Excerpt from “Directing Claire”:
Claire approached her employer with caution. That phone call had triggered something, because now the two men kept glancing at her with concern and speculation in their eyes. What was up with that?
She pasted a smile on her face. “So shall I order the pizza or have plans changed? I can take a later lunch if you need me to.” She certainly didn’t want to jeopardize this job over food. She’d originally doubted she’d ever see a paycheck from such a fly-by-night operation, but the temp agency hadn’t placed her in a month and things were looking very tight at home, so she’d taken the chance. Plus her daily horoscope had said to take the risk. Not that she placed stock in such things, but sometimes she needed a little mental reinforcement. She’d crowed happily when her first paycheck had cleared. Somehow the men were managing to pay her even though the one man watched TV every day while appearing to guard the one entrance, and the other man read the paper and glared at his cell phone.
Claire had explored the set the first couple of days. Two wheeled tripods held midsize video cameras. An Oriental rug covered thick black wires that wove all over the floor. They seemed to be attached to a couple of microphones skillfully hidden on the set. Devon said he directed movies, which seemed totally glamorous to Claire. However, the people she’d seen on the set besides Devon and Jim had arrived for the first couple of days and had huddled together talking in low voices and glancing at the doors. They’d been dressed in sequins and low-ride jeans, and both men and women had been stunningly gorgeous, but no acting had been done and on the fourth day they had all mysteriously disappeared. Claire had been too shy to ask where they’d gone or when Devon planned to shoot the actual movie. She wasn’t paid to oversee his job, so she keptto herself and wrote her book. Still, she’d been curious about it all.
“Um.” Devon stood up and circled the desk. “There’s been a change in plans. An emergency.”
“Oh, okay. Can I help?”
Devon thumbed his lip and cocked his head while Jim sat up straighter. “Yes, you can help,” her boss said in his low, sexy voice.
“Anything you need.” She smiled again, though she sensed that maybe the request was going to be bigger than working late or going out for coffee. She suddenly remembered the horoscope she’d read over her morning coffee. It had read: “Trusting someone will give you what you need the most. Be brave and brazen, and you will get the job done.”
Devon placed his hands on her shoulders, which was the first time he’d touched her since she’d gained employment here. She wasn’t prepared for the zing that charged through her body or for the intensity of his blue eyes. “Claire, I need you to do something that is way beyond the call of duty. I can’t explain it all now and it’s going to seem crazy to you, but I wouldn’t ask it if it wasn’t extremely urgent.”
She locked her knees as her stomach lurched from his tone. Be brave, be brave.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He removed his hands from her shoulders, and her skin grew cold from the absence. One hand reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and waded past far too many pieces of paper, plastic, and a couple of dollar bills before he finally found what he was looking for. This he showed to her. “Jim and I are FBI agents. We don’t have our normal badges because this is an undercover operation and we could be searched.”
Claire reached for the official-looking piece of paper, but he shook his head. It was un-laminated, but it had his name and a badge number and the letters “FBI” with the address of the local Bureau office on it. Claire happened to recognize the address because she’d visited there once for research on a story she’d been plotting.
“For real?” she asked, waiting for the punch line.
Jim moved to flank Devon. “For real,” he said. He pulled out his ID as well and gave her a moment to glance at it, before tucking it back into the flotsam in his wallet. She could see how it wouldn’t be noticed during a simple perusal of the wallet. Devon did the same.
“What do you need me to do?”
Devon sighed. “You’re not going to like it.”
He took her hand—that alone sent chills through Claire’s body—guiding her to the set in the rear corner of the warehouse, away from the doors and windows. Jim followed, then started clicking on the high-powered lights, angling them towards the bed and couch. That’s what the set consisted of outside of the technical paraphernalia: a king-size four poster bed with a sumptuous gold satin bedspread and black silk sheets—she’d touched them during her earlier explorations, imagining what it would be like to sleep onsuch fine bedding—and a large sectional couch shaped like a G. One end consisted of a chaise lounge. The cushions were plump and covered in that new fake suede material that Claire loved for both its practicality and comfort. There was also a low square coffee table. The squat legs supported a teak wood frame with a glass panel in the center. A rice paper screen sat further way, beyond the border of the Oriental rug. Claire got the impression that it wasn’t meant to be filmed.
Her hand tingled from Devon’s grip. She’d had fantasies about this man, her employer. In fact, he had probably worked his way into the romance she was writing, especially his blue eyes, which stared at her in her dreams, arousing her and sending shivers through her body. He was definitely a man to have a crush on—tall, trim, chiseled jaw and cheeks, five o’clock shadow even in the morning, olive tan skin. She could eat him for lunch instead of the pizza. She bit her lip to keep her thoughts from straying further in that dangerous direction.
Devon pulled her to the side of the set near two production trunks that lined the wall. Then he took her second hand into his grip as well, turning her to face him completely, capturing her with his eyes.
“Claire, I need you to act.”