Thomas took a deep breath and stepped into the room. He wanted to call Montmartre but knew that would not do him any good. He was not going to let him know that this bothered him. That was most likely just what the bastard wanted to hear and Thomas was not about to give it to him.

His second thought was to call Danielle. It was an entirely irrational thought – she wouldn't be able to do anything about this right now, either – but for some reason, he still took out his cell phone. He thought better of it, though, just before he pressed call. Besides, she wouldn't be able to take the call. She was still on the plane, after all.

With a sigh, Thomas threw his suitcases on the bed, then turned around and left the room. He would deal with this later. For now, he had better things to do. There were three beautiful locations waiting to be looked at by him.

He found cabin number seven easily and knocked on the door. The PA from earlier greeted him with a smile. "Did ye want me to give ye a tour of the filming locations?"

The plane touched down in Scotland just before sunset. There was some confusion at the baggage claim, but after that everything went smoothly. Danielle and Chris arrived at their cottage two or so hours later. They were tired as all hell and wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep for several hours. But just before they could enter the cottage, they heard another car drive up to it.

They turned around to see whether it might have been Zoe, but it was not. Out of the car stepped none other than Thomas Hunt. Danielle sighed. She had hoped she'd at least get some sleep before she had to face him.

Chris gave her a little nudge. When she looked at him, there was his signature grin again. "I'm gonna head inside and give you two some time," he said with a wink, and then left her standing there by herself.

She had half a mind to just follow him – Hunt hadn't spotted her yet. But just as the thought crossed her mind, Hunt looked right at her. He suddenly tensed up and Danielle once again felt like she had offended him when she left so quickly after they had resolved to be friends just a few days ago.

Hunt was the first to speak. "Good evening, Danielle," he said, his voice sounding strained.

It was strange to hear him call her by her given name. It shouldn't have been. They were friends now and that was what friends did, right? "Evening, Thomas."

Thomas had hoped he would be back before the others arrived, but, of course, that wasn't in the cards for him. And now he was standing there, awkwardly greeting Danielle and not quite knowing what to say. He had to say something, to warn her of the horrors awaiting her inside that cottage. But he was just standing there, unable to speak. Should he tell her gently? Just blurt it out? Should he wait until the PA that had given him the tour was gone so not everyone would know about it? Did everyone else already know about this?

"Well, I'm really tired, so I guess I'm going to head inside," Danielle said awkwardly and turned around to pick up her bags again.

Not saying anything would just make it worse, he knew that. "Wait," he blurted out. "I'll help you with those."

"Oh, it's no problem. I didn't pack that much," she said, but Thomas had already walked up to her.

"No, I insist," he said and tried to tell her with only a look that he needed to talk to her.

It seemed she understood as she nodded and murmured, "Okay then."

Each carrying one of her bags, they went inside. Thomas still wasn't sure how to tell her, but he knew he had to.

"We have a situation up there that you're not going to like," he simply stated. "There are only three bedrooms, and it appears we've got the short end of the stick."

Danielle gave him a puzzled look. He braced himself to finally say what he didn't want to, but then realisation washed over her face. "No, he didn't."

"I'm afraid he did," Thomas replied.

"And here I was, hoping we'd get a break from Montmartre's bullshit for a while," she sighed. But there was something other than exasperation in that sigh, too, and Thomas couldn't tell what it was.

They stood at the foot of the stairs for a few moments more, until Danielle seemed to make a decision. She started walking upstairs and motioned for Thomas to follow her, which he promptly did.

Though Danielle suspected Hunt wouldn't joke about this, she had still kind of thought that what he had told her wasn't true – until she opened the door to their bedroom and, sure enough, there was only one bed. It was large, though, and certainly big enough for two people to sleep in without bothering each other… just as long as those two people weren't Hunt and her. It wasn't too long ago that Danielle had thought he hated her guts – she still was only half-convinced he didn't – and at the current point in their friendship, this seemed like a horrible idea.

Especially considering who had set all this up. Surely, Montmartre wasn't just trying to get under their skin. No, there was not a doubt in Danielle's mind he was trying to collect more potential blackmail material. After all, he had said he'd be keeping an eye on them while they were gone, and it seemed he meant that in more ways than one.

Danielle sighed and looked around the room. It wasn't super huge, and there was no couch or any other piece of furniture suitable to sleep on in there. Of course, that would have been too easy. The sofas down in the living room were large and comfortable-looking, though, so maybe that was an option she could consider. They hadn't looked nearly as comfortable as that bed, though. She sighed. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen so many pillows on any single bed, and the blankets looked warm and soft and… it was an absolute shame that she wouldn't get to sleep in it.

"Well, this sucks," she eventually said and turned to Hunt. "But don't worry, it's yours."

She couldn't picture Hunt sleeping down in the living room for the entirety of the next week, but she had spent nights on far less comfortable surfaces than couches not too long ago. With a sigh, Danielle picked up her bag again and turned around to go back downstairs.

"Exactly where are you going?" Hunt asked then.

She looked at him in confusion. "The living room? We're not giving Montmartre more he can hold over our heads."

"You are not sleeping down there. I need you well-rested in the mornings, you're the lead actress of this movie in case you have forgotten."

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Sorry, I don't see you offering to do it."

Hunt opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

"That's what I thought," she said with a shrug. "It's fine, really."

"I suppose… we could take turns," Hunt offered. To Danielle's surprise, the offer appeared to be genuine. "What, you don't think I've spent nights on sofas or in chairs in my time? Please."

Danielle sighed. No, she wouldn't take the offer. She was the reason Hunt was even in this situation in the first place, she wouldn't let him suffer more. "No, this is my fault. I'll be fine, I promise. It's not like it's forever. Plus, those couches look really comfy."

Just then, another door opened and Chris looked out of his room. "Sounds like something's wrong here. Can I help?"

"No, there is no need—" Hunt began, but Danielle interrupted him.

"Chris is a friend, not one of Montmartre's spies," she said to him, then turned to Chris. "We have been given one bed to share and I was just on my downstairs."

Chris looked first at her, then at Hunt, and then back at her. "Well, my bed's big enough for two. If you'd rather share a bed with a friend than a former professor, I'm sure I won't take up too much space."