Papers littered the desk and credenza but in a seemingly chaotic sort of organization. Buckets in varying sizes sat under weak spots in the drop ceiling catching the occasional drip. The carpet was old, stained, and the coffee pot looked as though it had been purchased in the 1980s.

The windows overlooked Main Street and the evidence of the town’s trauma. A constant reminder of the work that needed to be done.

Cat snooped around the desk and picked up a framed photo. Noah, who she hadn’t had the misfortune to meet when she’d been in town shooting before, appeared to be a good-looking man. The glasses gave him a hint of nerd, but the dark, tousled hair and happy grin upped the appeal. The girl next to him had mischief and magic written in her pretty brown eyes.

Cat wondered if he was as hard-assed a father as he was town manager.

She’d looked up her show notes and discovered that Mr. Yates had been on vacation with his daughter the week they’d shot here in Merry. He’d cut his vacation short when he got word of her “confrontation” with one of the townsfolk in the one and only bar during her birthday celebration. When he’d shown up on set, she’d been sleeping off a hangover in her trailer.

A production assistant and the field producer were able to talk him down and get him off set before Cat could blow up on him. She didn’t care how beloved Handsy McGrabber was in the town of Merry. Her ass was off-limits, especially after an ignored verbal warning. She’d given the drunken grabber one chance to keep his beefy hands to himself, and when he paid her no heed and went for the gold, she’d clocked him in the face maybe just a little harder than she should have. But in her defense, she was six or seven sheets to the wind, and her tolerance for bullshit was at an all-time low.

She didn’t overdo it as much anymore. Sure, she still enjoyed a good time. But she was a little more careful when it came to weighing the consequences. Especially since hangovers had stopped being inconveniences and turned into raging days of “wishing for a swift death.”

Yates’ desk phone rang and the blinking red light told her there were already several voicemail messages awaiting him.

“Can I help you?” He stood in the open doorway in jeans and a fleece. His hair, a dark brown, was longer on top than it had been in the photo, curling just a little. His eyes, a bright, sharp green, crinkled a little at the corners behind those glasses that were actually pretty sexy in real life. He had broad shoulders and, from what Cat could see under the layers, a very athletic body.