Five
FIVE
“The Maro Empyreal does not make mistakes. We realign our judgments.”
Autarch Raez, The Quantum Wraith
“I n conclusion, The Quantum Wraith is on track to becoming the perfect four-quadrant film Monument needs and will fill an important hole in our current theatrical release strategy. I understand the decision to cease filming has already been made, but I hope you can see how extenuating circumstances may mean the decision was made without having all the information. You should have in your email a revised production book, plus an updated budget and schedule, and I want to note the location schedule has a firm stop because we don’t want to push into Arizona’s monsoon season. You can be assured the dates won’t move further out. I’ve included projections that demonstrate the film will be worth far more to Monument if allowed to be completed and distributed than if work ceases now. Thank you for your time and consideration.”
Sutton smiled into the camera on her laptop, keeping her gaze steady on the lens. She wanted to appear calm and dispassionate, not eager and desperate. While meeting via webcam was not her favorite, at least being behind a screen several hundred miles away meant the room of mostly older men couldn’t see how she needed to continually wipe her palms on her trousers. Her heart thumped so loudly, she was surprised the microphone didn’t broadcast the sound to everyone else.
She glanced at the notes on her electronic tablet. Since arriving in Arizona a week ago, she’d furiously worked to recover what she could of Pauley’s files, matching them with Xavier’s and Luisa’s budget and pulling all the documentation into a cohesive story to persuade the executives sitting around the conference room table in Los Angeles to continue production while she stepped in as the producer. Yep, she covered everything. Now the decision was out of her hands.
Kellen Felder, the president of Monument’s feature film division, leaned over to Harry Moss, Sutton’s boss and the senior vice president of production, and said something in a tone too low for Sutton to hear despite wearing state-of-the-art headphones. Then he nodded at the camera in the conference room where the rest of the attendees were gathered. “Thank you, Sutton. Our team has concluded Robbins is responsible for the cost overruns, and the studio is working with law enforcement to track him and his accomplice Hera Marshall down.”
Sutton smiled into her camera. “I’ve sent all the evidence of Pauley’s malfeasance we could find to the attorneys. The film is otherwise in excellent shape.”
“But,” Kellen said, raising an imperial hand, “we’re under pressure to cut costs, not create more. The company can take a tax write-off if we shut down now. We don’t need to buy into a sunk-cost fallacy.” He looked into the camera. “You’ve done good work here, Sutton. When we next put The Quantum Wraith into production, I want you as the exec in charge.”
“Thank you,” she said, her face hurting with the effort to keep her smile wide. This was the downside of video meetings. She had to stay focused and present when she wanted to leave her desk and rage against the shortsightedness of her bosses. There were no sure things in moviemaking, but she was positive this film qualified as a safe risk.
“Y’know—” Zeke Fountaine leaned into the camera frame “—Sutton obviously understands the production and its needs. And not having a summer tentpole will probably be more costly in the long run. So why not have her step in as the producer?”
What? Why would Zeke, of all people, help her? She didn’t realize she was frowning until she caught Harry’s eye, who mimed putting on a smile. Right. Her lips were so stretched and dry, she was going to need an ocean of balm.
“If I may.” Zeke took control of the meeting’s audiovisual controls without waiting for permission and put Sutton’s revised budget on the screen. “If the production sticks to forty-five days, the film will be brought in around the original estimated cost. Minus, of course, the monies stolen, but that’s where the studio can take the write-off, correct?”
Kellen leaned forward as if taking a closer look at the spreadsheet. Sutton resisted the urge to turn her camera off so she could indulge in the biggest eye roll of her life. She’d sent the presentation to Kellen hours ago. Was he just now looking at her documents because Zeke freaking Fountaine asked him to?
“Yes,” he said slowly. “The numbers work. If they’re accurate.”
Harry spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “I went over them with Sutton. They’re solid.”
“If the movie comes in on time and on budget, it will be a win, and if it isn’t delivered, you still get your write-off,” Zeke pointed out. “What do you say, Kell?”
Kell? Zeke was on a nickname basis with the president of the film division? But before she could ponder on what that might signify, Kellen called the meeting to a close.
“All right. Zeke makes a good point. We’ll continue with The Quantum Wraith , based on these numbers and the revised projections. Sutton, sorry to stick you in Arizona, but you’re there until we find a replacement for Robbins.”
A replacement? She started to ask what Kellen meant, but a brief headshake from Harry warned her to stay quiet.
“I’ll work with Sutton from this end,” Harry stated.
“Good.” Kellen turned to Zeke. “In Sutton’s absence and with Chester…no longer with us, you’ll take over her existing projects and report to Harry.”
What? No. No no no no no. Zeke couldn’t take her projects. She’d shepherded those films from the start. She knew, with the sharpness of an arrow to her heart, she would never get them back. “I can handle my usual workload alongside this production,” she began, but Kellen spoke over her.
“Everybody clear? Great. Let’s get some work done before the weekend starts.” Sutton’s view of the conference room disappeared, replaced by white text box that read, This meeting has been concluded by the host.
“Oh, c’mon.” She called Harry’s cell phone but got his voice mail instead. Why did she feel like she won the battle to keep The Quantum Wraith afloat, but she may have lost a war she wasn’t aware she was fighting? Her hands shook, and she wasn’t sure to attribute that to anger or to the dozens of energy drinks that had kept her going over the weekend as she prepared her presentation.
Focus on the positives , she admonished herself. She’d achieved her goal. Filming would continue. She thought about going to the set to tell Xavier in person the good news, but word had come over her radio handset that they were setting up for the martini, aka the last shot of the day. By the time she traveled to the location, they might be mostly wrapped. She’d wait for him to return to the production office.
At least she would have plenty of opportunities to observe Xavier over the next several weeks. More opportunities to marvel at his command of his craft, the way his eyes lit with excitement when the camera captured a moment the way he intended, his long fingers tightening on the arms of his chair when he was excited—
Was the AC out? Her cheeks were burning. She rose from her desk to check the thermostat, which hadn’t budged from its usual setting.
Yes, Xavier was talented. And that talent was seductive. She had always been susceptible to people who were passionate about their art. Once she even believed she could join their ranks, change the world with her creative vision, but that had long been revealed to be a childish dream.
She stayed with Van long after their relationship had reached a natural expiration date because she truly did enjoy listening to him speak about his music. And Xavier… Xavier had been her deepest, most intense crush on someone’s creativity. His first indie film, made when he has been a student at LAU, had been one of the most audaciously original films she’d seen at the time. And to have someone she so admired seem to think she was talented…
At the time, she’d thought their connection had been more, meant more. That all his flattering words about her screenwriting had been based on the potential he saw.
Then he ghosted her after what to her had been a mind-blowing night of heart and soul union, but for him had been apparently a forgettable yawn. What a gullible, easily seduced fan girl he must have thought her to be.
Ugh.
Pull your head out of the past . She was a Monument production executive. A big-budget film was hers to produce. She had nothing to prove. Not to her parents, who continued to disapprove of her career in the entertainment industry and warned her she was about to find herself in the unemployment line and unable to pay her expenses at any minute. And certainly not to Xavier.
Her phone rang. Harry was calling her pack. She punched the speaker button, which would allow her to scroll through the files on her computer should she need to locate a piece of information quickly. “Hi, Harry.”
“Congratulations on Kellen’s approval.” Harry’s gravelly tones rumbled in the air.
“Thanks.” She decided not to mention Zeke accomplished that, not her. Appearing paranoid would only harm her. Even if she suspected the paranoia was justified. “Although getting his greenlight felt precarious for a while.”
“Money talks. But I want you to know what you’re taking on. If the film is a hit, everyone in that room will take credit. Failure—that’s just going to be on you. All of it. By yourself.”
“Is that why I’m only on the film until a replacement for Pauley can be found?” She tried to broach the subject as delicately as she could without appearing too defensive.
“In part. Look, I have your back, but only for now.”
The acid that never fully retreated from her stomach started to swirl again. “What does that mean?”
“Am I on speaker? Take me off.”
Now her stomach was a bubbling volcano, flows of fear flooding her other organs. She picked up the phone. “You’re off speaker.”
“Kellen wants to fill Chester’s VP role from within the ranks. The search period will be short.”
“Makes sense. Does he have someone in mind?”
“You. If you play your cards correctly.”
In a week of shocks, each one more ground-dissolving than the other, this one ranked up there. Right next to realizing she still found Xavier supremely attractive. She coughed. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say I was replacing Chester?”
“If you play your cards correctly,” Harry repeated. “But it’s not set in stone. Zeke Fountaine is also in contention.”
“Zeke? But he just started on this team.” Her tone was light, but her fingers dug into the armrests of her chair.
“His father is the managing director of Whitefield Capital,” Harry said. “Whitefield papered the deal for Monument’s acquisition of Vestar Pictures last year. His family has known Kellen’s for ages.”
That figures. “Zeke did seem close to ‘Kell’ in the meeting today.”
“You know the drill. It’s not just what you do but who you know. Therefore, you can’t do a good job with The Quantum Wraith . You must do an excellent one.”
“I understand. I will.” Half of her wanted to jump with exaltation. The promotion would put her among the youngest VPs at Monument. The other half—well, she’d just have to ensure the intense pressure turned her into a diamond, not a pancake.
“And most of all, you have to want the position.”
“I do.” Excitement started to win her internal war, bubbling in her veins. Dare she truly hope? This was the goal she had worked toward since she first set foot on Monument Studio’s lot. “More than anything.”
“Good. All eyes are going to be on you, Sutton. Act accordingly.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I’m not worried. But I am going to give you advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“This is the most passionate I’ve seen you about a project. But get out if the film starts to go south again. You don’t owe loyalty to anyone on the production. Not with a promotion on the line. Don’t screw up your future.”
“I won’t.” She and Harry continued to talk about the projects Sutton was handing over to Zeke, and then they hung up as Harry was eager to start his weekend.
Sutton remained in her chair, staring at her computer screen, but not seeing the words and numbers in front of her. The stakes of her situation confronted her hard, like an ocean swimmer out for a dip in a calm sea who didn’t notice the giant wave until after she was pulled underwater and tossed around.
Take a deep breath. You’re in line for a promotion. Your parents will be thrilled. They might even finally acknowledge you can succeed on your own and stop hounding you to join the family business, where they can look after you and ensure you won’t fail.
She rested her elbows on the desk and let her head fall forward into her cupped hands. Just for a minute, she told herself. Just to think. Or maybe even grab a catnap, a very brief one. Sleep had eluded her almost since the moment she set foot on Arizona soil. She was running on nothing but coffee, energy drinks, and adrenaline. Now that the meeting was over, the adrenaline had fled, and the injections of caffeine were wearing off. Maybe if she put her head down and shut her eyes, the room would stop spinning…
“Sutton? You okay?” Even when trying to block out the world, she still heard Xavier’s voice—wait.
She snapped her head up. Xavier stood before her desk, a frown creasing his brow. His blue shirt was open at the neck, revealing skin bronzed by the sun and a smattering of dark, curling hair. As a student in his seminar, she had been obsessed with that triangle, wondering if his chest was heavily furred or only lightly dusted. Her daydreams about exploring what was under his shirt caused her to miss at least one lecture, if not more.
She blinked, coming fully awake. These ridiculous vivid flashbacks would eventually subside, return to being buried below work and daily errands and reside with the other inconsequential memories, like the time she dyed her hair magenta, but two weeks later the color was a weird, carroty orange. Xavier was a professional colleague, nothing more.
“I’m fine,” she said, shutting down the computer on her desk. “Just giving my eyes a break.”
“So, a brief rest? Not wallowing in despair?”
“Why would I wallow…? Oh! The meeting. You want to know how it went?”
“As much as I enjoy being Schrodinger’s cat, yes, I’d like to know if my directing career is alive or dead.”
She tried to keep a straight face but failed. “The box is open and the cat lives to film another day. Congratulations. Kellen agreed to the new budget and schedule.”
A grin lit his face, the past decade of wear disappearing from his expression. “Sutton! That’s great!”
“It is, isn’t it?” His smile was infectious, and she finally allowed herself to feel the joy and relief of knowing production would continue. She hopped up from her chair, her arms outstretched victory. “We did it.”
“No, you did—” Xavier reached out his right hand as if to touch her on the shoulder, maybe even draw her in for a hug, but then his hand changed direction and smoothed his unruly dark hair off his forehead instead. Much to her unbidden disappointment. “Thank you,” he finished. “An inadequate pair of words for all I owe you. For all the production owes you.”
He was looking at her as if she had done something amazing. As if she were amazing. She wanted to bask in his appreciation, but she had fallen for that look once before, hadn’t she? And look where that left her. She let her arms fall. “Team effort. Luisa’s revised budgets deserve a lot of the credit, as did promising we won’t push past our dates because we don’t want to gamble on filming during monsoon season. And Monument had a hole in their release schedule. Overall, the risk was minimal.”
His gaze narrowed slightly, but his smile remained. Gods, he was attractive when he smiled like that, as if the two of them had won a tremendous prize. “Whatever works. C’mon, let’s go celebrate with a drink.”
Drinks with Xavier? Just the two of them? Her heart skipped a beat. The offer was tempting, especially with his gaze warm on hers. But she wasn’t certain she could handle a night with a relaxed, happy Xavier who looked at her as if she had just hung the moon and a few added constellations in the sky. Not when the production had over a month to go. Not when a potential promotion rode on her professional behavior. Not when she knew his attention, no matter how intense, could vanish like a mirage. And considering they were currently in the desert…
“Thanks, but I need to unpack. I’ll see you on Monday.” Nikki had gone to Sutton’s apartment and put together several care packages of toiletries and clothes for Sutton’s extended stay in Arizona, which had just arrived.
“Let me rephrase. I’m not asking you to come to drinks. I’m telling you.”
She just saved his film, and he thought that meant he tell her what to do, even on her own time? She took back everything she thought about his attractiveness. Even if the stern crease between his brows was perhaps more appealing than his relaxed grin, if she were being honest. “Did you order Pauley around this way? Or is this behavior you save just for me?”
She moved toward the door, but Xavier was faster. His broad frame filled the doorway, blocking her exit as she was about to leave. From this close, he smelled like warm sun on freshly washed clothes. “I didn’t need to tell Pauley he should be at crew drinks. He knew.”
“Oh. Crew drinks. Of course. It’s Friday.” A tiny corner of her mind than was less tired than the rest of her brain lit up. The invitation wasn’t about spending one-on-one time, just the two of them. That was merely her wishful subconscious.
It was going to be a long forty-five days.
“Drinks and dinner on the lawn of the big house,” he continued. “Contessina flew in her favorite mixologist from Los Angeles. If you don’t want alcohol, they’re preparing something called an ‘antioxidant shooter.’ Whatever that is.”
She laughed at his perturbed expression. “Careful, or they might not allow you back into LA if you make fun of our healthy mocktails.”
“A good beer is all anyone needs.”
“I remember your unadventurous taste buds,” she said lightly. Then she froze, her heart thudding. She was coming perilously close to touching the third rail of ten years ago. She swallowed, her throat scratchy, and forced herself to laugh. “Didn’t you always have a packet of plain potato chips stashed somewhere in your office? Or was that that the professor who taught History of European Cinema? All my memories of college run together into one big blur.”
“No. No potato chips.” He stepped aside, allowing her to exit. “Must have me confused with someone else.”
“Yes, I must,” she agreed, keeping her gaze down and focused on the worn carpeting on the hallway. No, she definitely remembered everything. And when it came to kissing her, he was anything but unadventurous.