Chapter 14
Here’s something that I never thought would be on my bingo card: me, sitting in the massive conference room of Silverline Studios, a security badge hanging from my neck, framed posters of shows and movies they’ve made lining the walls, with extra-large ones of Kingdom of Flame and Moonlight front and center.
Under normal circumstances, I would be fangirling—taking pictures of everything from the show for Sam and me. But because we are sitting in what feels like the PR equivalent of a divorce mediation, I have to be professional.
It felt a bit like a death march as we all filed into the large room, the heels of my black patent leather shoes clicking on the glossy tile floor.
The mood was ominous and the lighting too dim for a room this size.
It’s also, like, aggressively cold in here—I wish I had brought a jacket because I’m practically shaking.
But I’m also extremely nervous. This meeting is a big deal. And I’m not sure I’m made for big deals. I think I’m mostly up for the smaller, easier ones.
I’m not alone, though. Luke whispered to me in the hallway outside the conference room that he was feeling the same way.
“Is this how we die?” he said, standing so close that I could smell a spicy cologne he’s never worn around me before. I would have remembered it.
I snort laughed, which was actually annoying because our clients, who couldn’t even look at each other, both looked in my direction. It wasn’t very professional, and now I can add another bullet point to the list of why I don’t like Luke Wilder. At this point, it’s going to be a mile long.
And now here we are, me with Bailey and her manager, Kara, on one side, and across the massive conference table sits Luke, River, and his manager, James. Luckily, no one has died yet. But we’re just getting started.
“I think we all understand why we’re here today,” says Victoria Chen, the head of programming—whom I’ve already had the displeasure of speaking to—with her straight dark hair pulled back, wearing an incredibly expensive red tailored pantsuit.
“Preproduction starts soon—table reads are next week. We’ve got our two leads who can’t even look at each other but are supposed to act out an epic love story together and a public relations problem that can no longer be ignored. ”
She gets right to the point, doesn’t she? This should be fun. And by fun, I mean something akin to the feeling of getting a tooth pulled.
I look at Bailey sitting next to me, frowning as she focuses on a spot on the table. She’d warned me that Victoria was scary, but I truly wasn’t prepared.
“The question is, how do we move forward?” Victoria asks, looking around the room. Next to her at the head of the table sits Paul Lin, Senior VP of Production—a short, balding man in a crumpled-looking suit who looks considerably less impressive by comparison. He looks around the room too.
Luke raises his hand.
“This isn’t a classroom, Mr. Wilder. You don’t need to raise your hand,” Victoria says, her voice stern.
Wow. She is scary. I think Luke might be the first to be offed.
“Sorry,” he says. “Ms. Archer and I have been working on a plan.”
Why would he say this? She might ask what the plan is, and we don’t have one.
I think we were both so shell shocked when we found out about this meeting that we couldn’t really focus on anything beyond that.
We spent the next hour at Common Ground, trying to predict what they might say today, before leaving and going back to our offices with nothing solved.
She stares at him for what feels like an eternity, but is probably just a few seconds, and I wonder if this is, in fact, how he dies.
“While we appreciate the effort that’s been made so far, going forward, we’ll be taking a more active role in strategy,” Victoria says.
Translation: Everything you’ve done has been a disaster, and you’re no longer trusted to handle this alone.
Luke catches the context because he gives me a quick little side-eye glance, and I keep my face very still. I should probably try to remember how to breathe, though. It’s taking actual effort.
Victoria puts on a pair of glasses that were sitting on the table before picking up a piece of paper and holding it in front of her.
“First, we would like a joint statement from Mr. Rhodes and Ms. Lockhart that will be released by the studio by Sunday. Ms. Archer and Mr. Wilder will draft it and have our legal team review it before releasing it. It needs to be coordinated, professional, and focused entirely on their dedication to the show.”
Forced to work with Luke over the weekend. Fabulous.
I look to Bailey first and then to Kara for approval before nodding in agreement. Across the table, Luke and James agree, while River looks at his hands.
“Next, Mr. Rhodes and Ms. Lockhart will coordinate social media posts showing they’re united for the show. This will also go through our legal team before posting.”
Luke raises his hand before quickly lowering it when Victoria gives him a scowl.
“Wouldn’t that look too staged after . . . everything?” he asks, skirting around the FableCon disaster.
That’s two comments from Luke. Meanwhile I’ve been a nodding mute over on my side of the table.
Get it together, Claire.
“Mr. Wilder,” Victoria says, peering over her paper at him, “everything in this industry is staged. The difference is whether it’s staged well.”
I take it back. Luke can make all the comments. I’ll stay silent.
“Moving on,” she says, looking back at her notes. “We will need both Mr. Rhodes and Ms. Lockhart to make a public appearance together before filming starts. At an event of our choosing and our scheduling.”
“And wha—” I say, the words coming out frog-like as I attempt to contribute to the meeting. I clear my throat, my heart thumping in my chest. “And what would you anticipate that being?”
Good one, Claire. You sound like a teenage boy going through puberty. Well done.
“That’s to be decided and at our discretion,” she says firmly.
Translation: Shut up, Claire.
“We’ll require weekly check-ins with the studio during filming. We’ll want updates on client morale, any potential issues on set, and your current strategy. Only crisis management and actors will be needed for that.”
It could be in my head, but I swear Kara lets out a relieved breath after hearing that. For my part, I feel like barfing. A weekly meeting with Victoria sounds absolutely terrible.
“Both Mr. Rhodes and Ms. Lockhart will have PR blackouts—no personal posts about each other without approval. That includes your dog, Mr. Rhodes,” she says, looking pointedly at River.
River looks down at his lap like a petulant child. Bailey, for her part, looks straight ahead at nothing. I notice she doesn’t look satisfied by this. She just looks tired.
“What about partnership posts?” Kara asks.
Victoria stares at her as if she’s slow, and Kara swallows audibly. “Those are allowed,” Victoria says before going back to her notes.
It’s quiet in the room while she scans the paper. You could probably hear a pin drop. Or perhaps Kara’s soul leaving her body.
“We’ll need coordinated press strategies for all promotional interviews. Junkets, appearances, all of it—approved in advance, consistent messaging, no surprises.”
We nod as a collective group. I think if we were to add everything up, this meeting would be mostly Victoria talking and the rest of us nodding.
“Mr. Wilder and Ms. Archer,” she says, looking to Luke and then to me. “The two of you will work together as one PR team for these clients until further notice.”
My eyes widen before I purposefully school them. I look to Luke, who’s calm and composed. I raise my hand before I realize what I’m doing.
Victoria lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Ms. Archer?”
“How will that work, exactly? Mr. Wilder and I don’t represent a team; we represent individuals with different requirements.”
“Yes, and that’s the problem entirely,” Victoria says, her lips pulling into a thin line.
“We need your clients to come together as a team.” She sets down her paper, placing her elbows on the table.
“We have invested significantly in this franchise and will not allow personal drama to threaten that investment. The expectations I’ve outlined are not suggestions. ”
The room goes quiet. Even Paul Lin seems to sit up straighter.
Well, crap. I don’t have a response for that, except for pointing a finger at Luke and saying he started it. Which I don’t think would go over well in present company.
How am I in this situation again—Luke and I working together? It’s true that we spent yesterday afternoon doing just that. But on a regular, semipermanent basis? With no end in sight?
Victoria goes on to tell us that all strategies will need to be approved by the studio and that we are required to submit weekly reports on our clients’ statuses and possibly something else I missed because I tuned out for a minute while I had a momentary freak-out about working with Luke.
“One last thing,” Victoria says, looking around the room. “I don’t think I should have to verbalize this, but if either client steps out of line, contracts will be reviewed and both PR teams will face consequences, up to and including termination.”
So, my job is on the line. Fantastic. Victoria can’t fire me directly, but she can make Bailey change representation, and that would look bad for the firm and for me. It could even be the end of my career. I’d really have to lean into mattress testing then.
“That’s all we have,” Victoria says, laying the paper down. “Does anyone have any objections to the plan?”
She looks around the room, and no one says anything. We’re all too smart to go against this woman, even if I’d like to. Although my only objection here is to working with Luke.
Paul and Victoria leave first, and then the rest of us exit. The feeling is ominous. It’s not like she asked us to get water from the moon. There’s nothing impossible on that list. But that’s how it feels.
Luke lets River and his manager walk ahead, slowing his pace to wait for me. “I guess it’s you and me again, Archie.” He gives me a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he falls into step with me, Bailey trailing behind with Kara.
“I guess so,” I say, hiking the strap of my computer bag up my shoulder.
“You don’t seem excited,” he says, giving me a teasing grin. It’s very Luke. “We used to make a good team, you and me.”
Once upon a time, we did. And maybe that’s the problem.
“Yes, and you ruined that,” I say. I don’t know why I say it—it’s rude and uncalled for. But my frustration from being strong-armed by the studio is bubbling over.
Luke’s smile drops, and he stops walking.
I stop too, turning toward him. I should apologize, but an expression crosses his face and stops me—something I don’t recognize in him that contradicts his normally cool and unbothered demeanor.
He starts to say something but stops himself and then swipes a hand down his face.
“I’ll try my best not to ruin anything this time,” he says before walking around me and toward the exit.