Stunt Doubled: A Movie Star Standalone

I did exactly what she suggested. Five minutes later, I was knocking on Henderson’s door. “Here you go.”

Ignoring the cream and sugar, he took one sip and spit it out on the floor. “It’s bitter.”

Of course it was bitter. It was coffee. “Perhaps the cream—”

“Get me a new one!”

I tried not to let my sigh be audible as I took the offending coffee away. The assistant director was almost like a caricature of an irate boss. Maybe being around movie stars had made him want to try out his own acting chops? If so, he was doing a hell of a job because I truly believed that he was a petty little man who was never satisfied. Bravo.

The next coffee wasn’t warm enough.

The one after that didn’t have milk in it—even though he’d never asked for milk.

The one after that had milk, but he was incensed that no one had frothed the milk before adding it to the coffee. How he could tell that, I had no idea.

“Get it right, Mac’s kid.”

Right or not, this was the last damn coffee I was getting for him. I grabbed a regular black coffee from craft services and took it to the condiments counter. I added three creams, two sugars, and a butterscotch hard candy that I’d swiped from the bowl on Tina’s desk.

Then I stirred it all together and marched back to his office. “It’s hot, the milk’s frothed, they used a fresh brew with beans that were less bitter, sir.” None of that was true except the first one. “When they heard it was for you, they went all out. I should have told them that the first time.”

Henderson took a long sip and then closed his mouth, bobbing his head slightly while he considered it. Finally, he swallowed and then looked up at me. “That’s perfect.”

Good. That meant I wouldn’t have to dump the rest of it over his head. “Glad to hear it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope.” He looked pointedly at the door. “Go away, Mac’s kid.”

Going away—that wasn’t a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

I shut the door behind me and smiled at Tina. “Give me something to do, please. I’ll do anything—even refile the stuff I’ve already filed. But I need to kill an hour or so. After that, I’ve got something the assistant director told me to do.” That was mostly the truth. Henderson had told me to go away. How was I supposed to know if it was a direct order or just a rude dismissal?

Tina seemed to understand my exasperation at this situation. “I’ll try to come up with something.”

I smiled. “Great. While you do that, I need to make a call.”

Two hours later, I was chilling in the backseat of an air-conditioned car and speeding away from my stepbrothers, the movie set, and the desert.

Evan, the man who’d driven me from Colorado Springs the other day, was behind the wheel. “You lasted three days before giving me a call—that’s not bad.”

I shook my head. “It’s not good, either.”

“Honestly, the look on your face when I dropped you off made me think you’d call sooner. I just didn’t know if you’d want me to drive you to the bar or the airport.”

Hmm, I hadn’t thought about that. Good for me for needing a temporary escape, not a permanent one. To my surprise, Evan was turning out to be pretty good company. It was nice to talk to a man who could discuss something other than movie making.

“So how’s the movie making going?”

Ugh. “Judging from the way people ask me to fetch them coffee, I have no idea.”

Evan grinned at me in the rear-view mirror. “So I take it you’re not one of the actresses?”

“Not hardly.”

“You’re pretty enough to be one.”

“This isn’t a date.” I cocked an eyebrow at his reflection, but he was already looking back at the road. Aiden could take a few driving tips from him.

“You made that clear when you insisted on hiring me to drive you rather than letting me take you out. Don’t know why… the first option is a lot cheaper.”

I couldn’t help grinning. “So you’re saying you’re a cheap date?”

“Something like that.” He took a sip from his water bottle. “So how come you don’t like it there? Not the starstruck type?”

“Not usually.” And not ever again now that I’d actually met a star in person.

“Ever hear of self-fulfilling prophecies? You looked miserable when I dropped you off on Monday, and it didn’t go well. Think there’s a connection there?”

“Are you a psychiatrist? Going to listen to all my problems and tell me what to do?”

“Na,” he said, not sounding offended. “But the bartender at this place practically is. I figured you might need a professional to listen.”

I pictured a gray-haired, wise old man polishing glassware behind a bar. “Not sure a bartender would know what to do in this situation.”