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Keir Southhall kicked the black leather executive chair away from his desk at One Leaf Studios. He rose, stretched, and strolled to the coffeemaker with his mug in hand. As he passed the ceiling-to-floor windows, he took a minute to examine the set, zeroing in on a petite female figure buzzing in and out of the construction area.
Who is she? he wondered. Unable to resist, his gaze trailed her movements across the studio. Eager for a better glimpse of the African American woman with skin the color of warm mocha, Keir leaned closer.
Slightly built with jet-black hair that framed her face with short wisps, she looked gorgeous, striking. One of the workers called her and the woman turned and smiled. Her entire face lit up.
Jesus! He felt as if he’d been sucker punched. With a shaky hand, Keir placed the mug on the desk. The desire to vacate his office and head down to the set warred with his common sense.
He wondered how it felt to hold that ray of sunshine in his arms, be inside and part of her. Keir allowed that fantasy to emerge, conjuring images of himself and that woman intertwined in the heat of passion. “Damn,” he muttered, feeling his flesh grow hard as stone.
Man, get a
grip, he admonished silently, shaking his head and laughing out loud. She’s
only a woman and you were just released from thirteen years of turmoil and hell
that lesser men refer to as marriage.
You don’t need any new complications, especially not with a chick that
works for you.
Yet, Keir remained glued to the window. From this distance, he barely made out her straight nose and full, lush lips. “What color are her eyes?” he mumbled, lingering over her heart-shaped face and the smoothness of her skin.
A rap on the door reluctantly pulled him away while the pungent odor of tobacco crept into the office, making his nose twitch. With one final glance at the woman, he strolled reluctantly to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed an ashtray. After he gave the black, plastic dish a shove, it slid across the highly polished mahogany surface and teetered on the opposite edge of the desk.
“Phil, come on in,” Keir called, returning to his vigil at the window.
A tall, lanky man with thinning red hair entered, with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. An inch of ash hung from the cigar glued to the right side of his mouth. “Hey, my man. How’d you know it was me?”
“Cigar. No one in their right mind has the balls to come to my office with that stench doggin’ them.”
“Hey!” Phil protested, chewing on his cigar. “I’ll have you know, this is the best one-dollar cigar you can buy.”
Keir chuckled, searching the set for the tiny figure. “I believe you. But, it might be advantageous to our cast and crew if you’d upgrade your cigars to a $2.00 brand.” He pointed at the desk. “There’s an ashtray with your name on it over there.”
“Right.” Phil moved
to the desk and stamped out his cigar, leaving the butt in the ashtray. “How’s life in the
Laughing
softly, Keir perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his
chest. “
“A few people on the construction crew.” Phil glanced around the office and nodded. “It fits.”
Keir’s office sat above the set and windows surrounded him. The place resembled a lighthouse, more than a tower. It offered him a perfect view of all the activities that went on in the studios below. Often, he watched the hustle and bustle of the daily shoots from this vantage point and found it useful.
“Here you are up here watching your subjects do your dirty work.”
“Hey,” Keir admonished good-naturedly, “you better check yourself.”
Phil waved a dismissing hand at his boss. “I’m not worried about you. We go way back.”
“That may be true. But, I’m still your boss. Don’t forget it.” Standing, Keir’s hands dropped to his sides. “What brings you my way? Everything okay on the set?”
“We’re fine.” He scraped his thumb across his tongue, then flipped a page on his clipboard. “I want to go over the shooting schedule for episode 6 and talk about the guest stars.”
Keir’s eyebrow flew up and a giant grin of approval curved his lips. “Six? We’re ahead of schedule.”
“That we are.”
Pleased, Keir pursed his lips, considering the situation. “Good! Once 5 is in the can, we’ll have a celebration lunch for the crew. I want the crew to know how much I appreciate their hard work.”
“Won’t be long. Maybe another day or two.” Phil moved across the office and stood next to his boss, studying the view. “My man, what are you looking at?”
“Her.” Keir nodded toward the woman. “I’ve never seen her. Is she an extra?”
Phil shook his head.
“Who is she?”
“Ryan Mitchell. Costume and set designer. She’s good, too. We were lucky to get her.”
Keir seldom heard that note of admiration in Phil’s voice, and it stirred his curiosity. “Why?”
“She just finished out her contract on an action/adventure series with your buddy Joel. You know the one, SWAT Command. Won her an Emmy, too. She’s excellent. Comes to work on time, does her job, then goes home. No hassles. No headaches. No drama.”
Keir’s lips pursed. “It sounds as if we hit the jackpot.”
“That we did. Why so interested?”
“No reason,” Keir answered, running a hand through is wavy hair. “She caught my eye. That’s all.”
Phil examined Keir with the practiced eye of a longtime friend, someone who knew him well. “Yeah . . . and?”
“And nothing,” Keir dismissed, turning away from the window.
“You just got out of a funky situation with Linda. Don’t tell me you plan to jump on that?”
“I haven’t said a word,” Keir denied. “You’re the one making all the assumptions.”
“Yeah. But it’s time. I mean, you haven’t had a regular bedmate since your divorce. Is that why you’re checking her out? Want me to make with the introductions?”
“I think I’m old enough to handle my own love life. Why don’t you take care of your own.” He returned to his desk, sank into his chair, then waved a hand at the visitor’s chair. Keir leaned back, methodically squeezing a red rubber exercise ball. “I’ve got two kids that need my reassurance that just because their mother and I found it unbearable to live together, that doesn’t mean that I’ll forget them. Let me add the fact that I’m the creator/writer/producer for Renewed Case Files slated for an October premiere. It’s already August and we need to stay on schedule or exceed it. The last thing I need is to get involved with somebody on the set.”
Phil raised his hands in an act of surrender. “Hey, my man. I’m sorry. I saw you checking out her form and I thought you might have an interest. Nothing more.”
“There’s no vibes here. Ms. Mitchell caught my eye. I was curious about her. That’s all. Got it?”
“Got it. By the way, it’s Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Mrs.?” A jab of regret stabbed the armor around his heart as a volley of what-ifs raced through his head. Keir refused to analyze the disquieting sense of disappointment he felt.
“Widow. Husband’s been dead two or three years.”
Relief flowed into Keir. For the second time in five minutes he refused to examine the reasons behind his feelings. He cleared his throat. “That’s too bad. Let’s get back to work.”
“It’s your world, boss.”
“As long as we understand each other.” Keir opened his desk drawer and pulled out a script. He flipped through the pages before tossing it to Phil. “We need some major revisions to this crap. Call a meeting with the writers so that we can do some brainstorming. This won’t fly without rewrites.”
Phil reached for the script. “Will do.”
* * *
Ryan Mitchell sat along the fringes of the construction site, sketching the new set as she envisioned it. As her fingers flew across the page, she added furniture, window treatments, and accent pieces to give it that lived-in, realistic appearance while the construction team’s boom box spilled the country-western lyrics of the Dixie Chicks. Once she completed her designs, she’d search the warehouse for the items she needed to bring the set to life.
She studied her drawing as fragments from her
first interview for this job came back.
In preparation, Ryan had boned up on Keir Southhall, studying all the
information she’d found on the Internet, library, and through her limited
circle of friends in the business. From
his bio, she learned that he was 42-years-old, and the father of two. Born and raised in
Known for his innovative style of filmmaking, he
represented one of the new breed in
Arriving early for her interview, Ryan expected to meet Keir Southhall and dazzle him with her knowledge of his background and achievements. No such luck; instead she’d met with the Art Director, Gloria ‘Glo’ Kramer and the Production Executive, Phil Bergen.
Disappointed, Ryan walked away from the interview with the distinct impression that she hadn’t measured up. Surprise! Not only did she get a call back for a second interview, Glo Kramer offered her the job.
Ryan loved it here. After the restrictive nature of the directors on SWAT Command, she basked in the encouragement and praise she received since joining Southhall’s team.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, Ryan didn’t surface until she felt a set of French-manicured fingers curled around her shoulder and squeezed in a friendly gesture. “Hey, lady, how are things coming?”
She found Glo at her side. The 50-something blond oozed excited
energy. Her enthusiasm and ideas were
legendary in
“Hi. I’m working on the living room scene for episode 6.” Ryan shifted the sketchpad in Glo’s direction. “The crew promised they’d be finished with the set this afternoon. What’s up with you?”
“Things are heating up.” Glo laid a hand on a pile of scripts nestled securely in the crook of her arm. “Keir and I are going to meet and go over this stuff.” She drew closer, whispering, “Here’s a word of advice, don’t do too much work on this set. Things may change.”
“I hear you. Do I need to get used to this?”
“No. Not at all. Keir’s pretty decisive.” Glo shifted the pile from the crook of her left arm to her right arm. “The scripts we’re looking at are ones that he didn’t see until now.”
Ryan asked, “Why not? I thought he always gives final input before we go hot.”
“He does. His son’s been sick. So, he didn’t get to read them. While I’m thinking about it, we need to schedule a meeting with you and Keir. You are one of the few new employees that he hasn’t met yet.”
Finally, I’m going to meet the big man himself, Ryan thought, recalling some of the details she’d learned for her interview. That info might find its way into her meeting. “Whatever you decide is fine with me. By the way, where’s his office? Is he in this building or the studio’s admin office?”
“Keir’s here.” Glo pointed to the tower overlooking the studio. “That’s his office. You’ve probably seen him but didn’t know it.”
Ryan shrugged. “Possibly.”
“If you had, you’d remember. Keir is quite handsome. A real hottie. Just a little too young for me.” Glo nudged Ryan playfully, giggling like a teenager on her first date. “I’m kidding.”
Ryan smiled, waiting for the proper moment to steer the conversation back to work. She didn’t need or want this extra info about a man that she’d probably see two or three times while she worked at One Leaf.
“He’s about five feet eleven, with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. You could lose yourself in his eyes.” Glo used a finger to draw an invisible circle around her face and added, “Round face, toffee-colored skin, dark brown curly hair, and dimples. He’s cute.”
Sounds like a Cabbage Patch doll to me, Ryan thought. “I don’t recall seeing him.”
“Between his son, drumming up advertising dollars, and investors for the show, he’s been away from the studio lately.”
Nodding, Ryan let Glo ramble on.
“But,
that’s about to change. Earlier, I
noticed the lights were on in the
Ryan’s gaze drifted to the office above the set. Lights blazed, and she barely made out the images of two people. One of them must be Keir Southhall.
“To tell you the truth . . .” Glo began.
Retracting the lead from her mechanical pencil, Ryan braced herself for the inevitable studio gossip headed her way.
“There’ve been a lot of ladies who would like to become the next Mrs. Keir Southhall.”
“Oh?” Ryan muttered appropriately, shifting on her seat. She felt uncomfortable with the direction Glo’s conversation had taken.
“Keir got divorced late last year. Back in, oh, 2000, we worked together on a project, and one of the hairstylists fancied herself in love with him. That girl caused all nature of havoc on the set. Eventually, we had to fire her. I hated doing that. But, it had to be done.”
A sudden
realization hit Ryan as she studied her boss.
Glo’s probing. She wants to know why I’m here and if I’m
going to become a problem.
“That’s too bad. I like to keep my work relationships separate from my home life. This is my job. Period.”
“Good.” Glo patted Ryan on the shoulder. “I’m glad I won’t have that problem with you.”
Consider yourself warned, Ryan thought, feeling the sharp edge of loneliness as she offered Glo an understanding smile. You don’t have to worry about me; no man could love me as dearly or deeply as my husband, Galen.
“This is too good an opportunity to screw up. Besides, I don’t believe in work romances. They cause entirely too much drama,” said Ryan. She waved a dismissing hand in the other woman’s direction. I hope that settles your mind. The last thing Ryan wanted was an entanglement with the boss.
Although, a bit of physical frolicking wouldn’t hurt. Someone to curl up next to for a few encounters would keep her body from screaming with suppressed frustration in the middle of the night. She was widowed, not dead.
Where had that come from? My life doesn’t work that way. Enough. Time to get back on track, Ryan decided. “Tell me. Have you worked for Mr. Southhall long?”
“Honey, call him Keir. He’s not a real formal kind of a guy. He always says that Mr. Southhall is his father.”
“How many films have you done with him?”
“Four,” Glo boasted. “This is my first television series. That’s why you were a front-runner for this job. You had the background, expertise, plus that Emmy.”
“Thank you. I’m hoping to learn a lot from you guys.”
“This job should be mutually beneficial.”
Glo placed her pile of scripts on the chair next to Ryan and plucked the sketch pad from her hands, admiring the design. “This is good.”
With a sigh of relief, Ryan bowed her head in a show of acknowledgement. Good. They were back on track, reviewing the work and getting away from personal stuff. “Glad you like it.”
“I knew you were perfect for this job,” Glo praised. “Just keep creating work like this, and you’ll do well here.”