Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,14

stricken.

He nodded. Then walked back up the hall the way he’d come.

He didn’t say a word. No dramatic farewell. No parting words.

But he knew he’d never be back.

Graeme slowed to a stop at a paddock gate before a security guard waved them through. A dirt track wound its way over the smallest of hills, and then they were amongst the trailers that sprawled across Unit Base. The set was vast—yesterday the producer had told him it was the corner of a working sheep and canola farm. It spread across the almost perfectly flat countryside, overlooked by an irregular ridge of mountains. Yesterday, Dev’s gaze had explored a landscape dotted with eucalyptus, rectangular fields of lurid yellow canola and paddocks desperately trying to hold onto winter hints of green. Today it was just a blur.

But something caught his eye as Graeme parked beside his trailer. Through the car window he followed that splash of colour with his eyes.

A woman in a bright blue dress, more like an oversized jumper, really, was barrelling rapidly along the path towards him. She was unmistakeable, her mop of choppy blonde hair shining like pale gold in the sun.

Ruby Bell.

She’d slipped his mind as soon as his nightly battle for sleep had begun, but now she’d sprung right back to the front, in full Technicolor.

He knew what she was: a distraction. A temporary focus.

But one he needed.

He was here. And thanks to Graeme—via Veronica—he’d be here on set each day, right on time. But right now he couldn’t make himself care about the film, about his role.

Oh, he’d perform, right on cue, and to the best of his ability—as much as he was capable of, anyway.

But he wouldn’t care. Couldn’t care. Any more.

How was that for irony?

With his death, his father had—finally—got his way.

He was on time—just.

Ruby watched as he got out of the car, all loose-limbed and casual.

In contrast, she felt as stiff as a board. She kept making herself take deep, supposedly calming breaths as she gripped the papers in her hand, and reminding herself that she could do this—that this was her job.

It was just incredibly unfortunate it was her job. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, when Paul had taken her aside this morning and made her task clear: keep Dev on time and on schedule.

All the Dev-related rumours—a new one this morning hinting at a lot more than tardiness—should’ve made Paul’s request a no-brainer.

Yet, she’d actually gasped when Paul had told her, and then had to make up some unfortunate lie about swallowing a fly, accompanied with much poorly acted faux coughing.

Once again Dev had managed to short-circuit her brain.

Because the task of babysitting talent was a perfectly typical request for the production co-ordinator, who, amongst other things, was responsible for organising actors’ lives while on location.

Actors were notoriously unreliable. Putting together the call sheet was one thing—having anyone actually stick to it was something else entirely.

As she watched Dev watch her, a hip propped against his car, it was suddenly clear that getting him to do anything—at all—that she wanted could prove difficult.

This was not the man who’d smiled at her in the Lucyville pub last night, or who’d teased her on the street. Neither was he the man with the smug expression and the coffee stains on his shirt.

This man was completely unreadable.

‘Good morning!’ she managed, quite well, she thought.

He nodded sharply.

She thrust the portion of the script he’d be rehearsing today in his direction. ‘Here are today’s sides,’ she said.

He took them from her with barely a glance. It was as if he was waiting for something—to figure something out.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be taking you to be fitted by Costume, first,’ she said. ‘Then Hair and Make-up would like to see you prior to your rehearsal.’

‘And you’ll be escorting me?’

Ruby swallowed. ‘Yes. I’ll be looking after you today.’

It was immediately obvious that was the wrong thing to say. Something flickered in his gaze.

‘I have my call sheet. I know where I need to be. I don’t require hand-holding.’

‘Paul asked that I...’

His glare told her that was another mistake, so she let the words drift off.

Then tried again. ‘Mr Cooper, I’m here to help you.’

Somehow, those words changed everything, as if she’d flicked a switch. From defensive, and shuttered, his expression was suddenly...considering?

But Ruby didn’t think for a moment that he’d simply accepted she was just doing her job. This was different—more calculating.

‘Here to help,’ he said to himself, as if he was turning the words over in his