Behind The Scenes

Chapter 4: ON-Set With the Perfectionist

## On-Set with the Perfectionist

The air crackled with tension. It wasn't just the oppressive heat of the studio lights, although those were doing their best to melt me into a puddle of sweat. It was Devyn Montero, the goddess, the perfectionist, the absolute nightmare of a co-star. She sat across from me in the CEO's office, a vision in a tailored power suit, her gorgeous curls bouncing as she stared me down with those coffee-hued eyes that could make a man forget his own name. Right now, though, they were focused solely on me, scrutinizing my every move, every twitch.

We were filming the first scene of "The Crimson Tide," a juicy soap opera that promised to catapult us both to new heights. I was Hazel, the meek, flustered assistant, and Devyn was Melinda, the powerful, intimidating CEO. The irony wasn't lost on me. I was playing the nervous, introverted character, but it was Devyn who made me feel like I was on the verge of a panic attack.

"You need to look more nervous," she'd said, her voice sharp, clipped. "This is supposed to be Melinda and Hazel's first time meeting. My character is supposed to be looking serious and dominant, and yours – nervous and flustered. Got it, Devora?"

How could I possibly get more flustered? I was already a nervous wreck around Devyn, her presence alone a potent cocktail of excitement and fear. And then there was the fact that I was utterly, hopelessly, and undeniably attracted to her. The way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled, the way her hair bounced as she moved, the way her voice sent shivers down my spine...It all made me want to crawl under the nearest desk and never come out.

But her constant critiques weren't helping. "More nervous! More flustered! You're not conveying the power imbalance!" she'd bark, and I'd flinch, my face burning. I could practically feel the sweat clinging to my skin, my throat tightening with each critique.

I tried again, stumbling through the scene, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I could see the director, a seasoned veteran, watching me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Devyn, though, was completely unreadable.

When the director finally called "Cut!" Devyn leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. 'Good job, Rossi,' she said, and a wave of relief washed over me. 'I could feel the nervousness and the attraction between our characters better this time.'

I had just given a performance ripped straight from my own insecurities, the nervous, flustered, attracted-to-you-Devyn-Montero mess of a person I actually was. She didn't need to know that, and she wouldn't. She had no idea how deeply her words cut, how much every look, every casual touch, every sharp comment sent me reeling. But I managed to pull myself together, plastered a shaky smile on my face, and muttered a "Thank you."

She smiled back, and it was a goddamn disaster. A dazzling, radiant, panty-dropping smile that set my insides ablaze. 'Now that's the Devora I know.' I felt a blush rise to my cheeks.

Working on this soap was going to be even harder than I imagined. How could I possibly play love interests with her, let alone kiss her, let alone make love to her on screen? I was so screwed. I rubbed my temples, feeling a familiar headache starting to form. The goddess was a beautiful, terrifying, irresistible storm, and I was trapped in the eye of it, bracing myself for whatever she would unleash next.