One woman had already arrived for her audition too, and she was almost as tall as the men. Like the potential Cyprians, she was white and built along generous lines, and her long, light brown hair, glowing skin, and a crooked, charming smile made her undeniably pretty. No doubt he’d be performing with her shortly to determine whether they had sufficient chemistry, along with any other women in the final running for the character of Cassia.
As they waited to be called into the conference room, all four of them checked their phones and tried not to fidget. And once his cell indicated two minutes before the hour and no one else hadarrived, Peter figured the showrunners had already decided on the pretty brunette for Cassia.
Then, precisely on the hour and not a second beforehand, the door to the waiting room swung open again, and—
Shit.Shit.
There she was, all tits, ass, belly, and long legs. She strode confidently toward the nearest empty seat, wearing some sort of expensive-looking patterned blouse, skinny jeans, and polished boots with low heels, her shoulder-length hair rippling with waves and shining under the fluorescent lights.
Maria Whoever-the-Fuck.
The woman who’d fled from their hotel bed without a single word.
She sat gracefully, deposited her purse in her lap, and glanced around in bright-eyed curiosity, smiling.
Until she saw him, anyway.
Then that easy smile died, and her brow puckered for a moment. Finally, she nodded at him as if they were friendly acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks.
“Peter,” she murmured, and tried with limited success to resuscitate the once-cheerful curve of her lips. “Good to see you again.”
Last night, he’d found her slight accent charming. Sexy, even.
Now it grated. So did everything else about her.
And unless he was mistaken, he was going to have to act alongside her soon. Luckily, Cyprian and Cassia did nothing but argue in their early scenes together.
That worked for him.
In response to her greeting, he simply looked at her, expressionless. She met his eyes without flinching, and held his gaze until the door to the conference room opened and the casting director poked her head out.
“Peter and Maria, please join us,” she said, fuck it all.
Apparently he wouldn’t have any time to reconcile himself to this clusterfuck. So he rose to his feet, offered the casting director a respectful dip of the chin, and walked through the doorway without glancing back at Maria.
The conference room was large and filled with various people, some he recognized and others he didn’t. The showrunners he spotted right away, as well as a director with whom he’d worked previously. Then he and Maria were ushered toward the front of the room and given an excerpt from a script, and he immediately dismissed everything but the role. Nothing existed but the dialogue, the expressions, the gestures. The emotions he was meant to display and evoke.
If he could, he’d dismiss Maria too, but in this task, she was his partner.
Though not a particularly accomplished one, as he soon discovered.
She delivered her lines well. He’d give her that. But her expressions and gestures were too exaggerated for television or film, especially in a show likeGods of the Gates, where the cameras would pull in tight and let the audience read every subtle shift on her mobile face, every twitch of her fingers or infinitesimal tilt of her head.
After a minute or two, Ron Acheson, one of the showrunners, interrupted her in the middle of a key bit of dialogue to give feedback, and he didn’t mince words.
“This is your first time auditioning for a television show. Is that correct, Ms. Ivarsson?” Ron asked, slouching back in his cushioned chair and steepling his fingers.
Maria didn’t hesitate before answering. “Yes.”
“Then let me offer some advice. This isn’t a dusty stage in a small Stockholm theater, and you’re not playing for the yahoos in the last row.” He glanced toward his fellow showrunner, R.J. Nullman, and rolled his eyes. “Take it down a dozen notches, will you?”
When it came to television and film, to Hollywood and its power players, she was an amateur. And thank fuck she clearly wouldn’t be chosen for the role of Cassia, because he wasn’t wasting his best—and possibly his final—real shot at professional respect and success on someone who didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Not when the actors playing Cyprian and Cassia would be performing together, one-on-one, without other cast members and on an isolated set, potentially for years. Not when his gut churned acid at the mere sight of her.
Maria didn’t argue with Ron, but she also didn’t appear embarrassed or cowed by his criticism. Her chin tipped high, she waited calmly for further guidance.
“Fantastic work, Peter. Continue everything you’re doing.” In theory, R.J. was complimenting Peter, but he was staring at Maria. Twisting the knife a bit, maybe to see how sensitive she was. How she’d react. “Let’s start again from the top.”
Peter had to give her credit. She didn’t flinch at R.J.’s jab, and in their second go-round, he could tell within moments that she’d adjusted her performance in accordance with Ron’s direction. In fact, she adjusted so well that Peter abruptly fell into the scene with her.