When I opened the door, a staff member stood on the other side, clipboard in hand and an apologetic smile on his face.
"Sorry to bother you," he said, holding out a manila folder. "The director asked me to deliver this. It's the script for the next spy scene. He wanted you to have it tonight so you could prepare for tomorrow."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, though my insides churned with conflicting emotions. "Thanks," I said, taking the folder from him. The weight of the paper felt heavier than it should, like it carried more than just words.
The staff member gave me a quick nod and left, his footsteps fading down the hall. As I closed the door behind him, I let out a heavy sigh and leaned my back against the wood. My gaze flicked to the script in my hands, but my mind was anywhere but on the spy scene.
What the hell was I thinking?
