The Hudsons: Max, Bella and Devlin. Maureen Child

because I was overqualified.”

      He frowned. “I don’t have time to train anyone right now, and neither do you.”

      “But—”

      “I’ll also need you to check the log sheet.”

      She blinked at his change of subject and nearly groaned. Writing down each scene as it was filmed was mind-numbing. Checking it against the film was doubly so. She sighed. “What else?”

      “Make an edit script.”

      Boring desk work. But, okay, she knew that was part of the process. She forced herself to keep eating although he was killing her appetite.

      “Capture the footage and back it up. You do know how to work the editing software, don’t you?”

      “Yes.”

      She’d spent a lot of her nonwork hours learning the computer program that stored the dailies digitally on a hard disk. A good producer knew how to get his hands dirty in every phase of production. Putting the clips in order was busywork, but at least she’d get to see the raw footage and get a feel for how the film might come together. That part was exciting.

      Max’s vision for the story would determine the final product. His editing would set the pace, tone and emotional impact of the film and a million other things simply by the clips, shots and angles he chose to include or cut. Even the sound he chose would affect the final product. While editors might not get much of the credit, the editor could make or break a film.

      And then something struck her. “Wait a minute. This is beginning to sound more like editing than producing. And why are you giving me the tedious jobs?”

      Max didn’t even blink at her accusation, nor did he deny it. “Because right now that’s what I need you to do. The producer’s primary job is to keep everyone happy, on schedule and under budget. Someone has to do the grunt work, and you need to learn from the bottom up.”

      She sat back, her appetite and her enthusiasm gone. “I have a degree in filmmaking, and I served several internships with Screen Gems at the Wilmington studios.”

      “You haven’t used any of that knowledge since you graduated, and the technology has completely changed in what? Six, seven years?”

      “About that. But I’ve done my best to keep up.”

      “Good. Then maybe you won’t slow me down. We’ll move faster if I don’t have to stop and explain things every step of the way.” Max took a few bites of his breakfast. “I’ll also want you checking for continuity errors, specifically the clocks, candles, setting, cigarettes or anything else that might be an issue. Make sure they haven’t changed from shot to shot. No short candles that suddenly get tall.”

      “That should have been done during filming.”

      “Right. And yet slipups make it into even megabudget films—even the ones that aren’t rushed through postproduction. But I won’t have them in mine.”

      He finished his breakfast and rose. “Time for that swim.”

      She watched him climb the outdoor, circular iron staircase in the corner of the patio to the master suite and exhaled a pent-up breath when he disappeared inside.

      He’d finally given her the job she wanted. But he wasn’t going to make it easy. But if he thought he was going to force her back into her old job he was going to be sorely disappointed.

      Because like her brother, she was no quitter. She might have gotten sidetracked from her goals for a while, but once she set her mind to something she stuck to it.

      Like saving Max. Or saving herself.

      Dana turned away from the sight of Max’s tanned, muscular shoulders and arms cutting laps through the long pool below the window. No way could her brain function with that kind of distraction.

      She was determined not to let Max or herself down, but when she stared at the overwhelming mountain of work on her desk and the long list she’d made of her assigned duties, she had to wonder if she was up to the task. Sure, she’d asked for the responsibilities, but Max had piled them on. His pointing out that she was a bit…rusty in her production skills hadn’t helped her confidence any.

      But she wasn’t above cheating by calling on an expert for guidance if it meant keeping on top of her workload. She picked up the phone, dialed and pressed the receiver to her ear.

      “Y’ello?” The deep southern drawl comforted her almost as well as one of her daddy’s big bear hugs.

      “Hi, Daddy.”

      “How’s the new job, sweet cakes?”

      She wished she could lie and say work was a breeze. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment. I’ve e-mailed you a list of the duties Max has assigned me. Have a minute to take a look?”

      “You betcha. Hold on a sec.” She heard him tapping on the keyboard over the phone line and then the greeting from his e-mail provider.

      Seconds later he whistled. “You’re going to be earning that pay raise.”

      “It looks like I’ll doing mostly grunt work and a lot of editing tasks.”

      “Yep. But you wanted to polish your skills, and he’s going to make you.”

      “I have a question for you. What do I need to do next to keep ahead of things?”

      She’d kept him posted via e-mail every step of the way because he was living vicariously through her. Today’s list was just an update. She knew that if she failed in this position he’d be just as disappointed as she, maybe more so.

      “You’ve been his right hand for years, so this isn’t too different. Put every tool Hudson needs at his fingertips. With him juggling two jobs—producer and editor—his time is going to be tighter than ever. Help keep others on schedule for him whenever you can, and run interference with the troublemakers and squeaky wheels. Every project has them. Identify ’em as soon as you can and be proactive, otherwise their poison can spread.”

      “Got it.”

      “When you finish the capturing he’ll start editing, and remember, an editor’s job goes faster if he doesn’t have to wait for the components.”

      She scribbled as fast as she could and hoped she could decipher her notes later. “After the basic editing the next editing components he’ll need will be…” she searched her mind, “Sound, right?”

      “If he’s not calling in an independent sound designer, that’s it. And you know where to find what you need, don’t you?”

      “I do.” During college she’d been shocked to discover that most of the movie’s soundtrack was added during the editing phase. Quite often the audio recorded on location wasn’t up to par and dialogue or sound effects were added later.

      There were audio libraries where film companies could buy or rent the sounds or background ambience they needed for a film. The roar of a passing subway train or the hum of a busy city street corner might be used in a dozen other films, but the typical moviegoer would never recognize it as one he’d heard before.

      “I’ll get right on it, Dad.”

      “That’s my girl. Give him what for. Show him that a steel magnolia can whup a California girl any day. Have they hired the composer for the musical score yet?”

      “Yes. It’s not anyone I’m familiar with.”

      “Get familiar. You want to be on a first-name basis, so that glitches can be smoothed over quickly and painlessly.”

      “Got it.” She wandered to the window and looked out to see if Max was still in the pool. He was pulling himself out, his muscles flexing under wet, tanned skin. Using both hands, he slicked back his hair. His wet trunks clung to him like a second skin, outlining his masculine attributes in