The fourth take crashed and burned just like the first three.
"Cut!" Director Ren's voice sliced through the set. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Let's take fifteen."
Jax stood frozen on the mark, script crumpled in his fist. His delivery had been wooden again. Mechanical. Like reading a grocery list.
'Fuck.'
The crew dispersed, whispering. Beatrix approached, her Elena costume still perfect despite four failed scenes.
"Come with me," she said quietly. "We need to work through this."
Jax followed her off set, past the cameras and lights, toward a luxury trailer parked in the lot. Her name was printed on the door in gold lettering.
Inside, the space was surprisingly cozy. A small couch, a vanity mirror, scripts stacked neatly on a table.
Beatrix sat down, patting the spot beside her. "Sit."
Jax hesitated, then obeyed. The couch dipped under his weight. She was close. Too close. He could smell her perfume again.
Vanilla. Jasmine. Trouble.
