Chapter 11
Turns out it’s not fine. In fact, it’s a disaster.
“We prefer that you let the narrative stay as is.”
I stare at my phone. The cool and measured tone of Victoria Chen from Silverline Studios is the exact opposite of how I’m feeling right now.
Which is panicked and sweaty. This cream-colored blouse might be going into the trash by the end of the day. The pit stains will probably never come out.
Fans’ reactions to River’s statement about Bailey have gone from speculation about a reconciliation to a full-blown obsession.
There are hundreds of posts dedicated to it, breakdowns of the entire trajectory of their relationship, and photoshopped pictures of them together, and the hashtag #RiverandBaileybacktogether is trending.
The problem isn’t the rumors—it’s having to let fans down again. And that’s exactly what will happen if they find out the truth. Disappointed fans don’t stay disappointed. They get mean—and mean fans can do more damage than a blind item ever could.
We needed to get ahead of the story fast. So the plan I came up with was to have Bailey post something that focuses back on her—not the show, not River, just her—thanking fans for their support and expressing her excitement for the new season. It was simple and clean, and Bailey agreed to do it.
Could it have worked? Maybe. But it doesn’t matter, because now the studio has thrown a huge wrench in things. They want to keep the rumors rolling because it’s good for the show.
“Bailey is concerned about misleading fans,” I tell Victoria.
Bailey is my client; she is my top priority. I know her well enough now to know she’ll hate this.
From the beginning, she hasn’t wanted to use her heartbreak to boost her fame. When we’ve been the most authentic, it worked. And when we haven’t . . . it didn’t. Like the dinner with friends. Though I still maintain that it was her friends’ unplanned mass unfollowing that blew that one up.
The point is, above all, Bailey wants authenticity. And the studio is asking for the opposite of that by telling us to let this rumor run its course.
“The fans are our concern as well,” says Victoria, her tone clipped. “And with FableCon in two days, we want to keep things stable.”
“I understand,” I say, because I do. I get it. The show must go on, blah, blah, blah.
The only problem is there’s nothing stable about the situation. Victoria didn’t see Bailey and River’s interaction at the gala. She has no idea that the two of them could hardly look at each other. But I can’t tell her that.
At the end of the day, it’s my job to protect Bailey’s career. And that means doing what the studio wants.
This is stressful. I miss the days when all I had to worry about was breaking a stupid curse. I’m understanding Simone’s blood pressure issue more and more as each day passes.
Maybe I need to consider another career. Like a lighthouse keeper. Or a forest ranger. Or someone who tests mattresses for a living. I’d be good at that. I like a mattress that hits right in the middle. Not too hard, not too soft.
Focus, Claire.
After a couple of logistics about FableCon (“Keep your client professional and visible”) with some expectations thrown in there (“No drama”), Victoria ends the call with a simple “Thank you for your cooperation” and not even a goodbye.
Now I have to figure out how to break the news to Bailey, because she’s going to hate this.
“I hate this,” Bailey says over speakerphone.
It took me thirty minutes, and a pep talk from Tessa, before I worked up the courage to call her.
“I know,” I say. “I don’t like it either.”
“So they want me to fake it with River?” I can’t see her face, but I can hear her frustration through the phone.
“She didn’t say to fake it, just to be nice to each other,” I explain. Although I’m guessing that if they want this rumor to run, they want them to be more than nice to each other.
“You saw us at the gala,” Bailey says. “I was mute. I couldn’t even speak.”
“Yes, and we’ll work through that together. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“Thanks, Claire. I appreciate it. I couldn’t do this without you,” she says, and something warm settles in my chest.
“I’m glad I can help,” I tell her.
She sighs. “It all feels disingenuous, you know? I really don’t like this. And I feel like my hands are tied and I don’t have a choice.”
“You do, though,” I tell her. “We could absolutely go against the studio and post something.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “And then lose my job and be blacklisted and never work in the industry again.”
“That is the risk,” I say honestly.
It’s not just a risk; it’s career suicide. Studios talk; word gets out quickly. If you are deemed hard to work with—which is how they will spin this—then you don’t get hired.
“FableCon is going to suck,” she says. “I was looking forward to it before everything blew up.”
FableCon is peak fandom, with crowds dressed up as their favorite characters from all the different fantasy shows and upcoming movies.
I can imagine that for someone like Bailey, getting to stand in the middle of that energy, surrounded by fans who are obsessed with something you helped create, must feel unbelievable.
“It’s just a few short hours,” I tell her.
“Yes,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. “But how am I going to be around River again?”
That’s the bigger issue. Not just the fans and their hopes for a reconciliation. It’s having to make it look like everything is okay between her and River.
“You’re going to have to spend a lot more time around him soon enough,” I remind her.
“I know, but that’s different,” she says. “I’ll be playing Elora; all my lines are scripted. I don’t have to be myself. And when I am, the set is closed. No worry of photos leaking to entertainment outlets or saying something I shouldn’t in front of a huge crowd of people.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I reassure her. “We’ve got this.”
We just have to make it through one afternoon. It’ll be fine. Right?
A few hours later, as Tessa and I are working on ways I can help Bailey get through FableCon, my phone beeps.
Jerkwad: I’m guessing the studio called you?
I pick my phone up and stare at it for a second before texting back. I knew we’d need to have a conversation and have been putting it off.
It’s been a long week, and it’s only Monday.
Me: Yes, and my client isn’t happy.
Jerkwad: Neither is mine
I guess it’s good to know that Luke and I are in the same boat. Even if we’re at opposite ends of it, paddling in a circle.
Jerkwad: I didn’t think that statement would go sideways like that. It was supposed to help.
Me: It helped. Just a little too much.
He sends back one of those stressed emojis. The one with a cheeky smile and sweat dripping down its face.
Me: I guess we need a game plan for Wednesday
Jerkwad: Yes, I was thinking something like: don’t let them kill each other during the panel.
I twist my lips to the side, fighting a smile, even though he can’t see me.
Me: Brilliant
Jerkwad: Same as the gala? Separate arrivals. Separate greenrooms.
Me: Already took care of the greenrooms
I did it after I hung up with Bailey. It felt proactive. It was also one of the easier things on my list.
Jerkwad: Great. Then we’ll plan to get there fifteen minutes after you.
Me: Sounds good. What about the panel? How do we manage that?
Jerkwad: Sell our souls to Satan?
Me: You did that already
Jerkwad: Hey
I send back a laughing emoji, even if I meant it just a little.
Me: We’ll make sure they don’t sit together
He sends me a thumbs-up.
Me: And what about fan questions?
Jerkwad: Can’t control that. I’ll talk to the moderator and make sure they redirect if necessary.
Me: Perfect.
Jerkwad: See you Wednesday
I let out a breath. Yes, Wednesday. That’s the last major public event before preproduction starts. And then it will be rehearsals, fittings, table reads—all behind closed doors.
That can’t come soon enough.