Justin Harris laughed nervously. "You can’t just—"
What am I doing?
"That's it!" Marco yelled. "The tension! Now, kiss! Make it dirty!"
Justin leaned down for another take, his whisper venomous: "After this, you’re done. Marco told me. They’re giving me your contract."
"No," Neil said. Not loud. Just firm.
The camera, an old Sony HDR-FX1 that had seen better decades, whirred to life. The red light blinked. Record.
"I quit," Neil said, turning to face the room.
The director, a man named Marco who wore sunglasses indoors and had never learned anyone’s real name, clapped his hands. "Places! Scene 103L – the blowup. Neil, you’re the jealous veteran. Justin, you’re the cocky new guy who’s taking his place. Fight, then make up. Hot. Angry. Let’s roll."