The Caged Canary's Spectacular Comeback

Jayme Barnes POV: The sharp click of the shutter cut through the silence of the lavender field. Autry stopped. He looked at the camera, then shifted his gaze to me. He looked confused. He wasn't a man accustomed to hearing the word 'no'. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice low and laced with danger. "This is a closed set, Mr. Villarreal," I said. I didn't call him Autry. I used his business name. The name people feared. "Mr. Villarreal?" he repeated, clearly offended. "Get in the damn helicopter. You've made your point. You've had your vacation." "I'm working," I said, keeping my voice steady. "This isn't work. This is a hobby. I have a dinner with the Governor tonight. I need you there." "Why? Is Cassie busy destroying another garden?" His jaw clenched tight. "Cassie is... occupied." "Security!" Kenan yelled, his voice cracking across the set. Two local French security guards stepped forward. They looked terrified of Autry, but they managed to stand in front of me. Autry laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound. "You think these rent-a-cops can stop me?" "No," I said. "But I think you don't want to cause an international incident in front of a documentary crew." I pointed to the camera operator, who kept the lens trained on him. Autry looked at the lens. He straightened his tie. He threw the roses on the ground. "Fine," he said. "We'll do this the hard way." He turned and strode back to the helicopter. The wind from the rotors whipped my hair across my face. I didn't flinch. Kenan walked over to me, looking pale. "Who the hell is that?" he asked. "My past," I said. "He seems intense." "He's a mob boss, Kenan. Intense is his baseline state of existence." I went back to my hotel room that night. My phone pinged. A text from Autry: We need to talk. I deleted it without hesitation. The next morning, I arrived on set to find chaos. The lead actress was crying in her trailer. The producer was popping champagne. "We got a new investor!" the producer yelled. "Tripled the budget overnight! We're saved!" My stomach dropped. A black SUV pulled up. Cassie Turner stepped out. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a smirk that suggested she knew exactly how much space she took up. "Surprise," she said, looking right at me. "She's the new lead?" I asked Kenan. "The new investor insisted," Kenan said, looking unhappy. "Said she has 'star power'." Autry had bought the production. He had bought my escape. "And Jayme," Cassie said, walking over to me. "Since you're here, we need a stand-in for the lighting checks. You're about my height. Be a dear and stand there so they can light me properly." She wanted me to be her shadow. Literally. "I'm the photographer," I said. "Do it, or the production loses the funding," Cassie said sweetly. I looked at Kenan. He looked desperate. This film was his dream. I nodded. "Fine." I stood on the mark. The lights burned my skin. I saw Autry standing by the craft services table. He was watching me. He looked miserable. Why did he look miserable? He was winning. Later that afternoon, they were rehearsing the kiss scene. The male lead was late. "I'll stand in," Autry said, stepping out of the shadows. "You're not an actor," Kenan argued weakly. "I'm the money," Autry said. "And I know the lines." He walked onto the set. Cassie wasn't there. It was just the stand-in rehearsal. It was just me. He walked up to me. The script called for a passionate reunion. "Autry, don't," I whispered. "You look tired," he said softly. He reached out and touched my cheek. His thumb brushed my lower lip. My body betrayed me. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Action," the assistant director called nervously. Autry didn't act. He grabbed the back of my neck. He pulled me flush against his chest. He crashed his lips against mine. It wasn't a stage kiss. It was possession. It was anger. It was a claim. He tasted like peppermint and dominance. For a second, I melted. For a second, I was eighteen again. Then I remembered the roses. I remembered the "guest wing." I remembered the bulldozer. I bit his lip. Hard enough to draw blood.