“You keep rolling no matter what happens,” Sharon said, locking eyes with me as she adjusted the florescent green micro floss that was pretending to be her professional wardrobe. “No interruptions. No pauses. No sudden zooms if I bend over. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said. “Unless we get a tornado or another mayoral citation.”
She arched a brow. “Tornado gets you ten seconds. Anything else, you keep shooting.”
The set was the back porch, freshly mopped and staged with a chaise lounge, three citrus-scented candles, and a strategically placed chilled glass of water.
