Page 19 of The Singapore Stunt

I quickly force my feet onto the ladder. I didn’t fall. That’s a victory I can live with. I laugh at my morbid joke and release the bars and fall to the safety net. My heart is beating heavily in my chest with excitement. I race up the steps to the platform with a smile on my face. “One down. Eleven to go,” I shout at Mattias, raising my hand for a high five.

He shakes his head. “You forgot to wipe your hands dry before the start. I’ll be on the other side of the roof the day of the shoot. I won’t be there to remind you. Do it every time.”

I wave a hand. “Muscle memory, I know.”

“You have to start over.”

“But I held on…” I protest.

He steps into my personal space. “In two days, when you hold on, we celebrate. In two days, I don’t care how you look as long as you hold on. One hand, your leg, your goddamn incredible hair. Use whatever you need in two days to hold on, because I can’t afford to lose you, Kimberly.” The vibration of his voice shimmers through my chest, and I fear he’s about to grab hold of my arms and is about to give me a shake.

“Until then, we do everything, and I mean everything, to do this the right way. To make sure you are ready. That’s on me. Not you. And I say we start over again.”

Gone is my laughter. Gone is the overconfidence I hadn’t earned. I hadn’t had someone yell at me with such passion and fervor in years. He’s giving me something I’ve wanted since I started working in this profession.

Respect.

Chapter Fourteen

Mattias

I was wrong.

I had judged Kimberly before she ever stepped off that plane two days ago. Another entitled, unqualified person in a long line of entitled, unqualified people assuming they can step into a world they don’t understand and master it without trying.

These types of people destroy everything around them.

But Kimberly is not them.

It took her ninety minutes to complete the first part of this exercise. Twenty-six times, she raced along this platform. I counted the 3.7 seconds, and she reached for the ladder. Twice, she had made it all the way to ten times in a row before slipping up. After the last failure, I expected her to hang her head. To tell me she needed a break. That this exercise was silly, and she wasn’t going to do it any longer.

But she didn’t. She climbed the steps, walked to the start line. Wiped her hands on her shorts without a reminder and started over. Again and again.

The mental and physical fortitude necessary for someone to do that in conditions like this is something to be applauded. But I don’t. That’s not what she’s looking for. That’s not what she needs.

We’re now in the middle of the second part of the exercise. I’m at the edge of the tower, watching her complete her fight sequence as she approaches. This is take forty-three. A ridiculous number of times that would have broken any member of our stunt team not named Xavier. But there’s no quit in her.

She’s missed only three times. Not a horrible percentage, but this isn’t a game. We have to be perfect. Her early misses are a distant memory, the last one eleven tries ago. Since then, we’ve gelled.

We’re like a well-oiled machine now. I can practically close my eyes and feel her movements. The pant of her breath as she exhales. The soft pitter-patter of her feet racing across the platform. The warmth of her skin when I touch her. Her every juke and jive, her every punch and kick, permanently etched into my head. The perfect embodiment of the design I worked on for months. A dream come to life.

Eleven in a row. We have completed this crazy stunt eleven times in a row. If we complete this sequence, we’re done for the day. A ridiculously long day, which she’s not once moaned about.

Her foot hits the trampoline, and muscle memory takes over. I prep as she performs the double kick and leaps at me. I anticipate her move and position my feet with just the right amount of force to send her the necessary fifteen meters to the ladder. I roll as she disappears over the edge. I leap to my feet with my heart racing and my head counting the seconds. I reach the edge of the platform just as her hands reach for the ladder, her grip solid.

I pump my fist and jump in the air, lowering them before she can turn and catch me. Her giggle is the greatest sound I’ve heard all day. I leap off the edge of the platform and perform a giddy double twist out to celebrate. My bounce on the safety net tosses me up in the air, making me feel like a twelve-year-old kid again. I’m still in awe that I’ve found another profession to deliver this adrenaline rush after the disaster of my first one.

Her giggle pulls me back to the present, her body sweeping past mine on the way to the net from her trust fall.

My weight causes her to roll down the net onto me. She continues to laugh like a kid on the playground. I recognize the laugh. It’s a mix of the joy at the accomplishment and the relief of completion.

She rolls onto my chest, and my arms wrap around her waist to steady her. Her windblown hair flies into my face, and I use a finger to push it out of both of our faces. I immediately realize this is a mistake. Staring up at me an inch away are the most beautiful set of eyes I’ve ever seen.

“We did it,” she says with laughter in her voice.

“You certainly did.” My finger continues to push tendrils of her hair from her face, an urgent need for me to see her clearly. “You are…” My breath hitches when my gaze lowers to her lips. “Incredible.”

She presses her face into my chest, and her arms pull me into a tight squeeze. The rocking from the safety net slows. “Does that mean we have the green light?”

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