar setting—like this insufferable heat and humidity—would help the actors really connect with the characters, but Cait was rapidly developing sympathy for all the actors who’d worked with her father. Especially on that one film set in the jungle …
But, honestly, she didn’t care how much she sweated for this part. Caitlyn lay back on her small couch and fanned her face with her script. It wasn’t false pride or inflated ego to say that this was possibly the best performance of her life. She was working with a stellar cast, Hollywood’s best director—or at least second-best, she amended out of filial loyalty—and a crew that blew her away.
This was the life and the career she was supposed to have. It had just taken her a while to find the right path. She’d been given her second chance, and the only thing that really mattered was where she went from here.
She’d risk that heatstroke happily.
The only fly in her happy ointment was Finn. The rational pep talks she’d given herself about being an adult and leaving things in the past had turned to gibberish within just a few minutes of actually seeing him. It hadn’t been her finest moment, that was for sure, but what had she really expected? The last time she’d seen him, she’d been hurt and angry, hurling ridiculous accusations at him because she hadn’t been able to analyze, much less articulate, what she was really feeling.
She yawned and closed her eyes. Makeup had had a hard time covering the bags under her eyes this morning. She’d intended to call her mom today, but a nap seemed a more prudent use of her time since she still had several hours of filming to do tonight.
A 5:00 a.m. alarm was never fun, but she’d spent a good portion of the night staring at the ceiling as she tried to sort through the morass of conflicting emotions caused by seeing Finn. Of course the few hours she’d managed to finally sleep had been haunted by dreams that left her restless. Dreams of Finn.
Damn him for being so tactless. Why couldn’t he be like normal people and politely ignore topics best left to die? Oh, no … He had to bring up personal junk in a professional situation.
And that was what she wanted to avoid at all costs. If she could, she’d give the entire planet amnesia so everyone would completely forget what had happened three years ago.
Too bad she couldn’t give herself amnesia as well.
Good times, bad times … They weren’t really classifiable as either. They were just “Finn Times”—fun and exciting at the time, but in retrospect not the wisest of choices and not an experience she’d like to repeat.
The residual tingle from last night’s dreams rather belied those thoughts, but Caitlyn purposefully pushed those aside. Finn was tempting—very tempting—but she couldn’t risk everything she’d worked for. Eyes on the prize.
But she would have to come to some kind of understanding with Finn. She’d accept her fair share of the blame, but that didn’t mean she could just forgive and forget. Until last night she’d thought she was over it, but it hadn’t taken long for all the old hurt to come rushing back.
Damn him.
She’d had more than her fair share of failed relationships—both before and after Finn—so why did Finn alone have the power to make her hurt?
Wallowing in the past would get her nowhere. She had to concentrate on now. Ignoring each other or acting hostile would be just as likely to attract attention and gossip. She could get through this …
A knock interrupted her drowsy thoughts. So much for that nap. She called, “Come in!” and reached for her water bottle.
“Stunning outfit, Cait.”
Her eyes flew open in surprise, confirming that Finn was, indeed, in her trailer, and it took a second for the meaning of his words to actually register. Once they did … Damn it. Face hot, Caitlyn jumped up from the couch and grabbed the robe hanging on the bathroom door. Keeping her back to him, she shoved her arms through the sleeves. Granted, the old-fashioned underwear covered more than her bathing suit normally did, but that didn’t change the fact she was wearing nothing but
