Page 1 of Professional Consult
CHAPTER1
LEXI
For as far back as I can remember, I was the industry standard.
Scratch that—the gold standard. Top of the class. A-all-the-way.
Men wanted to date me, women wanted to be me, and while both are still true, apparently, I’ve lost my edge.
I navigate my way through the set to my position, glaring daggers at the two extras that are chuckling at my expense.
My co-star, Clint, gives me a sympathetic grin that I’d like to wipe off his cocksure face. I know he’s loving every moment of the director’s ire.
Speak of the devil…
“Dash—get angrier!” Milton shouts. “You’re not on the beach, you’re running point on a drug bust.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he’s already storming off, shaking his head like I’m some wayward child.
You can do this. You’ve done it hundreds of times before. Thousands. You got this.
“ACTION!”
I wait for my cue and rush through the set door, delivering my lines flawlessly as I cut through the air with my baton prop.
“CUT!”
I look toward the director, blinded by light.
Yes, I’m off my game. No, I’m not a rookie.
“I don’t understand.” My shoulders slump in defeat. “I said my lines perfectly.”
Milton limps towards me, his lip sneered up in a scowl. “What do you think this is, a fucking comedy?”
“If you have specific advice you’d like to give, I’m all ears. Otherwise, you’re gonna get more of the same.”
“It’s your timing,” Clint offers. “You deliver your lines like you’re working a sitcom.”
Thank you, Mr. Know-it-All.
The set suddenly grows ten degrees hotter as I realize all eyes are on me, waiting for my response.
What right does Clint have to question my timing? I’ve been a household name since I was four and he walked onto his first set just six years ago.
But as angry as I want to be, even I can smell my bullshit. Clint took the world by storm, impressing the hell out of audiences and viewers alike. He even impressed me, which is why I was excited for him to be my co-star.
I force a smile. “Thank you, Clint.”
For nothing—thank you for nothing!
I reclaim my position and put away my baton so I can reenact the scene.
“Lexi, to my office,” Milton grunts.
My cheeks flush red with humiliation. It’s like being sent to the principal’s office, but far worse, because it’s not for bad behavior.
It’s for bad acting.
