“What do you think all those photo shoots for album covers and magazine spreads were? And if you’re in the film, you’re acting.” His brows shot up. “They’re also willing to pay you a nice hundred grand for the cameo. And since Gloria had no part in securing it,” he said of Giselle’s agent, “her fee won’t come off the top.”
A hundred grand. That was a lot of money, but not enough to sway her decision. That insight made her realize just how far she’d come from the dicey bars where she’d sung for hours and walked away with forty bucks.
The same dicey bars where Troy sat for the same long hours, listening to her sing, acting as agent, manager, bodyguard, and support system all wrapped into one. And what did he have to show for it?
“You should be bouncing off the walls, Giselle.”
“I know. I’m excited. I am.”
“But…?”
But her heart was in shreds.
She wandered back into the living room, sat on the edge of the sofa, and picked up the script, where the movie title, Full Throttle, stood out in big, bold print. “No buts. I’ll do it.”
Troy walked out the burn in his legs as he waited for the cameramen to move equipment. “You’ve shot this damn thing from every angle imaginable,” he told John, the assistant director. “What more do you want?”
The cave felt like a pressure cooker today. The combination of Las Vegas sun and body heat from the crew made the space smolder, and after Troy’s repeated sprints, jumps, and falls, he was about ready to pass out.
John answered without taking his gaze off the screen where he watched a replay of Troy’s latest fall. “There’s a cable shadow on that last drop. Just do it exactly the same. The new camera angles will take care of it.”
Keaton was on his knees inspecting the decelerator while Duke scrutinized the grounding cables—the key safety measures that kept Troy from splattering all over the rock formations at the bottom of that damn cavern. But he couldn’t say he cared all that much anymore. Given how he’d felt since he’d last seen Giselle at the mixer, dying in this cave doing what he loved most wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
“Stop your pacing for a minute.” Casey came at him with makeup in one hand, a brush in the other, and started patching up the foundation covering the tattoo on his chest and shoulder. “And while you’re at it, stop sweating.”
Troy would have laughed if his gut wasn’t twisted into a knot. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Becca and I still want a redo on the club with you,” she said, voice lowered.
No. God, no. “I won’t be going back.”
Her big brown eyes lifted to his. “Why not?”
He ignored her question and forced memories of the club out of his mind by focusing on catching his breath.
Keaton wandered toward him, offering a cold bottle of water. “My side’s good.” He frowned past Troy’s shoulder. “But Duke doesn’t look happy.”
Troy finished the water and crushed the bottle, tossing it in a nearby trash can before glancing at Duke. His fellow Renegade wasn’t inspecting the cables. He was scanning the cave floor. To retain the cave’s structural integrity, Ed and his crew had drilled a metal post deep into the rock as the attachment site for all stunt cables. Duke scrutinized the insertion site.
“What’s up?” Troy asked.
Duke shook his head. “Where’s Ed?”
That was not what Troy wanted to hear.
Keaton keyed the radio. “Ed. Need you in the stunt cave ASAP.”
After a moment, Ed came back, “On my way.”
Troy wandered toward Duke, ignoring Casey’s demand that he hold still. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s new.” Duke straightened but kept his hard frown on the ground and pointed to a small crack originating at the metal’s edge. The gap was hairline thin and only extended three or four inches toward the cave wall, something no one else would have noticed. “It’s probably nothing, but I want Ed to look at it.”
“Turn toward me,” Casey said, pulling on his arm.
Ed’s shadow darkened the entry to the cave. “What’s up?”
As Duke, Keaton, and Ed discussed the crack, Casey used an airbrush to add shadow and depth to the foundation covering his ink, making his tattooed skin look like it had never seen a needle.