Page 2 of Best Friends for Never

“Embarrassing as hell?” I scoff. “Yeah, I know. But he was right. I sucked.”

“Youdidn’t suck. This dialogue does. It’s crap.”

She gets it.

I thought maybe it was just me, but no. Which is not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. If the actors aren’t even connecting with the scene, it’s not going to hit with audiences either. Reshoots after thisinevitably fails testing are not an option, thanks to my agent booking me out the ass for the next six months, all starting with a trip I really, really don’t want to take.

I shove that thought aside. It’s not something I need to be thinking of right now. I need to focus entirely on this next take so I can nail it and we can get out of here faster. We are just four scenes away from wrapping this film, and the whole crew has agreed to work over the weekend in hopes of finishing early. The last thing I need is to mess this up and let everyone down.

Bridget peeks over at the crew again before stepping in closer and lowering her voice. “Go off script,” she says.

“Oh, so youwantme to get fired.”

She laughs, lifting her eyes skyward. “Please. As if David would ever fire you. He’d lose the movie likethat.” She snaps her fingers for emphasis. “You’re the whole reason the budget got bumped up so we could film the first part of the movie on location in Paris. You’re not going anywhere.”

I don’t even bother refuting her words. She’s right. Iamthe reason the budget was expanded. The studio’s last movie didn’t do as well as they hoped, so they cut the financing for this one. Then I came onto the scene, and millions of dollars were suddenly available.

I guess that’s the kind of pull you have when riding a hot streak and landing roles left and right after your big-budget movie sweeps the awards season.

But the trophies on my shelf aside, going off script is not an option with David Richards, the multi-award-winning director famous for his epic, sweeping romances, running the show. As much as he’s known for his two-plus-hour-long sagas, he’s even more notorious for hating it when his actors improvise. He says a script was written for a reason, and we’re expected to follow it to a T. He’s already kept us to 4:00 a.m. three times this week because he wasn’t happy with a speech my character’s brother was giving—he kept leaving out too many filler words.

One Nightis expected to be this generation’sThe Notebook, taking the audience by storm and being quoted for years. I can’t blow this just because I can’t move past some crappy dialogue and deliver the scene like it needs to be delivered.

“Trust me, Noel, it’s not you,” Bridget tells me as if she can read my mind. And maybe she can at this point. We’ve been working side by side nearly nonstop for the last eight weeks. The only real breaks from one another have come in the form of three-hour naps between takes or when David rushes off to his trailer to correct the script. “It’s this speech. It’s too ... choppy. It needs work. David is just afraid to admit it.”

I glance at Kris, one of the makeup artists, and their eyes connect with mine. They point their brush at Bridget. “I’m with her on this. That speech didn’t evoke a single reaction from me except annoyance. If a partner said those words to me, I’d be gone in a flash. But I don’t play games.” They shrug, then continue working on my face like they never said a word.

“Thanks, Kris,” I mutter. Bridget smiles victoriously. “Oh, shut up. Stop looking so proud. I’ll ... I’ll think about it.”

“Thinking about it and doing it are two different things. Come on, Noel. You can do it. Pull from experience. I know you have some heartbreak in your past.” Bridget rakes her eyes over me. “There’s no way you look like you and don’t.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Bridget flirted with me during this shoot. If we weren’t costars, I’d consider it. But I have a rule against dating anyone I work with, and I’m not planning to bend that anytime soon.

“I bet you have girls crying and mooning over you left and right. Hell, the boys too,” she continues, her eyes still drinking me in. “Probably you were the king of your high school, turning down prom dates hourly.”

I laugh at that. I was most certainlynotthe king of my high school. I wasn’t what you’d call popular, but I wasn’t entirely on the outskirtseither. I was the sought-after lead for every school play, and in the tiny town I hail from, that heldsomeweight.

“I was a theater geek.”

“So? I’ve met theater geeks. They’re usually the freakiest of them all. Ask me how I know.” She bounces her brows up and down.

I shake my head with a smile. “You’re too much, Bridge.”

She shrugs, not bothered by my words. And why would she be? She’s been in this industry since she was nine years old, getting her start on the Family Channel, and she then went on to do what nearly every childhood star does—have a public nervous breakdown and go wild. She’s been in the headlines more times than I could ever dream of, though it’s been mostly bad over the years. This movie is supposed to be her big comeback, showing the world she’s not just another former childhood star turned rowdy partyer.

Which means I have to do it. I have to go off script, not just to save myself from delivering those horrible lines but also to save this movie for Bridget.

My brain kicks into overdrive, and all the possible ways I could play this scene flow through me at once. I know where I can tweak it, where I can make it better.

I heard rumors that the last actor to pull a stunt like this with David was banned from ever starring in another of his movies. That led to him being barred from other sets and branded as “undirectable.” Not saying he’s been completely blacklisted, but I don’t believe it’s a coincidence he hasn’t been a lead in a serious film since.

It’s a risk. A huge one. If I’m going to do this, I’ll have to be sure I can pull it off or risk facing David’s wrath.

“Just think about it,” Bridget says as the makeup crew finishes.

They scurry off the set, a fake front lawn that’ll be transformed into a dramatic nighttime scene during edits. David demands a quiet room, then counts us in.

“Action!” he calls, and the set is frozen. The cast, the crew—everyone—is quiet and unmoving, all eyes on us as Bridget and I get back into the scene.

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