Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Sophia
I'll never tire of driving through these gates. I wave to the security guard as he activates the barrier arm so I can drive onto the lot.
"Morning, Ms. Ford."
"Hi, Larry. Another beautiful day today!"
"You got that right. Make the most of it!"
There's a distinct energy on the lot. Stepping out of reality into a world of possibility—it's electric. I pull into my reserved spot at Stage Twenty-Six, and a smile stretches across my face when I see the name PRODUCER on the sign. It still feels surreal that Grant and Edie took a chance on me.
As I'm stepping out of my car, Edie pulls up, looking surprised to see me.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were headed up north today."
"I am," I say. "I just wanted to check in, make sure everything's set up for today, and see if you needed anything."
Edie quirks an eyebrow, a hint of approval in her expression. "Come look. You'll appreciate the setup—we've got the details nailed down, and I know how much you love the details."
Edie Lang is one of Hollywood's most formidable forces.
Tiny but mighty, she's a sci-fi legend who started with coming-of-age films that shaped an entire generation.
She's the director and screenwriter behind this project and one of the most intense perfectionists I've ever worked with.
After leaving her former agency, TWA, she also signed with Blair at Tangerine Talent, becoming one of her first—and most high-profile—clients.
Now I get the privilege of working alongside Edie on my first producing venture, a leap that feels a little less daunting with her by my side.
I follow her through the stage door, where the exteriors of a house set greet us. From the outside, it's all unfinished two-by-fours and plywood walls, but I know what's waiting behind that front door.
"Imagine you've just pulled into the driveway after a twelve-hour drive," Edie says, her voice low and measured. "You're exhausted. It's late. You want to see your mom, but you hope you don't. Not tonight. Hold on to that feeling when you step inside."
She pushes the door open slowly, and I peek my head around her to see inside.
"It's incredible," I whisper. No matter how many sets I work on, I'll never stop being in awe of what our designers create.
The interior looks like a rustic yet well-loved log cabin.
Every detail feels lived in. The recliner in the corner with a draped blanket, the worn magazines on the end table, and the family photos on the walls.
Through the opening to the kitchen, I glimpse a fridge and sink positioned under a window that seems to look out at a mountain view. It's exactly what the script described.
"It's perfect," I say. "Just like the script."
Edie smirks. "It fucking better be. I agonized over this. It had to feel worn down enough to show why she wanted to leave but cozy enough that she'd miss it."
"You're a genius," I say, pulling her into a quick hug. "I'm so lucky that I get to work with you!"
"Ok, ok, enough," she says, brushing me off. "Go check in with Grant before you're late for Honey Pine. If he gets us permission to shoot up there, this film will be unstoppable."
She's right. Shooting at Honey Pine is almost impossible, thanks to strict environmental regulations. But if anyone can make it happen, it's Grant Hall.
I leave Edie with a smile and cut through the backlot toward the executive offices on the backside of the property. My eyes linger on all the storefront facades, marveling at the special details and effects Hollywood puts in place to bring stories to life. I still pinch myself that this is my life.
As I near the offices, I spot Grant descending the stairs of the development offices next to his.
The sight stops me in my tracks. His long strides carry him with an effortless confidence, and when he rakes a hand through his hair, his shirt pulls taut across his chest. It's unfair how good he looks.
I've spent so much time imagining what's under those suits.
Less than a year ago, I only knew him by reputation—a powerful, unattainable figure. He's earned it for unearthing box office gold. But all I can think about right now is how much I'd like to unearth him.
"Hey, Sophia," Grant says, his smile lighting up his face as he approaches. "Wasn't expecting you yet."
His presence is magnetic, but I try to play it cool. "Stopped in early to check on Edie. The set looks amazing."
"I took a peek last night. It's fantastic." He gestures toward his bungalow. "Walk with me? I need to grab a change of clothes before we head out."
I follow him, excited to step inside the historic space. We walk inside, where his admin is set up in a cozy living-room-style setting complete with couches and chairs. She looks like part of the décor behind an inset credenza near a wall of glass that overlooks the backlot.
Down a long corridor, a door on the left opens to an office for Lucas, Grant's head of PR. Across from him is a door on the right that opens to a small private screening room, and next to it, at the end of the hall, a door opens to Grant's spacious office.
Entering Grant's office feels like stepping into Old Hollywood, a mix of timeless elegance and modern comfort.
A large conference table stands off to the left, with his desk tucked beyond it in a corner of windows.
An overstuffed couch and two leather club chairs complete the comfort side of the space.
There's a bathroom just beyond the living space that looks more like a spa.
From here, I can already see a steam closet and what looks to be a jacuzzi tub.
"Make yourself at home," Grant says, pulling a shirt and shorts from a nearby closet. "Coffee's on the minibar. I'll just be a minute."
I grab a mug and pour myself a cup, but movement catches my eye.
The bathroom door has drifted open, and through the gap, I see Grant in the mirror.
He's pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a lean, defined chest. My heart races as he moves to adjust his shorts, but before I can look away, his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
I jump, nearly spilling my coffee, and spin away. "I-I was just… It was open, and I didn't mean to…"
Grant steps out, fully dressed, his smirk devastatingly casual. "It's ok, Sophia," he says, his voice low and teasing. "I'm sure it's nothing you haven't seen before."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I turn back to my coffee, willing myself to act like a normal, professional adult.
"Ready to go?" he asks, tugging his shirt into place, the flex of his arms not helping my resolve.
"Yep," I say, overly bright. "How many people can say they've seen Grant Hall in shorts?"
His knowing smile sends shivers down my spine. "Not many."
And just like that, we're out the door.
We head out to his Range Rover and start the drive up I-5 into the Santa Clarita Mountains, and thankfully, the conversation is easy.
"So, how was your first week as a producer?"
"It's been incredible. And thank you again for pulling whatever strings you have to get us clearance to check out Honey Pine as a potential location."
He shifts in almost a nervous way and adjusts the vents to direct the air on his body.
"Anything for the movie," he says under his breath. Then he changes the subject. "I know the highlights of your career from our first lunch and your goals from our time putting together Survivor, but tell me the story of Sophia. How'd you get started in all this?"
I smile. It's the same story as anyone else, really, but that he wants to know it makes my heart flutter. I'm sure I'm overreacting. I tend to read into every little thing and make it something more than it is.
"I auditioned for Beauty and the Beast in sixth grade and got the lead. I remember the seventh- and eighth-grade girls giving me the cold shoulder and talking behind my back, but I was too excited to care! The minute I got on that stage, I knew I never wanted to do anything else."
The memory brings a smile to my face.
"I was hooked. I auditioned for Frozen in seventh grade and, during spring break that year, convinced my mom to bring me down here for an open call on The Disney Channel.
The ad was vague, inviting young actors between the ages of eight and sixteen to audition for a new live-action sitcom.
No prior professional acting experience was necessary, and I just had to read a scene in front of a table of casting execs and producers. "
"And you were, what, twelve or thirteen years old?"
"Yeah. Thankfully, I was too young and na?ve to have any fear and just delusional enough to assume I'd be chosen."
"And you were."
"And I was."
"And that was for Code Crusaders, right?"
"Actually, it was for Mind Reader, a short-lived show about a teenage psychic.
" I laugh. "I know it was a completely corny show, but I learned so much about the business and acting.
I had a fantastic director, and Disney accommodated an on-set school.
I lived in a house with other teen actresses, and our mothers rotated staying with us, so it was like I had also inherited more family, too. "
"That's amazing. Are you still close to everyone?"
"I'm closer with some from Code Crusaders since it was on the air longer.
" I shift nervously, not wanting to get too deep into specifics about that time in my life.
"For others, it is sort of out of sight, out of mind.
It's funny how it's such a small town but also a big place, too. There are a few I've never seen again."
"That's where you met Connor, right?" Grant says as he glances my way. The absolute last thing I want to talk about with him is how na?ve I was to fall for Connor.
"Yes, he was my co-star in the last season, when my character was finally old enough to have a love interest."
"But you two dated in real life, too, right?"
"We did. It was short-lived, just while we were shooting."
"Well, I think that happens a lot. It must be easy to get caught up between the characters you play, the scenes you're in, and general proximity."
"Something like that."
I catch his head turning toward me from the corner of my eye as I try not to look at him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up any old feelings."
"Oh, no, you didn't. There's no old feelings. Unless still feeling foolish counts."
He's quiet but staring at the road with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Oh, you know, the age-old story of PR team curates relationship."
He nods in understanding. "I've had a few of those. They can be handy."
"I'm sure they are if you know they are happening to you."
He whips his head back to me so fast that I worry he's going to drive off the road. "What do you mean?"
"His team set it up with mine, but it seems my team forgot to tell me about it, and I guess he thought I knew it was all for show.
Instead, I thought every bit was real—right up until he shook my hand at the wrap party.
" I pull my knees up and tuck my head into my hands, embarrassed to be baring my soul like this.
"What the fuck?"
"Yeah, that and what happened with my first boyfriend has pretty much set the tone for my views on dating."
"What happened with your first boyfriend?"
"Oh, that's another classic. Woo her until she gives in. Once he took my v-card, I never heard from him again."
"Jesus, Sophia. That is not at all what relationships are really like."
"Oh, really? And you know this how?" I'm teasing him—everyone knows he doesn't date, and he owns it unapologetically.
"I know how to treat a fucking woman, and it's not like that, whether you're dating seriously or not."
His voice is tight and laced with frustration, and his body language matches.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as the veins on his forearms strain against his skin.
His jaw is tense, his glare fixed on the road ahead, and the energy radiating off him is electric.
My skin burns under the heat of his temper, and I can't ignore the way my body reacts.
I'm especially tingly around my lady bits. Angry Grant is hot.
"I'm sure that's true," I say, trying to sound casual despite the growing heat in the car. "But right now, I'm not willing to validate it. Besides, I'm focused on my career. I have no time for dating, much less any kind of relationship."
His grip on the steering wheel doesn't loosen, and his eyes remain locked on the road. "We've got about twenty more minutes, and then we should be there."
I guess that conversation is over.
"No rush. This is a beautiful drive. I've only been up this way a few times, and this will be my first time at Honey Pine Farms."
"You're going to love it. Hazel makes me drive her out to watch meteor showers. She tells me it's the only place you can see stars since LA has too many lights."
"She's got you there. I love that she's into all that science."
"Yeah, and all things space. She's determined to be the first woman to walk on the Moon or live on Mars—or both."
"I love that so much. She's amazing. If she has half the talent and instinct her dad does, I have no doubt she'll reach her goals."
He turns my way, and I see a flicker of pride and vulnerability in his eyes. Surely, he knows how amazing he is. That his daughter is only six years old and already plotting to make history as a woman says so much about what kind of father he is to her.
"Thanks. I hope so. We're here," he says, ending the conversation. He rolls down his window to chat with the security guard, and then we pass through the gates and make our way to the main cabin on the property.
"You ready to tour this land?" he asks.
"I'm all yours," I tell him, fully aware of the double meaning behind that statement.