Shaina and I looked at each other. I could tell she was waiting for me to speak first, so I didn’t. I could play passive-aggressive power games, too.
I busied myself with my coffee, taking a long, satisfying sip. It was good coffee, just the right ratio of cream and honey. Then I nibbled on the chocolate croissant. It was delicious, the dark chocolate rich, just on the right side of bittersweet, and a perfect contrast to the buttery croissant.
Shaina, on the other hand, didn’t have her coffee yet, so had no props.
She broke first.
“I don’t see the need for you on this set.” She threw the words as if slapping down a gauntlet in challenge.
“Oh?” I raised an inquiring eyebrow and drank more coffee.
“No.” she snapped. “I just hired a perfectly respectable stunt coordinator, and he’s not happy at the thought of taking orders from someone who doesn’t know the stunt business.”
I nearly did a spit take at that. “What on earth gave you the idea I don’t have experience?”
She sniffed. “Cayden didn’t mention any when he informed me that he was hiring someone to oversee the production.”
“Tell me, Miss Gilchrist, have you ever heard of the Katz Stunt Crew?”
“Of course I have. Everyone has, but what—”
“I started training with them when I was seven and worked my first stunt job when I was twelve.”
That made her pause. Cocking her head, she took a good look at me. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lee Striga.” My tone was flat. Either Cayden hadn’t mentioned my name, or she hadn’t bothered to remember it. Either way, I was getting pissed-off.
“I’ve heard of you. No one wanted to hire you after what happened on Pale Dreamer.”
I swear, you kill one lousy producer…
“And yet,” I said, “here I am. I also worked on Cayden’s film Voodoo Wars for the last two months. Do you really think he’d hire me again if there’d been any problems?”
Shaina chewed that one over for a minute or two. “I suppose not.” She gave me a sharp glance. “You didn’t sexually harass anyone, did you?”
I looked at her for a moment, tempted to be pissed-off that she would even ask me that question. Stared long enough for her to start getting nervous. Good. I wondered how many times in her life Shaina had actually felt intimidated. Not often, I imagined. Brought up in the rarified atmosphere of low-budget royalty, she’d probably gotten what she’d wanted most of her life.
Then I felt ashamed of myself—Miss Judgy McJudgerson. I didn’t know who Shaina was, what her life was like. I’d met her father a few years back, at a premiere for Gatorcane II, part of an improbably successful franchise. Hurricanes in Florida that carried alligators on the storm surges. The series had relaunched the careers of several actors whose careers had tanked back in the nineties.
Regardless of my opinion, the movies performed well on the various streaming platforms, and Walter Gilchrist’s ego expanded like the Blob after eating a small town. At the premiere I’d made the mistake of offering him my hand, which he’d clasped between damp palms while staring at my cleavage. He’d made the mistake of asking me what I thought of the movie. I’d made the mistake of being honest—I blame the champagne—and my cleavage hadn’t been enough to take away the sting of honesty. Or the sharp smack I’d delivered to his wandering hand.
It might well explain why I’d never been hired at Crazy Casa, even though I was way out of their league.
“Hey!” I was brought back to the present by fingers snapping loudly under my nose. “If you’re not going to pay attention when I speak, why are you here?”
Well, hell. I should have known better than to lose focus. Having made that mistake, though…
“You ever do that again, I’ll break your fingers.” I smiled as I spoke, but I meant every word. “I’m not a dog and I’m not your employee, even if you are paying part of my salary. I work for Cayden Doran, who has hired me to oversee the stunts on this production because he doesn’t want anyone hurt while filming in his home. Crazy Casa does not have a good record for safety.”
Shaina opened her mouth to blast me, but I raised a finger—just one—and continued.
“If you want to film here, you will cooperate with me. You will treat me—and anyone I bring onto this production—with respect. I will do the same for your stunt coordinator and the rest of your crew. Are we clear?”
Most likely Shaina understood the power dynamic all too well, and bitterly resented it. I’d cry a few tears for her in my next life.
“So, are we going to be able to work together?”
“I don’t see that I’ve got much choice.”
I shrugged. “Guess you don’t, if you want to film here. But just so you know, I’ll try and make it as easy as possible. I’ve got nothing to prove.” I paused, and Shaina stared at me without blinking, like a blue-eyed snake. I counted a good thirty seconds before she finally replied.
“Good.”
Guess we won’t be BFFs anytime soon.
Ooh boy, this was gonna be fun. Good thing I was getting double pay for it. But I was still gonna make Cayden buy a shit-ton of beer to make up for the aggravation.
The doorbell ding-donged again.
“Ah, that should be my stunt coordinator,” she said. The emphasis on “my” was deliberate. The click of boot heels heralded the newcomer as he followed Kana into the room. My scar tingled slightly.
Ah crap, I thought.
I rose to my feet, putting on my best professional demeanor for none other than Nigri Barboza.