Quinn yawned loudly and widely. No aspect of civilised life should ever exist before eleven a.m., yet Gerry persisted in calling his pre-filming meetings at a much earlier hour. He’d even rolled Quinn out of bed to make sure they both made it in time.
“Okay, so here’s the plot, guys.” Gerry stood firmly in front of his cast and crew, assembled in the chilly warehouse that was their set for Santa Claus is Cumming to Town. He glanced at Quinn, coloured, and looked away again.
Quinn knew he looked immaculate as always—immaculately debauched, that was. He wore a long shirt, buttoned at only one spot, so that plenty of his sculpted torso was seen with every languid move he made. He’d made some concession to the occasion of a formal script conference, in that he’d thrown on a pair of casual, c
