“Right.” Josh turned to look around the room. “Maybe we could discuss that later?”

Oh. Perhaps he was trying to give her the brush-off after all.

He pulled two printed tickets out of his back pocket. “Don’t forget, we’ve got Rocky in two hours.”

Of course. She’d purchased the tickets weeks ago and hung them on the fridge. Josh must have snagged them on his way out this morning. Clara had been so sure then that the movie marathon would be a platonic outing. But now . . . She gulped.

“Ginger said your note about cheating her body to the camera in that last scene made a big difference.”

The compliment sent a pleasant warmth blossoming in Clara’s chest. “Everyone has been very kind. I think I’ve gotten more hugs in the past few weeks than I did in my entire childhood.”

Josh frowned.

“Wheatons typically reserve physical contact for special occasions,” she said in explanation. “Also, everyone has started calling me Connecticut. I’ve chosen to believe they mean it as an endearment.”

“Naomi shows affection in strange ways.”

“Asking her to lead the project was the right call. She’s got so many ideas. I didn’t realize that sex could involve that many hijinks.”

“Stu’s certainly not afraid to laugh at herself or her partners in the bedroom,” Josh said.

“But she also has these stories that are incredibly heartfelt. A lot of the performers do. It’s like they’ve gotten comfortable enough with sex to uncover another plane of intimacy. I’m used to worrying about how my body looks or if the guy is picturing someone else every time he closes his eyes.” Clara shook her head. All that was in the past now. In the land before Josh. “But some of the stuff Naomi’s directed, it’s amazing. I think our videos could help people see what sex is like when partners really trust each other, and the interest from the press has been tremendous. I’ve lined up all kinds of interviews for the two of you for launch next week.”

Clara had grown to appreciate putting her doctorate skills to use in new ways for Shameless, but at the end of the day, Josh and Naomi still had the most to lose. The former flames remained the only A-list names attached to the project. Their reputations had to carry the site, at least until they built a subscriber base.

“Those press releases you drafted were amazing. I guess you’re pretty good at mixing business and pleasure.”

Clara leaned toward him. What if he kissed her right now, in front of everyone?

“Excuse me.” A blonde in glasses and a tool belt stood in front of them. “Can one of you sign off on this lighting design before I start drilling the mounts?”

Josh jumped up from his chair like someone had poured hot coals in his lap. “Oh hey, Wynn. Stu mentioned you were in town visiting. I didn’t realize she’d roped you into manual labor during your vacation.”

The blonde smiled wryly in the direction of where Naomi bent over a set of test stills. “She called in a very old favor.”

“Have you met Clara? She’s the brains and the bucks behind this operation. Clara, Wynn’s a carpenter and set designer by trade and the only person alive who knows any of Stu’s secrets.”

Wynn held up a pair of callused palms. “Only because I met her almost immediately after she exited the womb.”

Clara quirked an eyebrow.

“Our mothers took the same Lamaze class and became joined at the hip,” Wynn said in response.

“Ah. Well, nice to meet you. It’s very generous of you to give up your personal time to help us out.” Clara extended her hand and Wynn took it.

“No problem. It’s refreshing to do work at a place where the people in charge don’t all look like a stock photo for white male privilege.” She turned to Josh. “No offense.”

“None taken. Clara can sign off on your designs. She’s got the better eye. I’ll head back to the edit bay and try to be useful.” Josh excused himself.

Wynn handed over the sketches for the mounts. Each image detailed the way the light and shadows would play across the set and the performers.

“Wow, these projections of the light trajectory are incredibly helpful.” Clara studied the images, looking for anything she’d change and coming up short. This design was more than practical, it was art. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance we can convince you to move to L.A. and join us as a full-time hire?”

The blonde wrinkled her nose. “Tempting, but no. My family, my job, and my boyfriend are all back in Boston. Hannah makes skipping town look easy, but I’m a hopeless homebody.”

Clara nodded. “I had to try. You’re very talented. Where did you learn all of this?”

Wynn’s face crumbled. “I didn’t grow up with brothers.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, gut reaction.” Wynn winced. “Almost any time someone compliments my work they follow it up by asking if I grew up in a household full of boys. You know how girls in movies who can change a tire or throw a football are always explaining their skills away as if talent transferred through proximity to testosterone?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’ve got a brother and I’m certain he wouldn’t have any idea what to do with your tool belt.”

Naomi placed a cup of coffee next to Clara’s elbow. Surely the beverage was a nonverbal gesture of acceptance?

“Thanks.” Clara leaned over the steaming liquid in the hopes of giving herself a caffeine facial. She’d barely gotten four hours of sleep last night. Right now her eyelids weighed twenty pounds each.

“You look like you need it.” Everything Naomi said came out sounding like a threat, but Clara now knew that she meant well. “You two met?”

“Yep. I was just admiring some of Wynn’s work.”

“She’s obnoxiously talented. Practically perfect.” Naomi sighed. “If only she weren’t tragically heterosexual.”

Wynn peppered a kiss on her friend’s cheek. “And on that note, I’m gonna go screw something that’s not one of your performers.”

Naomi turned to Clara. “Why are you making a mess of my studio?” She gathered a handful of the balls of crumpled scrap paper scattered around Clara’s computer.

Oops. Clara hadn’t realized how many doodles of logo designs she’d accumulated while watching the preview clips. It had been years since she’d drawn anything for eyes besides her own. But something about channeling Chagall for Josh last night had released dormant artistic impulses. Among other things. She’d always associated Chagall with love, and not just any love. He painted the romantic love of myths and fairy tales. True love. The kind between soul mates. Love that she and Josh could never have. Except that falling asleep in his arms felt disconcertingly right.

Naomi lingered over one of the first images Clara had sketched, a pair of typefaces that broke down Shameless so that while still written as a single word, it read more like a declarative statement: Shame. Less. “You like it? I thought that—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“Right.” Should she mention the change in her relationship with Josh? She didn’t want to hide the information from their business partner. Naomi seemed to value honesty above all else. But what if she freaked? Or decided Clara wasn’t good enough for her ex?

“Can I ask you a question?” Clara blurted out the words before she could think better of it.

Naomi looked at her with pursed lips. “One.”

Clara planted her feet and stood up extra straight. “Do you think people can change?” What she meant, but couldn’t bring herself to say, was Do you think someone like me could ever be right for someone like Josh?

Naomi didn’t answer right away. She twisted her hair up into a bun and stuck a pen through it in a way that Clara thought only worked in movies. When she did respond, her voice was thoughtful and her eyes were sharp.

“Can? Yeah. If the circumstances are right. But you have to want to, and most people don’t.” She took a deep breath. “Or something big enough has to happen to you. Something that leaves you with no other options.”

Something—no, someone—big had happened to Clara. But she couldn’t figure out if the effects would last.

Naomi stared at her. “That’s how I got into porn.”

“It was?” Living with Josh and working alongside so many different kinds of performers had significantly opened the aperture on Clara’s definition of a porn performer.

“Believe it or not, I had a pretty perfect high school experience. I wasn’t as much of a brownnoser as you.” Naomi smirked. “But I got good grades and I was captain of the soccer team, class president, the whole thing. I even had the perfect boyfriend.” Naomi’s lips twisted as if she’d sucked on a lemon.

“Life pretty much came crashing down around my ears when said perfect boyfriend shared the private pictures he’d begged for as an eighteenth-birthday present with the Internet. You see, I’d told him I wasn’t ready to sleep with him.” Her voice rang hollow.

Clara wrapped her arms around the other woman’s shoulders without thinking. She expected Naomi to toss off the physical contact, but instead, she leaned her chin on top of Clara’s head and sighed. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it, and then kill you.”