Her Red-Carpet Romance by Marie Ferrarella Page B

said that if he liked the quality of someone’s work, he didn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t use that person again.”
    â€œWait, ‘The Spade’?” she questioned uncertainly. Were they still talking about Lukkas?
    The man nodded. “That’s what the crew calls him. Because of his last name,” he added.
    She had to admit that she wouldn’t have thought of that herself. But now that the cameraman had pointed it out to her, she couldn’t see how she could have missed that.
    â€œHe knows everyone’s name. I really don’t know how he keeps them all straight. Me, I’ve got five kids and sometimes I forget some of their names, or get who’s who mixed up,” he joked. “I never heard The Spade confuse anyone’s name with someone else’s. The guy’s incredible.”
    There’d be no argument from her on that. But, admiration notwithstanding, she was starting to understand why the producer needed to have someone organizing things for him as he went along. It was apparent that he already had far too much going on in his head to accommodate anything extra.
    In all honesty, she was beginning to wonder how the man didn’t just implode—or have a meltdown. There was just too much.
    * * *
    â€œSo how’s it going?” Lukkas asked sometime later that day as he came up on her.
    â€œI located Joanne Campbell. Her agent—Jim Myers—said she was in between projects at the moment and would love to have a chance to work with you. Seems you have quite a following,” she told him with a smile.
    She had to confess that she felt a touch of pride about the matter as well, which she supposed anyone else would have thought somewhat premature. But in all honesty, she was beginning to feel as if she had always had this job. To his credit, Lukkas created that sort of atmosphere on his sets.
    Lukkas was quick to wave away the comment she had repeated. “Her agent knows how to sugarcoat his words, that’s all. Helps during negotiations.”
    â€œMyers wanted to know when you’d like to have Joanne audition for the part.”
    â€œNo need,” Lukkas told her. “She’s already got the part.” When Yohanna looked at him in surprise, he explained his reasoning. “She has the same build, the same coloring as the Elliott girl and—as a plus—she has a hell of a better attitude than Monica Elliott does.” Lukkas had few hard and fast rules on his set, but Monica Elliott had broken one of them. “I don’t like turmoil on my sets.”
    â€œTurmoil,” Yohanna echoed. “I don’t see how that’s even possible, considering the size of the fan club you’ve got here.” She’d initially decided to keep that to herself, but when something was staring you in the face, there was a tendency to want to at least mention it.
    Lukkas clearly looked as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Come again?”
    â€œI talked to one of the crew members—a cameraman named Eddie Harrington,” she interjected. “From what I gathered, the whole crew thinks that you could walk on water if you really wanted to.”
    Lukkas frowned at her and shook his head. “Don’t exaggerate, Hanna.”
    â€œI don’t think I am,” she told him. “If anything, I’m probably understating it. I don’t know if you realize it, but you’ve got enough goodwill going for you here to mount a campaign for president of the United States if you wanted to.”
    For a second it looked as if he was just going to laugh in her face, Yohanna thought. And then he just shook his head, dismissing the very notion.
    â€œBeing a producer’s rough enough, Hanna. Why in God’s name would I want to put myself through something like that? And after the hell you go through, you wind up occupying the loneliest seat in the country. No thanks. I’m