Page 42 of Highlands Summer Wedding

“We can do this without—” I began, but Ava stepped up beside us.

“No, we can’t,” Ava interrupted.

The cast and crew were beginning to gather, but Max didn’t shoo them away, nor did he ask the bond rep to meet with him in private.

The bond rep turned to Ava, who frowned at me.

“Listen, Max,” she said. “I spent months putting this financing together. It needs to make its money back. Little indie personal stories about your ancestors are nice, but we need worldwide box office success. That means sex and violence and explosions.”

Max shot her a look. “A little creativity can fix anything. I’m sure we can hire someone who can make some tweaks?—”

“Up here in the boondocks? We’re how many miles from civilization?” asked Ava, throwing her hands up.

A crew member puffed up his chest. “Short drive to Inverness.”

“And it’s a long, tiny-road-full-of-sheep drive to London—which is what I consider civilization,” she snapped.

Ouch. I could see the cast and crew glowering with every word Ava spoke.

“It’s a little battlefield in a little country that only matters to the Scots,” ranted Ava over the highly offended gasps from the crew, “and there’s no reason to make a movie about whatever the hell your great-grandfather was up to in the time of Mary, Queen of Scots.”

“The battle was April 16, 1746. Mary, Queen of Scots was beheaded in 1587,” mumbled the script supervisor.

“NO ONE CARES ABOUT THIS STUPID LITTLE WAR!” she shouted, red-faced and pointing a crutch at Max.

The crowd was silent, all scowling at Ava. A grip coiling cable muttered that his da’s ancestor had spent two years in hiding after the battle.

“Look.” The bond rep turned back to Max. “I took the train up here to check on production. First thing I see—you’re in the tabloids kissing your producer, who was supposed to be in the hospital.”

“She’s not a producer. She’s not even on the crew,” Ava said.

“She’s been filling in,” Max said, his jaw clenched.

“For who?”

“For Ava, who was in the hospital,” I said.

“You’re not Ava?” The bond rep looked me up and down, confused.

“I’m Ava.” She held out her hand to shake. The bond rep simply stood there, looking displeased.

I moved closer to Max. “We didn’t lie to you. Max just didn’t introduce me as Abby.”

“Let me get this straight—you got your girlfriend to fill in for the producer we signed off on, who was in hospital with an on-set injury I wasn’t informed of. You’re out here, making this movie smaller and more indie by the minute. And now the producer who spent months convincing investors to back this film is telling me she doesn’t even believe in it.”

The cast and crew glared at Ava, the bond rep glared at me, and Max kept his eyes on his shoes.

The bond rep straightened his jacket. “Ava, I’m sorry you hurt your ankle. It appears you’ll live. As far as the bond company is concerned, you’re off this picture.”

“But—” Ava stuttered. He continued on to Max.

“Max, you’ve got a great track record, but you’ve been lying to me—and you’re supposed to be dating Cat.”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t get the chance.

“The public needed to see you with Cat on the red carpet for the premiere, or we wouldn’t get the press we need for a strong opening. So, since that’s not going to happen, expect to hear from the studio before morning.” He turned his attention to me.

“And you. You’re just some tourist who got into Max’s pants, and?—”