"Alright, didn't you say there's an early scene to shoot? Get moving. Don't keep the cast waiting."
Everyone knew the drill in showbiz, but when Balfour mentioned that the cast was waiting, Colton quickly scooted out, not wanting to hold Ivy up.
The rest lingered, but Balfour's presence felt like a thorn in their side, so he shooed them all out before sprawling on Ivy's couch.
That couch, Ivy's regular haunt, still carried the sweet scent of her perfume.
Balfour's furrowed brow eased a touch, but the thought of their earlier spat soured his mood.
He couldn't fathom when Ivy had thought about leaving him.
Yet, deep down a voice roared clear – he wouldn't allow this woman to walk out of his life.
How to prevent it, though, he had no clue.
Balfour curled up his long legs, settling into the narrow couch. Ivy's scent enveloped him, making the tight space suddenly comforting.
Unwittingly, his eyes closed, and he drifted back to sleep.
Ivy carried on, ignoring Balfour, her morning performance done and dusted.
Despite the makeup ordeal that morning, Colton was thrilled with the scene – as usual with Ivy. Her ability to layer personal insight on top of the character analysis provided by the writer and director made her a constant delight.
"You didn't get much sleep last night, and you've been at it all morning. Go get some rest," Colton advised before Ivy could leave, hinting that Balfour was still in her dressing room.
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