worked like a supermagnet to pull all the focus in the room.
When Deacon’s six-foot frame filled the doorway, he commanded attention without saying a word. Grace found herself sitting up a little straighter as his dark eyes skated over her and Carmen—then quickly dismissed them as insignificant.
“Joe Lincoln?” he demanded in a brusque, I don’t have time for niceties tone that dared anyone to waste his time with intrusive chitchat.
Grace lifted her eyebrows along with her pen, and pointed toward the space’s only office, which had a piece of white printer paper taped beside the doorframe with the words JOE LINCOLN written in large black capital letters.
“Get me a water,” Deacon threw over his shoulder as he started for Joe’s office. “Sparkling if you have it.”
Charming. Grace could already tell working with him was going to be as much fun as a pap smear with a cold speculum.
“Which one of us were you talking to?” Carmen replied coolly as she leaned back in her chair. If her eyes could shoot knives, the back of Scotty Deacon’s head would look like a cutlery starter set right about now.
He stopped and turned, fixing them both with a look that reeked of disdain. “I don’t care. Whichever one of you is Joe’s assistant.”
Grace crossed her arms and met his gaze evenly. “That would be neither of us.”
One of the first things she’d learned as a script supervisor was not to let herself be intimidated by anyone’s entitled, imperious bullshit. Her job and the success of the entire film depended on her not being afraid to speak up when she had something to say, so she couldn’t afford to be meek or passive.
What Grace’s job didn’t entail was taking water orders from washed-up cokeheads. If she gave ground now, it would set the tone for the rest of their working relationship, and he would go right on snapping orders at her and expecting to be obeyed.
Before Deacon could reply, the office door opened and Joe Lincoln peeked out. “Scott! I thought I heard your voice out here!” Despite being recently lauded by TheWrap as “the next great black director,” Joe had a down-to-earth attitude and a friendly demeanor that tended to put everyone at their ease. But even his natural warmth couldn’t quite take the chill out of the room.
Grace watched as Deacon turned to greet Joe and his scornful expression shifted into an ingratiating smile, smooth as the slide on a dimmer switch. She and Carmen exchanged a look as the two men shook hands.
“You guys all introduce yourselves already?” Joe asked, turning to Grace and Carmen.
“Not yet,” Grace said, affixing a saccharine smile to her face as she got to her feet. She could pretend to be nice when the boss was around too.
Joe addressed Deacon as he gestured to Carmen. “This is Carmen Vargas, our costume supervisor.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carmen said flatly as she stood and shook hands with Deacon.
“And Grace Speer, our script supervisor.”
“Hi.” Deacon’s voice was warm as popcorn butter, though his eyes grew distinctly cold as they focused on Grace.
She kept her expression neutral as she accepted the hand he offered. “So you’re the famous Scotty Deacon.”
“I prefer Scott.”
“Of course you do,” Grace said. “My mistake, Scott.”
“I’m glad you all could meet.” Joe’s dimples peeked through his salt-and-pepper beard as he surveyed the three of them. “Since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together when production starts.”
Scott’s eyes bored into Grace with unsettling intensity. The dark, brooding mystique he’d adopted as his post-puberty persona was on maximum display, his hazel-green gaze narrowed and his angular jaw set in a hard line. Most actors looked smaller in real life than on-screen, but Scott had bulked up considerably in his time away from the spotlight, and he struck an imposing figure in person.
Grace’s smile grew even wider and more artificial as she stared him down, grateful for every one of the five feet ten inches that put her almost at his level. “Wonderful.”
“Can’t wait,” Carmen said beside her.
Scott turned to Joe, affecting his genial expression again. “Shall we get started?”
“Absolutely! Can I get you a water or anything?”
“No thanks,” Scott said as he followed Joe into the office. “I’m good.”
“He seems nice,” Carmen said dryly after the office door had closed behind them.
“Yeah, he’s a real treat,” Grace replied, turning to gather her purse. “I’m going home.” She’d seen more than enough of Scotty Deacon for one night, and would rather ingest a gallon of live bees than hang around until he came out of Joe’s office.
After bidding goodnight to Carmen, Grace collected her things and headed down to the parking lot. The production had rented a suite of second-floor offices in a dire-looking office park in Culver City, sandwiched between a Public Storage and a tile wholesaler. As she stepped outside, she saw an electric blue Tesla that probably cost more than the balance on her student loans parked diagonally across two spaces.
It had to be Deacon’s car. Because of course he’d drive something that flashy and park it like a total asshole.
That was who she’d be working with on a near-daily basis for nine weeks in New Orleans starting next month. The guy who couldn’t be bothered with common politeness unless the director was standing there, who’d assumed she was an assistant and tried to order her around like a servant, and who’d gifted her with a malevolent glare simply for refusing to be intimidated by him.
Scotty Deacon could get fucked.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, tirades, opinions, exaggerations, prevarications, and dubious facts either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons—living, dead, or otherwise—is entirely coincidental.
Experimental Marine Biology. Copyright © 2020 by Susannah Nix
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I have to thank my fabulous marine biology consultant for generously sharing her knowledge and experience with me. Without her, this book wouldn’t have been possible.
Special thanks, as always, go to my wonderful husband, Dave, for being the best partner anyone could ever want.
Also to my faithful beta reader Jo, for catching so many of my continuity errors.
And extra special thanks to my editor Julia, for always being so reliable, professional, and fantastic at what she does.
A special shoutout to Linda Lassman for placing the winning bid on an opportunity to name a character in this book in the Romance for Puerto Rico Auction organized by author Lucy Eden. Linda actually named two characters: Brooke’s lab mate buddy Tara Phillips, and Brooke’s advisor Dr. Lassman. Congrats, Linda! And thank you for your generous donation in support of The Hispanic Federation and World Central Kitchen.
About the Author
SUSANNAH NIX is a RITA® Award-winning author who lives in Texas with her husband, two ornery cats, and a flatulent pit bull. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, knitting, watching stupid amounts of television, and getting distracted by Tumblr. She is also a powerlifter who can deadlift as much as Captain America weighs.
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