30. March 27th

MARCH 27TH

Waters

And this iswhy some species eat their young.

Waters had seen and dealt with many assholes in his thirty-four years, but Big Bird was in a class all his own. Granted, he was keeping the worst of his comments to himself right now, probably concerned that Waters would make good on his earlier threats. He clearly wasn't pleased with doing his audit in the kitchen since he'd been banned from the War Room. But his attitude, nonverbals, and facial expressions were almost as bad as what would have come out of his mouth.

There was a knock at the door, and then Demon entered the back door leading into the kitchen. "Sorry to bother you, Waters." He was dressed in his undercover gear—short-sleeved, button-down shirt, khakis, and deck shoes. His dark hair was slicked back, and he had glasses perched on the end of his nose. "I've got that medical report you asked for." A pointed look passed from the man to his superior as Demon passed him a folder with his finger in between some pages.

Kubrick looked up with a start. Her eyes were frozen on his. "Medical report?"

Waters waved her off as he took the folder, slipping a finger into the same slot that Demon provided. "Not a big deal, Kubrick. I just asked him to throw something together since you were meeting with Stapleton. Cataloging visits to the medic, etc."

He opened the folder and squinted at it. He glanced at the page, then looked up at Demon. A quirked eyebrow was all he communicated, but to cover the moment, he said, "Is the stuntman accounted for?"

Demon shrugged. "He was less than communicative at first, but finally, he gave us the story. A fall. Shoulder was dislocated, but he actually put it back into the socket on his own. Shouldn't be any lost time, although he was advised to lay low for a bit."

Waters slipped a look at Big Bird from under his eyelashes. The man grunted and went back to the papers in front of him. Waters slid a quick look at Kubrick, who was looking at him with her own squinting, assessing gaze. Turning his back on the room, he laid the open folder on the counter that he had been leaning on. Very smoothly, he slipped the memo sheet into his shirt pocket, then pretended to peruse the documents in front of him. When he turned back to the room, the folder now closed, he handed it to Kubrick. "Everything looks fine. A few bumps and bruises, but other than the food poisoning cases, nothing major."

Her expression let him know she was not as obtuse as Big Bird. She looked at Demon, then back to Waters. Just to let Waters know she was not amused at her discovery of one of his men on site and that she knew the report was not about one of her stuntmen, she flashed a flirtatious grin at Demon. "Thanks, Doc. Glad to hear it. Cup of coffee? I didn't realize we had such a good-looking doctor on our set. I've been remiss."

Demon's expression was inscrutable, but his mouth tipped up on one side. "Don't mind if I do, Kubrick. Right?"

"Yes. But you can call me Kai if you like."

A soft snort came from the blond consultant off to his right. Waters saw Demon sneak a look at his boss before he sat at the far end of the kitchen table next to Kubrick. "I'll stick to set protocols. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was getting special privileges," he said with a smirk. "But, thanks, Kubrick."

She stood, grabbed a mug, poured Demon a cup of coffee, and then returned to her seat. Waters was back to his leaning position against the far counter, gazing pointedly at Demon.

After a cursory look at what was an honest but bogus report, she slid it over to Big Bird. He glared at her. "This should have been with the daily reports."

Prick. You're just pissed she had everything lined up for you, and you couldn't dress her down for not being ready.

"The daily visits are on the daily reports, Craig," she reminded him. "Waters was just efficient enough to give you a compiled listing. I'm sure you'll see everything matches up exactly."

Big Bird grunted and went back to reading, and damned if the asshole didn't go down the list, line by line, to match up each infirmary visit to each day, looking for something, anything, to nail her for.

Demon and Kubrick made small talk about filming on some of her previous projects while Waters watched the producer like a hawk. The man was up to something. The only thing he knew could go sideways were the invoices that originally matched up with the inventory, but would the man catch the fact that the original tallies no longer matched the current inventory? Since the original inventory aligned, Kubrick could hardly be blamed for supplies that went missing under someone else's guard at a warehouse over ten miles away. And yet he knew Big Bird would find a way to make it her fault if he found the discrepancy.

Demon stood up from his seat. "Thanks for the coffee, Kubrick. See you at dinner tomorrow." He flashed a quick look at Waters, his smirk a little larger than before, and exited the kitchen.

Waters had been so focused on Big Bird that he hadn't heard Kubrick extend the dinner invitation to the man. He could feel his teeth grinding.

"Serrano!" Big Bird called her name, sounding like there was an "A-ha!" behind her name, distracting her from watching the doctor leave.

"Yes, Craig?"

"What's with these invoices for additional supplies?"

Well, shit. So much for missing the orders.

Kubrick shrugged. "We needed to order some additional effects and batteries. Hardly out of the ordinary."

"It is for you. Most of the time, you end up returning inventory on your projects."

Time to wade in.

"Those orders were at my suggestion. We loosely discussed adding some additional effects sequences. I checked the budget, and we have the room, so I thought it would be better to have the items on hand if needed, knowing they could always be put into backstock for another production if we ended up not needing them. No sense having to sit and wait for supplies to arrive if we ran out. Wasted production time if we have to sit, which means spending more money than purchasing extra supplies."

His gaze never faltered from Big Bird, but he could feel Kubrick's narrowed gaze. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was in for an argument for stepping in but damned if he would let her take the hit on this.

"I wasn't speaking to you."

"I know you weren't. But since the call was mine, I answered."

"If those rounds aren't used, or the picture goes over budget, then it comes out of your consulting fee."

Waters knew the producer was spouting crap, so he just returned the man's stare. Arms crossed over his pecs, hands in his armpits, legs crossed as he leaned on the counter, he gave all the impression of being nonplussed by the feather-shaking. Inside, he was seething at the constant attacks on his woman, but he kept it in check for her.

"All right, gentlemen. Stand down," Kubrick ordered as she stood up. "Craig, you've been at this for over two hours. I have digital copies of my reports. If you want to keep at this, be my guest, but I've got an early morning tomorrow, and I'm going to bed." Pushing her chair in, she left the kitchen without a backward glance.

There was a beat of silence before Waters spoke. "I don't know what you're up to, Stapleton, but I'm not stupid."

Big Bird smirked. "I doubt that, boy."

Not showing the disgust he felt, Waters turned to follow Kubrick.

"That's right, grunt. Follow after her like a puppy dog."

Waters wanted to continue down the hall without dignifying the man with a response, but his body had a will of its own and turned back to stalk into the kitchen to get right in Big Bird's face. "Make no mistake, Stapleton. I would follow that woman to Hell if necessary, and she wouldn't even need to ask. She'd be worth every tortuous moment of it. You aren't fit to be her judge, let alone her boss. Leave. Her. Alone." With that, he turned on his heel and went after Kubrick.

And following her to Hell is exactly what I'm doing. Sweet Christ, I'm just going to admit it. I'm fucked. She's mine, and that's all there is to it, damned be the consequences.