You didn’t dare interrupt. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to breathe too loud.

But then, without even looking at you, he said:

“Hey.”

You jolted. “Yes, sir?”

He looked up, smirked slightly at the formal tone. “No need for the ‘sir’. Just Nashton.”

You nodded, trying not to combust. “Right. Nashton.”

He held up the script. “I need to rehearse this scene.”

You nodded again, already standing to find whoever his usual scene partner was — maybe another actor, or a director’s assistant—

“I want you to read with me,” he added casually, flipping to a page and tossing a copy of the script toward you.

You caught it mid-air. Blinked. “Me?”

“You’re the only one here, aren’t you?” he said, sitting down across from you, completely unfazed. “Let’s just call it… immersive rehearsal.”

“I-I’m not an actress,” you stammered, heart racing as you opened the script to the page he marked. “I’m staff.”

“And right now,” he said, leaning forward, his tone suddenly serious, “you’re my pretend leading lady. Just go with it.”