The bathroom door opened, and Zahara straightened and reached for a paper towel to dry her face.
“Hey, Z.” Amanda, the young production assistant she’d worked with on Chilled, stood in the doorway. “They want to film the building-to-building jump before the awning scene.”
“Okay. Be right there.”
Zahara had spent the morning practicing the building-to-building jump after she’d returned from her doctor’s visit. Knowing she could do it with her eyes closed eased an edge of stress and gave her something else to focus on.
She took a few deep, slow breaths, and started toward the buildings behind the shopping center where the next two scenes would take place. She passed crew and cast, wove around equipment, and jogged the stairs to the fifth floor of an old building. There, she found the crew rigging up for the stunt. Earlier, she’d been jumping between the two buildings through holes cut out of the exteriors. Now, the set designers finished installing the candy-paned windows.
She picked up her harness and moved closer to inspect the amazing displays of sugar so clear it looked like real glass. It also shattered like glass, and while not as dangerous, the sheared candy could cut you into literal pieces if handled incorrectly.
“Looks great,” she told the guys.
“We’re headed over to the other building,” one of the men told her. “You’ll be ready to go in twenty.”
Zahara was looking forward to this. It was an easy stunt, and she always had fun shattering fake glass, especially when she didn’t have to end up on the ground with it.
She stepped into her harness, slipped it over her shoulders, and fastened the closures while looking down through the watery panes of faux glass. The crew below inflated a safety pad. Her hands moved back over the snaps, double- and triple-checking they were secure. Her gaze wandered over the crew, pausing on Chase. A twinge of guilt pinched her stomach. She’d been unjustly bitchy to him at the end of the last scene.
Then she looked closer at the woman he was talking to. A blonde woman. A blonde woman who looked a lot like…
No.
She moved to one of the smaller, real windows to get a better view. And she saw exactly what she’d feared—Lila.
“Fucking A.”
“I told her not to step foot on this set.” Chase’s words replayed in Zahara’s head.
Followed by Zahara’s own. “I’m probably being an idiot, but I really want to believe you.”
God, she was acting as naive as a brand-new starlet, blinded to what was right in front of her face—Chase was a liar. And he and Lila were a damn accident waiting to happen. One that could tank Zahara’s career if she got caught in the fray. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to provide for her own security, now she had to provide for a child. An innocent, helpless child.
She might not know how to be a mother, but she did know how it felt to grow up in turmoil. And she wouldn’t allow her child to suffer the way she had.
Zahara turned away from the window and focused on the only thing she had any control over—work. She checked in with the cameramen and the director, then made a sweep of the cables and the connections securing her to both the wall and the safety line. When everything looked good, Zahara moved to the X she’d drawn on the floor earlier that day during practice.
“Let’s do this, guys.” She scraped her boots on the floor to ensure traction for her sprint. “I need a distraction.”
And some adrenaline to flush out the disappointment.
A crewmember called the scene and snapped the clapboard.
“Ready,” Andy called through a bullhorn outside. “And…action.”
Zahara activated all her muscles, pushed against the floor, and sprinted toward the window. She pulled in a breath and ducked her head a split second before her body crashed through the sugar glass. Zahara knew her momentum and trajectory would take her directly through the other window, so she concentrated on keeping her head down and her eyes and mouth closed tight. She flew across the fifteen-foot space between the buildings in seconds.
The next window shattered at the first touch of her boot, and Zahara touched down without opening her eyes. She let out one hard breath to dispel any sugar spears around h
er lips so she could breathe.
“Hold tight, you fuckin’ rock star.” Wes’s voice sounded nearby. “Warm towel coming.”
He pressed a hot, wet towel against her eyes, melting any residual shards of sugar. When she blinked her eyes open, Wes’s grin greeted her.
“Wait until you see that on screen,” he told her, offering her the towel. “That was wicked cool.”
“Thanks.” She shook out her hair, wiped her face, and dusted off her clothes. “What’s next?”