“I love that.”

There’s a loaded pause before I clear my throat and he does the same.

“Yeah, well, so,” he says. “About the movie.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry. You were telling me about Dessi Blue.”

“I’d rather you learn about Dessi for yourself. You up for a field trip?”

“A field trip? When? Where?”

“As soon as you can get some time off. Just a few days, but Dessi still has family in the small town where she grew up. Her parents moved to New York from Alabama during the Great Migration when she was sixteen, but some of their family stayed behind. Her daughter lives in Alabama and essentially oversees the estate—what there is of it. I’m optioning Dessi’s life story through her. I think it’d be great if you got to know Dessi through someone connected to her.”

“That would be super helpful.”

“Verity will come, too. Great opportunity for her to get as close as we can to source material.”

A road trip with Canon Holt, even chaperoned, sends a secret thrill through me, one I suppress immediately.

Focus.

“This all sounds amazing,” I say. “It’s a true biopic.”

“Yes, and we don’t get enough of those about Black folks who did big things. It will be a demanding role with singing, dancing. You will act your ass off for me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the best out of you. I’m not easy to work with. You might hate me by the time it’s over.”

“Why me?” I ask softly. “I mean, this is obviously a huge budget and a once-in-a-lifetime role. I’m . . . a standby.”

“No, you’re a star who was standing by waiting for me to find her.”

I let his low-voiced encouragement sink in before replying.

“That sounds very Svengali. Are you planning to mold me into exactly what you want?” I release a breathless chuckle. “Good luck with that.”

“I don’t want to change you. I think you’re fantastic exactly as you are.”

All humor fades to dust at the certainty in his rough-smooth voice. A man like Canon, a director like him saying I’m fantastic as I am—I need to savor this. Roll it around in my mouth like candy. Suck on it for a second and swallow all the affirmation hidden at the center.

“This role will change you, though,” he continues. “Inevitably and irreversibly. The learning curve will be steep, and I won’t go easy on you. You have no film experience.”

“I know,” I say, the enormity of this undertaking flattening my high.

“But what you do have is Dessi’s spirit. There’s not much left, but I’ve seen old photos and some rare footage of her performing. She had an inextinguishable light. Trying to cast this role the last six months, I’ve seen so many actresses. Many of them were great, a lot of them already famous, but I didn’t see that light until I saw you perform a few weeks ago. I want it. I want that light. I want that heart and that vulnerability and strength. There is so much inside of you, Neevah, and I’m warning you now that I want it all.”

And in this moment, sitting on the floor of my dingy apartment, on the cusp of the greatest opportunity of my life, I want to give it to him.

13

Canon

“I feel like we’ve been driving through the set of Deliverance for two hours.”

Verity has been saying things like that for the last ten exits or so. Not that we’ve seen many exits. I’ve heard of back roads, but this route through Alabama seems to be behind the back roads, a stretch of nothing but rural landscape punctuated by the occasional house hungover from another era.

Neevah whistles Deliverance’s famous dueling banjo tune from the back seat, and Verity aims a grin over her shoulder at her. I can already tell the two of them will be trouble.

“When can we stop?” Neevah asks, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I need to pee.”

“You have the bladder of a beetle.” I try to sharpen the words, but they come out half-amused. Neevah seems to have that effect on me. “We just stopped for your bathroom break.”

“Excuse me for staying hydrated.”

“Hydrated? More like waterlogged.”

“I think two hours is a perfectly reasonable time between pisses,” Verity interjects.

“Thank you.” Neevah pokes her tongue out at me and giggles.

I’m glad Verity came with us on this trip since she’ll write the script. Not to mention, it’s not a good idea to be alone with Neevah for this long. It wouldn’t look right, and after the Primal debacle no one seems prepared to let me forget, the last thing I need is anyone thinking I’m romantically involved with my actress.

Camille was an aberration. Crafty enough to figure out exactly the kind of woman who could make me break my rules. Chameleon enough to fool me into thinking she was the answer. A great actress, she could pretend to be that kind of woman, but couldn’t sustain the charade. I realized too late she wasn’t who I thought she was.

Tags: Kennedy Ryan Hollywood Renaissance Romance
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