Page 8 of Shooting for his Heart
Wow! I would have my own team.
My relationship was in shambles, and I had no idea where I would be living when filming was over, but I had honestly never been happier in my life. Any man who couldn’t support my dreams could kiss my whole ass. The good thing about it was I could afford to move anywhere I pleased once my checks started rolling in. I wouldn’t be tied to what William could offer me.
However, I wasn’t completely cold-hearted. I loved William, and deep down, I hoped he came to his senses, but I wasn’t going to let our tiff get me down. When Gia and I were left to our devices, I used my phone to connect to the Bluetooth speaker I brought along for the trip. I worked better with music. I lost track of time as I zoned out and sketched.
“No wonder I’m starving. It’s almost one o’clock,” Gia said as she stood from the stool next to me. “Let’s go to the craft services tent.”
“I’m not that hungry. I don’t want to stop working while the ideas are flowing. I’ll grab something later.”
“You need fuel, girl. A short break isn’t going to disrupt your flow that much.”
“You never know…” I shrugged.
“We can’t both be workaholics. Somebody has to be reasonable.”
“Seems like it’s you this time.”
“Well, how about I pull up the menu so I can tell you what they have today? I’ll just bring you something back.”
“That’s cool.” I nodded in agreement.
“Today is soup and sandwich day. They have grilled cheese, grilled chicken, turkey, and ham for the sandwiches. Then forthe soups… there’s chicken noodle, loaded potato, and spicy tomato.”
“Just get me whatever you get. I’m not picky, but I’m allergic to shellfish,” I stated, unsure of what I wanted to fill my empty tank. I didn’t have a taste for anything in particular, but my growling stomach indicated that I did need to eat something.
“Cool.” Gia nodded, stuffing her phone in her back pocket.
“Do they have dessert?” I asked, finally looking up from my sketchpad.
“Always.”
“Can you bring me something sweet?”
“Sure, my little workaholic.” She winked before breezing out of the tent.
With my head down again, I went back to work. I was tasked with designing the union leader’s minion costumes. I wanted to create something eye-catching that made them look official. The burgundy and gray concept that I created felt just right. I looked up as Gia danced back through the entrance of the tent.
“I got us grilled chicken club sandwiches and spicy tomato soup.”
“It smells good.” I smiled as she placed one of the bags she carried in front of me.
Gia sat on her stool and tore into her food as I got back to work. I was so engulfed in my work that I let my soup get cold. Finally stopping to take a bite of my sandwich, I turned to Gia to show her the concept I’d come up with. Just as I turned to her, a voice boomed through the tent, startling me and causing me to knock over my cup of lukewarm soup.
“What is all that damn commotion? I know damn well everyone knows I need quiet for the first few days on set!” The angry man’s imposing frame moved through the slats of our tent as he yelled.
“Excuse the hell out of me! No one told me to keep it quiet. My process requires music,” I retorted.
“Sorry, Shawn!” Gia sprang from her seat and rushed over to shut off my speaker as if God Himself told her to do so.
I opened my mouth then closed it as it registered thattheMarshawn Sheppard was standing in front of me, looking as if I had drank the last of his apple juice. My God, he was gorgeous. TV and magazines did him no justice at all. In person, he was breathtaking. His flawless, dark skin stretched over his massive structure like fine silk. His jet black hair was trimmed low, tapering down to a bald fade. A goatee framed perfectly plump lips as smoldering brown eyes pierced through my heart like an arrow. Impossibly thick brows lifted in question as I stared at him with my sandwich midway to my mouth.
“I wasn’t sure if you were on set yet. It won’t happen again,” Gia explained.
Is playing music that big of a deal?
The set was huge. All he had to do was stay away from our area. Darting his eyes between me and my sketches, he took long strides over to the table in front of us.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, picking up a red outfit I had been working on. It was going to be the uniform of the union workers.
