Page 14 of Lost Lyrics

“Let’s get to work.” Farrah tied my hair into a high ponytail, then grabbed her set of hot rollers. “Ready for an updo?”

“Sure am.” I sank lower into my chair and closed my eyes. As Farrah set my hair, I ran through lines in my head. But my mind kept drifting to Flint. Something had distracted him for days. He’d left the room to take calls. He’d paced the garden. Kept emailing and texting madly. But last night, he’d been okay, like whatever had been bothering him had been resolved. A small smile curled across my lips. He’d cooked dinner. We’d made love on the sofa while watching TV. We’d cuddled in bed before falling asleep in each other’s arms...but around two, he’d tossed and turned until my alarm went off at seven.

I hated he was worried about something. We talked about everything. So this weekend we’d sort things out for sure.

An hour later, Peyton and Mia hadn’t returned. Where the hell were they? Maybe I didn’t want to know since they were still in making-up mode. Farrah had miraculously transformed my mass of long golden hair into a stylish bun on top of my head and had plastered it into place with a ton of hairspray. She’d done my makeup, giving me perfect smoky eyes and a smear of bright red lipstick across my lips.Very glam.

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” our production assistant, Jerome, hollered from the other side.

“Sure,” I called back as I admired Farrah’s work in the mirror. I pouted and pressed my lips together, smoothing out my lipstick.Damn.She is good.

The door swung open. Jerome’s large frame filled the doorway. His headphones hung around his neck like a foammedical brace as he greeted us with his big, warm smile. “Morning, ladies. Sutton, Frank wants you on set. He’s good to go. Are you ready?”

“I sure am.” I twinkled my fingers at him. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

“Great. Can you please come via the back? There are some boxes blocking the path to the main floor.”

“Sure.” There was always crap lying around the place—everything from tables and chairs to props to stage lights. That was nothing new.

“Alright. Let’s get you frocked up.” Farrah recapped the lipstick and put it on the counter. “I have no idea where Alice is. She must be still dressing the guys.”

“It’s okay. I can put on a dress and pair of shoes.” I eased out of the chair, shrugged off my robe, and draped it over the privacy screen. I ran my fingertips over the gorgeous, silky red gown. My skin tingled as I slipped on the strapless dress and buckled on the towering matching stilettos.Wow.This dress was more magnificent than anything I’d worn during awards season. How was I supposed to film a scene where I had to be annoyed at my boss in this spectacular gown? I felt amazing, beautiful, ready to bedazzle the night...at ten in the morning.

Shit.

I had to clear my mind. Focus. Get into character.

Easy, right?

I grabbed my script out of my purse and headed for the set, stepping over cables and meandering down the narrow corridor. The silky skirt swirled around my legs with each step, brushing my skin with the softest of touches.Note...go to Valentino for my next few gowns.

But as I passed the break room, my skin prickled. Half a dozen crew with coffees in hand stopped their chatter, filling the air with a disturbing quiet. Their eyes set on me, givingnothing away. What was that about? That had never happened before. I glided on by, ignoring the unease in my gut.

I rounded the corner of the set, and my breath shot out of my lungs.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

My mouth hit the floor.

Frank, our director, stood by a camera and monitors, chatting with the camera crew.That wasn’t unusual. Other technicians, assistants and operators hovered about, preparing for the day.As they should be. Mia and Peyton were perched on their chairs, flicking through their scripts. I was filming first, so that was fine too. But the set totally frazzled my mind. Braxton’s office was adorned with candles and bunches of huge roses. Ethan, dressed in a sleek black suit, leaned against the desk, reading through his pages, cool, calm, and collected.

I charged over to Frank and waved toward the set. “What the hell is this?”

“Sutton, get into position.” Frank put one hand on his hip and flicked the other at Ethan. “We don’t have all day.”

“Uh...no.” I stood my ground. Our scene was supposed to be full of flustered, stressful tension, not a candle-lit romance. “Can someone tell me what is going on? Has the script changed?” I glanced over at Shona, our producer, and Rhonda, one of the show’s writers, sitting at a desk, typing away on their laptops. “I didn’t get any update.”

“There was no need for an update. There is only one small change.” The constant presence of irritation in Frank’s voice didn’t alter. Deep down, he was a sweetheart. Most of the time. He stepped closer to me and folded his arms. “Rhonda and Shona want to see if a small shift in the dynamic between Sienna and Braxton works. If it does, great. If not, we’ll kill the idea. Ethan has a few new lines. Yours haven’t changed. If you feel the need...ad-lib. You’re good at that.”

“Yes, butBraxton doesn’t know Sienna likes him. Romance isn’t their thing.”

Frank shrugged half-heartedly. “Time for him to not be so clueless.”

“But...that doesn’t fit the storyline.” Frustration coiled beneath my skin. “Doesn’t any change like this need to be approved by the entire team of writers? The studio?” I pleaded with Shona for an explanation but got nothing from her other than a blank poker face.

“Sutton?” Frank rubbed his brow. “It’s one test scene. Work with me. I have to make this happen. It is what the writers want to see for future planning. Are you able to do this or not?”

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