Page 74 of Never Date a Celebrity

“Steve? Steve from security?”

Bridget gave her a curt nod, features emotionless.

“No. I know for a fact that Steve is very happily married and has a lovely wife who checks in on him while he’s at work.”

“Shame. Maybe I will sleep with Gabe again then.” Bridget lifted a shoulder. “I think you’re wasting your time.”

This conversation was giving Amelia emotional whiplash. “On Imogen?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Even though we love each other? What about our connection? I really do think we might be meant to be.”

Bridget made a face. “Meant to be. Like that’s even a thing. She doesn’t seem to love you enough to put up with a few articles questioning her outfit choices every now and again. Does she?”

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “How can you say that? We both know the scrutiny out there is way worse than that. People were awful to Imogen after her breakup. They picked apart everything. Called her pathetic. Attention-seeking. Accused her of clinging onto her ex-girlfriend for relevance. I’m not even going to repeat the rest. The press are only one part of it these days. Internet trolls are relentless. And a whole lot meaner too.”

“You can grow a thick skin. If you want to,” Bridget said.

“No one should have to. You shouldn’t face abuse because of who you’re dating.” Amelia hit the brake and brought the golf cart to an abrupt stop as they arrived back at the staging area.

Bridget climbed out, then leaned back down and poked her head in. “You want my advice? Let her go.” She straightened. “Now stop being so fucking miserable and don’t take all day on this scene. I’m freezing my tits off here.”

Amelia could only laugh as she watched her strut away toward her white cart, yelling to the crew that they were ready. Who knew Bridget Clemonte had layers?

A couple of people from makeup hurried over to touch up their faces before they started shooting. At the same time, camera operators shuffled around rigging equipment onto the carts. She and Bridget each had two cameras mounted inside, plus another pointed at them from the front. Two tracking vehicles were also lined up to follow them, along with a drone overhead. Shots would be taken from all angles.

Then it was showtime. Amelia breathed in deeply and tried to shake off all her thoughts of Imogen. She could mope again when she got back to the hotel. Ruminate. Ponder Bridget’s advice. Maybe make that call to her mom. But for now, she was ready to focus on making a great scene because she was a damn good actor.

The producer with the clapperboard stepped out to do one final check, frantically talking into her walkie-talkie. Then she gave Bridget and Amelia both a wave, signalling they were almost good to go. “Thirty seconds,” she yelled.

Amelia slipped into character, channelling her inner Scarlett. That was the moment to do it—not after the clapperboard snapped shut. It was too late by then. Even a second of hesitation would ruin the scene. The transition didn’t just need to be seamless, it needed to be non-existent.

So, Amelia put on her—and Scarlett’s—most determined face and stared straight ahead at Bridget’s cart. They had already filmed the shots where they ran and jumped into their vehicles. This next part was the driving sequence, so Amelia hovered her foot over the pedal.

“Action.”

Bridget was off.

“Eve! Wait!” Amelia internally counted to three, just like she was supposed to, using those seconds to fumble with the controls like Scarlett was in a panic. On her three, Amelia pushed down on the accelerator—which was a generous name for a vehicle whose maximum speed was only twenty miles per hour according to the white sticker on the dash.

It might have been slow, but it felt a hell of a lot faster as Amelia travelled over the bumpy, mucky ground. They were in the middle of rural nowhere—there were no pristine, tended lawns here.

She frowned when she saw Bridget braking up ahead. Amelia pulled up alongside her and hit her own brake. The vehicles following them also skidded to a stop.

“Wrong way!” one of the camera crew called out, before tutting and turning around to return to their cue point.

“I was following you,” Amelia said to Bridget.

“I missed an arrow, okay?” Bridget said huffily. She aggressively pulled her lever back to reverse, then turned around and drove away without so much as glancing at Amelia.

Ah-ha. Bridget hated being wrong.

At least it hadn’t been Amelia who’d fucked up. She headed back to the start too, and they got ready for another take.

“Action!”

“Eve! Wait!” Off they went again, probably with more confidence than the first time. Amelia was still sticking to her plan and following Bridget—if one of them got it wrong, they would both have to redo the whole thing anyway.