Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CHARLOTTE
“You want me to talk to Nubia?”
Pierre’s question pulled me from my haze, and I looked up at where he was sitting. He was reclined back in the chair at his desk, swaying back and forth. I was all the way across the office, perched on what he’d designated his “thinking couch.”
Since there was plenty of that to be done.
I’d talked big shit three days ago about my refusal to alter any plans I had for the show. And I’d had every intention of standing absolutely firm on it.
Now the network was calling my bluff.
They’d actually halted production.
With that move, I saw exactly how my little private boycott was going to go, and it would not be in my favor. The main cast would be fine, and would get paid anyway, even if production never picked up again.
The crew though…that was a different story.
All those smaller jobs, that came with checks people depended on to feed their families?
I was jeopardizing those.
And while most people may have agreed with me on principle, my personal values and standards couldn’t be used to pay for eggs at checkout.
So…something was going to have to give.
Something being… me.
“So I can be accused of running to Mom to snitch? No,” I said, shaking my head. Honestly, with him being a Perry—making him and Nubia family, all his personal achievements and accolades aside—he probably could frame it in a way that didn’t make me look like the bad guy.
But still.
I didn’t want to go that route.
“That’s…kinda dumb,” he said.
He could’ve been referring to the words I’d actually spoken or the ones in my head, and either way he would’ve been right.
“I know,” I admitted. “I just…I don’t know. I feel like there has to be some way to solve the problem without having to go over anyone’s head. I’m a writer—I’m supposed to be able to make anything sound good.”
Pierre chuckled. “Uh…I don’t think it works quite like that, but I can understand the sentiment.” He sat upright, getting serious. “You know I had my own, uh…difficulties, let’s call them, with the whole get the audience talking thing.”
I sighed.
I remembered that.
When he was working on his first show with WAWG, a cowriter had been called in who completely bastardized the whole thing. Luckily, he’d had a good team around him who was able to call out the unfortunate left turn and put everything back on the right track.
But…he also had the benefit of not being subject to the same scrutiny I was from the network.
No.
It wasn’t that.
The level of scrutiny was probably the same, but with that Perry on the end of his name, he could move with a certain confidence that overzealous execs wouldn’t be sticking their grubby little hands in the mix to manipulate his work.
I was learning, quickly , that I didn’t have that type of freedom.
Lowest of keys…it kinda hurt.
Ten years into this business, hadn’t I proven myself enough yet? Had I not built a career on an impressive body of work?
Maybe not.
“I bet if we put our heads together…we could figure out how to maintain the integrity of the script while still pulling in the things the network wants,” Pierre said, moving from his desk to the couch—thinking couch two—across from me.
I smiled. “I appreciate that, P, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Nah, I insist—you tried to get me in your writer’s room before this, and I didn’t have the space.”
“You still don’t have the space,” I reminded him. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on a feature film right now?”
He frowned. “And yet, that didn’t keep you from knocking on my door.”
“With a question!”
“With a whole damn dilemma,” he chuckled. “Now come on—what’s the demand?”
I shook my head. “I’m not pulling you into this—aren’t your wife and kid expecting you at home soon? You’re not about to have me in trouble with Logan.”
“I’ve got—” He glanced at his watch. “—fifteen minutes before I need to leave to be home on time. We’ve done more with less, Char. Stop wasting time,” he insisted. “Come on.”
I blew out a sigh. “Fine. They want me to kill someone off, and break one of the couples up.”
“That’s it?” He shrugged. “That’s easy. It makes the most sense to kill the kid off.”
My eyes went wide, alarmed. “What?!”
Immediately, he raised his hands in defense. “I know you don’t want to do that. And I know why you don’t want to do it. But your whole premise is built on this girl’s parents getting murdered in cold blood—the only reason she lived was because she wasn’t home. As of now, the killer is unknown.”
I nodded. “Right. That was going to be explored in season two.”
“Which is why it’s a perfect place to introduce now ,” Pierre said. “This was no random act of violence—it was purposeful.”
“Yes. It was someone they thought was a friend.”
“Who has probably met the kid, been in their house, all that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay…so it’s more than reasonable that the killer would want to eliminate any possible witnesses. If he knows they have a kid, who potentially overheard arguments, all that…”
I sighed.
Again.
“It doesn’t completely make sense for her to live. But—I’ve already basically promised her a season two.”
Pierre shrugged. “Fine, so the attempt to wrap up loose ends is botched, but we don’t know that until season two. That’s when we find out she’s in witness protection, or the family has her in hiding, something like that. Is it dramatic as hell? Yes. It is. But it satisfies the requirement, ties into your plot line for season two, and I know you’re going to write it in a way that’s just…earth shattering for everybody. Char…it’s sounding to me like this is a win for you .”
I laughed. “You’re doing a great job making it sound good. But…I think you’re right. I’ll have to see what I can shift without having to do any reshoots. What about the breakup though? Viewers are going to have my head no matter which couple I destroy—and it’s going to set off some hellish rumors.”
“That’s easy too,” he insisted. “Silas and Luna. That fight they got in…what episode was that?”
“Seven, I think.”
“They’ve been on eggshells ever since, right?”
“They have.”
“There you go—play off that. Kami and Jude…they’re both killers. Rage over Shannon’s supposed death would bring them closer—they’d have even more of a shared vendetta than they already do. Luna and Silas though…with them already being fragile, it could be something small that pushes them over the line. Then the thing with Shannon happens, they’ll want to comfort each other…you can put them right back together at the top of season two.”
“And you think viewers who love Shaw and Elodie together won’t have a problem with that? Or that people who hate them won’t use a breakup scene as some kind of weirdo proof, or ammo to harass them?”
Pierre chuckled. “Man, those miserable folks don’t need any help being hateful—they always seem to manage that all on their own.”
“True enough.”
“Besides—those two have broken up before, so they know how it feels to lose each other in real life. Alec and Vanessa are too brand new—I don’t know if they’d be able to pull the emotional depth like the other two.”
My eyes went wide. “Elodie and Shaw…broke up?”
“Yeah, like a while back. Way before this show.”
Mouth open, I shook my head. “Why does that feel like something I’m not supposed to know?”
“Because you’re not.” Pierre laughed nervously, scratching his head. “Let’s make sure that stays between me and you.”
“Understood,” I agreed. “You’re right though. They’re both great actors, but nothing matches having experience to pull from in the performance.”
Or the writing.
“See?” Pierre exclaimed, pushing to a stand. “That wasn’t even that bad, was it?”
“I guess not,” I admitted, glancing at the time. “We finished destroying my script just in time for you to make your way home.”
“You should be doing the same,” he said, heading to his office door as I followed. “I know this shit has been exhausting you.”
I nodded, stepping past him to get to the hall. “It has, but…I need to go ahead and start tackling this, I think. The drive home always gives me brain rot.”
Pierre and I parted ways—he headed for the elevator, and I headed for my office.
I rolled my eyes as soon as the smell of flowers hit my nose.
I would think Nolan had learned his lesson—the first time I walked into an asthma-attack-inducing number of bouquets scattered around my office, I’d made a point of having them relocated to his fancy-ass car.
Between that, and me virtually ignoring me, somehow, my leave me the fuck alone message hadn’t quite gotten through.
This time at least, there was just one bouquet, and it was, admittedly, a nice one.
I snatched the card from the little plastic holder, ripping it out of the envelope.
“We should play nice. We’re on the same side, I promise.—NB.”
I shook my head.
No, actually, we weren’t.
It might seem that way, in the loosest sense of partnership, but he’d made it clear—we absolutely did not share the same emotional attachment to the show. He had his way of doing things, and I had mine—and moving forward, if he was attached to the project, I was running clear in the other direction, as fast as I could.
Having to work with him on a second season of Kinfolk was already going to be bad enough.
A second season that wouldn’t be happening if I couldn’t make these adjustments.
I left the flowers on the desk instead of throwing them away—at least for now. Leaving the lights off, I lit a few candles, grabbed my blanket, and settled in on my own thinking couch with my laptop.
With the mood set, it was easy to get lost.
The next time I looked up, it was because someone was knocking at my door. A quick glance at the time told me hours had passed—more hours than I’d intended.
Even with the knock at the door getting more persistent, I checked my phone for notifications first and then shot off an important text.
Sorry I’m so late—I’ll be home soon!
“I’m coming, damn!” I yelled at whoever was now beating on my door like I’d stolen something.
I shouldn’t have been surprised it was Nolan.
“Can I help you?!” I snapped, not bothering to temper my reaction—he was doing too much.
He tossed up his hands. “Why do you always treat me like this?”
“Because you are always a pain in my ass. Again—what do you want?”
“I’m seeing if you’ve given the script changes any more thought? We can’t afford to?—”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I interrupted, stepping back so he could see inside.
He raised an eyebrow. “Setting a romantic mood? Is this for me?” he asked, slipping past me before I could react. “I see you kept these flowers—thank you. I can’t afford you ruining another paint job.”
“Oh, I ruined your paint job?” I grinned, and he narrowed his eyes.
“ Evil. ”
“If you believed that, you would leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “You keep saying that like we aren’t inextricably tied, mama.”
God, I want to punch him in the head so bad.
“Oh, sorry ,” he claimed, smirking. “But seriously—the script….”
“You’re getting your way,” I told him, crossing my arms. “I’m making the changes, and everything will be good to go.”
He clapped his hands. “ Thank you ,” he exclaimed, and the next thing I knew, for some hellish reason, I was in his arms.
Hating that it felt so good.
Hating that he smelled so good.
“Okay, enough of that,” I insisted, extricating myself from his arms. “Please don’t touch me.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” I whined, trying to push him out my door.
“So you can touch, but I can’t?” he pointed out—I immediately snatched my hands back.
“Can you leave, please?”
“But it looks so cozy in here….”
“You make me so sick , oh my God.” Instead of arguing, I turned away, putting some distance between us.
He just stood there.
Him and that fucking smirk.
“You know what this is, right?” he asked, biting his bottom lip, hands shoved into his pockets.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“The continuation of a beautiful partnership. We should make all our shows together, Ms. Fox.”
“I’d rather clean up a sawblade spill with my bare hands, Mr. Brinkley. ”
Because he was the worst , that made him grin. “See? Who else except you would think of something like that? A sawblade spill? You’re so creative. I’ll look forward to that new episode in my inbox.”
And with that…he was gone.
Just as he arrived.
On my fucking nerves.