Page 2 of Professional Consult
My body stiffens. The weight of everyone’s attention on me is almost too much to bear, and I’m someone who’s used to performing.
Acting isn’t just my job, it’s my life. I act when I’m in the coffee shop, walking the streets, and getting my nails done. Even one moment out of character could cost me because I am always being judged in the court of public opinion.
Just ask Alicia Davies, once my greatest rival, now a commercial queen.
And yes, I own a part of that. It’s not like I intended to take down my adversary, but acting is a cutthroat business and I’m a shark.
Or at least my management is. I prefer the motto doctors live by,‘do no harm’.
You can do this.
I force a smile and a light chuckle, because it’s better to be in on the joke than the butt of it.
Unfortunately, as I make my way off set to the hall of offices, I trip on a very visible cord, nearly taking down a valuable piece of stage lighting.
Fuck my life.
The walk of shame has nothing on my Milton March, but I walk the rest of the way with my head held high, managing to make it through the door without further incident.
“Lexi,” Milton spits my name like a cuss word, and not the fun kind, “what the fuck is going on with you?”
On any other set, I’d be fighting fire with an inferno. No one dares tell me how to act—how to do my damn job.
That was before I walked onto the set of Cruel Justice.
“Give me a day. I’ll call in a coach and go over my lines.”
“We’re past that.”
“Past that? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Acting coaches ain’t gonna do shit. The fact that it’s even a consideration when you’ve spent two decades acting is a fucking trip.”
“That’s not fair, and it’s hardly my fault! I started in sitcoms and went on to rom-coms. You’re the one who insisted I audition for the role of ‘gritty’ police chick that doesn’t take shit from anyone.”
He throws open a cabinet and takes out a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a cup and downing it with a gulp.
“You know the casting announcement is coming soon, and that an epic shit-ton of money has been funneled into this by the production company, don’t you?”
I take a deep breath, gathering the last of my courage for my next question, which is terrifying.
“If it’s too late for acting classes, where does that leave me? Am I being recast?”
He casts me a glare. “No! Fuck, can you imagine the rumble that would cause if it got out? If they knew there was last-minute recasting before the pilot shot? It’d sink the ship before it even set sail.”
“Then what?”
The door opens behind me, and I turn to see my smug co-star.
“We’re having aprivateconversation.” I emphasize the word private, hoping it gets through that thick head of his.
I know exactly what he’s doing with his good-natured, dimpled grin. He’s trying to flip the script. Make himself look like the industry professional, and me, the amateur. Or worse, prove to them that I’m too long in the tooth to keep on top of things.
Which is ridiculous considering I’m only twenty-six. But then again, every year you age in Hollywood past twenty-five is a decade.
“He’s in here at my request,” Milton grinds. “I told him to come in a minute after you did as a courtesy to you. To spare you the additional insult.”
Clint snakes past me, closing the door on his way in.
