The second unit filmed establishing shots that didn’t require the principal actors. They’d make clips of the chateau or the landscape or distance pieces in which less expensive doubles could fill in for the actors.
With Max’s editing talents and the magic of colored filters and computer software, those clips could be cut in between closeups and no one would ever know the scenes hadn’t been filmed in sequence, in the same month or even on the same continent.
Dana had never been around for the second-unit shooting, since, like this time, she was usually sent home to clean up what had accumulated while they were away and to prepare for his return. She’d love to see how the second unit worked.
As producer, Max was usually the first on the scene and the last to leave. But with Honor, because he was also the film editor and the family wanted him to assure quality by doing the postproduction himself, he’d left the location before the second unit came in.
She loved the way Max gathered all the pieces of the movie puzzle together to make the final product seem like a seamless picture, and she’d learned a lot watching his process.
“Max, I know you like to be there till the last clip is filmed, but the rush job on the editing is forcing you to be here. I could go back to France to oversee the second unit filming for you.”
“You’re needed here. What’s the status on the sound stages?”
From practice, she followed his jump in topic and poured the jar of sauce into the smaller pot. “They’re ready for anything you might need. I checked and the sets look exactly like the photographs of the interior rooms of the chateau.”
It always amazed her to see how the prop master and set dressers could identically re-create any place by using film, photographs and measurements. If she hadn’t driven herself to the studio yesterday and fought the obscene Burbank traffic, she would have sworn she was still thousands of miles away in France when she’d toured the sound stages. But the real rooms of the chateau didn’t have the soundproofed panels that the imitation sets on the movie lot had. Audio recorded here would be much clearer and have fewer outside interferences like airplanes flying overhead.
“Good. Have you eaten?”
His question surprised her. “No, Max. I jumped and came running the moment you called.”
Like she always had. It was not as if she had a Friday night date to cancel or anything. Her feelings for Max had killed her dating life for the most part. She tried every now and then, but what was the point in dating a man who could never measure up to her boss? That was going to change. As soon as this movie was finished she would date again—lost cause or not.
“Make sure to fix enough food for two.”
His consideration made her heart squeeze up into her throat. He was a nice guy, charismatic and confident…when he wasn’t being a demanding perfectionist.
“You’ll need your energy,” he continued. “We’ll probably be up all night. And keep the coffee coming.”
Her hopes and optimism crashed. She turned away to hide her disappointment. She should have known Max’s concern for her wasn’t personal. All he cared about was work—the only mistress, other than his late wife, to whom he’d ever been faithful as far as she knew.
Would she never learn?
She couldn’t bend over backward to please him at every turn the way she used to. That wasn’t her job anymore. She had to find a way to remind him—to remind both of them—of the boundaries of her new role as associate producer.
And then once Honor was completed she would tender her resignation. Again. This time she wouldn’t let him talk her out of it. She had more important things to accomplish in her life than being someone’s invisible assistant, and wasting her time pining for her boss was not going to get those items checked off her list.
She squared her shoulders and stared at the man who’d played the starring role in her fantasies for the past few years. Beginning now, her actions were going to be all about her. Her life. Her dreams. Her success. She was going to go after the family and career she craved.
And no one was going to stand in her way. Not even Maximillian Hudson.
Two
Max fought the sensation of being trussed up in an invisible straitjacket Sunday morning. Having a woman move into his house even temporarily broke his twenty-four-hour rule, and he had that rule for a reason. Never again would he allow a woman to be more than a one-night stand.
But when Dana had fallen asleep sitting in the spare chair in his study just before sunrise yesterday he’d realized he couldn’t ask her to work eighteen-hour days and then make the drive home. It wasn’t safe. Instead of waking her and sending her on her way he’d let her sleep and left for the office so he wouldn’t be around when she awoke. He’d barricaded himself in his office at Hudson Pictures all day Saturday.
He would not be responsible for another woman falling asleep at the wheel and ending up dead. His gut clenched as the memories rained down on him. His wife was gone, and he knew from experience that rehashing and regretting that night would not bring Karen back. Nothing would. He slammed the floodgates on the past the way he always did.
Reminding himself that his cohabitation with Dana was a temporary measure and nothing more than a way to squeeze more working hours out of each day, he brushed aside his disquiet. He wasn’t doing this for Dana’s benefit. It was a purely selfish action. If something happened to her, it would be close to impossible to finish editing Honor on time.
He shoved open the door to the first-floor guest suite, entered and dropped the small suitcase he carried beside the bed. “Leave your stuff in here.”
Dana rolled her shoulders stiffly and yawned as she followed him into the room. She covered her mouth and the muscles in her arms shifted, revealing her excellent physical condition. He’d heard that she, like several of the employees, often made use of the personal trainers Hudson Pictures had on location for the lead actors. It showed.
Why had he never noticed that before?
He yanked his gaze back to her face. She looked tired. Not surprising since he’d called and woken her far earlier than most people got up on Sunday morning and demanded she pack a bag and get over here.
He should be exhausted, too, but he was charged by adrenaline, too much caffeine and too much to do. He’d snatched a couple hours sleep here and there, but he’d have to wait to catch up once he had the first cut of the film put together.
There were a lot of pieces to this project that would normally be farmed out to others, but the family wanted tight control on the finished project. That meant he had more responsibilities than usual. But thanks to digital nonlinear filming he could do most of the work here on his computer instead of in the office where constant interruptions would slow him down.
He caught his gaze wandering over Dana again. Her usual work wardrobe was professional, conservative. Today’s snug, ribbed orange tank top clung to her breasts, and she’d cinched her low-rider jeans with a wide leather belt, drawing attention to her rounded hips. She’d dressed too casually for the office, but they weren’t going leave his house today, so he wouldn’t waste time complaining or waiting for her to change.
She usually wore her long, dark hair up in a neat, no-frills style, but this time she’d clipped the strands up in one of those messy, I’m-getting-ready-to-shower styles that left her neck dusted with loose tendrils—the kind a cameraman loved when shooting a love scene or any other scene requiring a shot of a woman’s vulnerable nape.
She hadn’t bothered with makeup, but her smooth olive skin and thickly lashed dark eyes made cosmetics unnecessary. A makeup artist would love her, and if the male crew members saw her like this they’d be salivating over her. She looked