Part 2 - Chapter 7 - The Storm

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Denholm and I kept watch over Hailee on the film set. Around eleven, a wall of ominous, black clouds settled over the canyon.

The director stood, hands on hips. "Damnation, one of the reasons we chose this spot is because it gets only six inches of rain a year. Why does it have to rain today? Delays are killing my budget."

"The light isn't good anymore," a cameraman said. "Might as well break for lunch and hope things clear up."

Hailee came to me fanning herself with a copy of the script. "I'm changing out of this hot saloon dress back into my gym shorts. Be right back."

When she returned, she had also let down her hair. I looked around. "What happened to Brett?"

"He had to go back to the trailer," Hailee said, "something about a conference call with his agent."

"Does that mean he won't be with you for lunch?"

"Probably not."

"Well then, what are your arrangements for lunch?" Denholm asked.

Hailee held a water bottle up to her cheek to cool herself. "This water is my lunch. Gertie also has an apple and protein bar for me."

"No way," I said. "You're going to eat some real food."

Denholm inserted himself between the two of us. "Let it go, Sing. This is none of your business."

Pat Dieter was supposed to be her manager. Why didn't he see to it that she ate better? If he wasn't going to be her advocate, I would be. "Hailee, you're coming with me."

"Whether our client eats or not is beyond our scope of work," Denholm said.

I nudged Denholm aside and addressed the actress. "We have proper food back at our travel trailer. Nobody will see you eating there."

"This is a serious breach of protocol," Denholm whined.

"Trust me, boss," I said and proceeded to lead her by the hand to the golf cart.

"You're not afraid to take charge," Hailee said. "I like that in a man."

Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the scowl on Denholm's face, but he said nothing, just got on his golf cart and followed behind.

I pulled to a stop in front of the Waldorf.

"Is this where you're staying?" Hailee asked.

"Yes, it belongs to Denholm."

He parked his golf cart behind mine. The three of us entered the travel trailer.

Hailee immediately started rummaging through the cupboards in our kitchen. "How about if I  whip up a tuna salad? I see you have a loaf of whole wheat. We'll have our tuna on toast."

"Really, Ms. Morgan," Denholm protested, "this is highly irregular."

While Hailee worked preparing the tuna salad, she said, "Mr. Denholm, your travel trailer is way nicer than the gypsy trailer assigned to me."

Denholm sat at the counter, a defeated look on his face.

I popped two slices into the toaster. "Hailee, what can I get you to drink?"

"Water is good enough, and you don't have to wait on me. I'll get it."

I took a seat at the counter beside Denholm. The two of us watched her fix our food. This was so incredible. Hailee Morgan was like any other normal, nineteen-year-old girl. She hummed a tune while she worked and occasionally glanced our way, smiling. Despite her wealth and popularity, she didn't look down her nose and was making an effort to fit in with us. As far as I could tell, there was nothing at all phony about her.

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