“Hey,” Christian said in a bored tone, coming up beside her. “What are you drinking? Poison, I hope.”
She pursed her lips and perused the various liquor bottles. “What can I drink to give you a personality?”
Looking pointedly at her dress, Christian gave an appreciative snort. “So, what are you, like, trying now?”
“Could you do the same, please? It took you sixteen takes to nail four lines of dialogue this morning.”
“Can’t rush perfection.” He made an impatient sound and snatched up a red Solo cup. “What are you drinking, PA? I’ll make it.”
Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “You’re going to make my drink?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” While pouring vodka, he gave her a once-over. “Or your hips. That dress is a little snug.”
“You wish you had the hips for this dress.”
He added some grapefruit juice and ice to the cup, all but shoving the prepared drink into her hands. “I hate that I like you.”
“I like that I hate you.”
It cost them both a visible effort not to laugh.
“Hannah?” Christian and Hannah turned at the same time to find Sergei, Brinley, and an assortment of on-camera talent approaching, including Maxine and her fictional best friend. For once, Sergei seemed at a loss for words, the drink in his hand lowering to the side of his thigh. “You . . . dressed up,” he said, his attention straying briefly to Hannah’s hemline. “If I didn’t see you sparring with Christian, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“I do get a certain look of horror on my face when she’s around,” Christian drawled, giving her a lazy elbow in the side.
“Yes. You look fantastic,” Brinley said, though she was scrolling on her phone.
“Thank you.” Being the center of attention made it necessary to take a gulp of her （hopefully not poisoned） drink, the abundance of vodka burning her throat on the way down.
It might have been the dress and the liquor rapidly dulling her nerves that encouraged her to speak up. Or it could have been Piper’s supportive words earlier in the day. All Hannah knew was that if she didn’t ask for what she wanted now, she never would. “Brinley,” she blurted, grabbing her own wrist so the ice in her cup would stop rattling. “I was wondering if I could assist you in any way with the score. Not that you need assistance,” she rushed to qualify. “I was more just hoping to learn from you. From the process.”
Silence descended on the circle.
It was not unusual for people to use parties as a chance to industry climb. But it was unusual for a personal assistant to address someone so much further up the ladder—in mixed company, no less. Maybe she should have waited. Or asked to speak to Brinley and Sergei alone? She hoped Brinley might find the request more palatable since it was posed casually instead of officially. Hannah didn’t want the woman thinking she was trying to steal her job.
“Oh . . .” Brinley blinked slowly, sizing her up with new interest. “Are musical scores something you’re thinking of pursuing long-term?”
“I haven’t really gotten that far yet,” Hannah said in a release of breath. “But I’d love to learn more about the process. To see if maybe it could be a good fit down the road.”
Brinley rocked on her heels a moment, then shrugged, eyes zipping back to her phone. “I don’t have a problem with you observing—if Sergei can spare you?”
It struck Hannah how long Sergei had remained uncharacteristically silent, his forehead lined as he studied her. When Brinley prompted him, he jolted, as if becoming aware of his own silence. “You’re vital to me on set, Hannah. You know that.” There was no help for the flush that rose in her cheeks over Sergei saying those words. You’re vital to me. She stopped just short of pressing her drink to her cheeks to cool them down. Meanwhile, the silence stretched, the director running a finger around the inside of his black ribbed turtleneck. “But if you can manage both, I won’t object.”
Heat prickled the backs of Hannah’s eyes, an unexpected jab of pride catching her in the breastbone. Relief—and the distinct fear of failure—traveled so swiftly through her limbs, she almost dropped her cup. But she forced a smile, nodding her thanks to Sergei and Brinley.
“Who’s going to bring me coffee between takes?” Christian complained.
A collective laugh/groan from everyone in the group broke the tension, thankfully, and the subject was changed to Sunday morning’s agenda. They’d been waiting for a good-weather day to film a kissing scene between Christian and Maxine on the harbor, and the next few days called for sunshine.