Chapter 20
The next morning, I pick up Luke and drive us back to Silverline Studios, but this time instead of a long day of interviews, we’re in the large conference room with Victoria and Paul.
I’m not sure what’s worse.
Once again, Victoria’s presence is unnerving, and Paul isn’t offering much. That seems to be his MO. I’m starting to wonder why he even comes to these meetings.
I’m here with Bailey, as per Victoria’s request, and Luke and River are sitting across the table from us.
It’s our first in-person meeting since that first disastrous one where Victoria laid into all of us and threatened our jobs, and the vibes are definitely different this time. I’m not feeling quite as intimidated and worried as I was before.
Okay, I’m still feeling intimidated. I don’t think it’s possible to be around Victoria Chen and not feel that way.
But the vibes are definitely different between Bailey and River. Especially compared to the last time we were here, when Bailey was staring at the table and River at the floor. Now they keep catching each other’s eye, little knowing smiles passing between them.
Victoria clears her throat. She has her glasses on and is looking at a piece of paper she brought with her. She peers over the top of it at Luke, then at me.
“The numbers are looking good,” she starts. “Engagement is up, sentiment is positive, behind-the-scenes content is working.”
I try not to smile, because that felt like a whole string of compliments coming from her.
“We’d like to keep the momentum going. And if we can make it go faster, even better.”
I glance over at Luke and catch him doing the same to me. I know without saying it that he’s thinking the same thing I am: She wants more? Already?
I get it—strike while the iron’s hot. If you don’t feed it, the narrative gets taken over by someone else. The show starts filming tomorrow, which means even more money will be going out the door.
It always comes back to money.
Luke starts to raise his hand but lowers it when I give him a quick shake of my head.
“What kind of content do you want from us?” he asks.
She looks at him like he’s stupid. “The same things you’ve been doing, Mr. Wilder.”
“With all due respect, we’re running out of content to work with,” Luke says.
Paul leans over and whispers something in her ear, and she nods.
“You can use clips from media day, and filming starts tomorrow. I’ll expect you both on set.”
I start to raise my hand, and Luke gives me wide eyes. Right. Dang it. Didn’t I just do the same to him? It’s so hard not to when this does actually feel like a schoolroom, Victoria our stern teacher.
“How often will we be needed on set?” I ask.
She gives me a flat stare. “However long it takes to get content.”
So, all the time. Should I bring my sleeping bag and toiletries? Find a spot in the corner to hunker down in? She’d probably say yes.
The meeting is adjourned, and everyone leaves except for Luke and me, still sitting in our seats at the table.
“Well,” he says. “I guess we better get to work.”
Work looks like getting media day footage from the studio—six freaking hours of it—and going back to my office where Luke, Tessa, and I start combing through it.
“This is a good one,” Tessa says, turning her laptop screen toward us. She’s sitting on the other side of my desk, while Luke and I are sitting together on my side.
She plays a quick clip of River animatedly telling the interviewer about Bailey’s first day on set for season one and how nervous she was. His impression of her is funny, but mostly adorable.
“That’s perfect,” I tell her.
“Good catch,” Luke says.
Tessa’s cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink as she gives him a small shy-looking smile, and I notice it immediately. A couple of weeks ago, I probably would’ve rolled my eyes at it. Now it’s more like—Yeah. Same.
Especially with his proximity—working next to me on his laptop, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, that spicy cologne lingering in the air, our legs brushing under the desk.
Get yourself together, Claire.
“Did you notice how much more touchy they were yesterday?” Luke asks after a while of quietly searching, Tessa back at her desk to work on something for another client.
“Yeah, I caught that,” I say.
“What was that about?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But I know Bailey wouldn’t fake that for cameras.”
“Man, if they got back together, that would solve so many things.”
I chuckle. “It really would.”
Another hour passes as we share clips back and forth, compiling a list of videos we could use. Luke leans back in his chair, swiping a hand down his face.
“How do editors do this?” he asks, gesturing toward his screen. “I’m sick of looking at their faces.”
I fall back into my chair too. “I need a break.”
He leans his head back, closing his eyes. I feel his hand on my forearm. He squeezes it lightly. “We should get some coffee,” he says.
I stare at his hand on my arm.
He’s been finding ways to touch me all afternoon.
Luke is touchy—he always has been, and at first it felt like proof that we were okay, that last Friday was old news and we could put it behind us.
But the more he does it—a hand on my shoulder, his knee brushing mine under the desk, holding on to my arm right now—the more it’s starting to feel different. Like he means it. Like it’s deliberate.
I should probably brush his hand off, give him some kind of signal that he needs to stop. But I can’t. Our relationship is tenuous right now. And more than that, I’m not sure I want him to stop.
He opens his eyes, looking toward me, a soft smile on his face, his thumb now rubbing a pattern on my arm. “Should we?” he says.
“Should we what?” I ask, the words coming out breathy.
“Get coffee.”
“Oh, yes, coffee,” I say, moving out of his grasp and standing up.
I definitely need some caffeine right now.
We walk out of the building and down the sidewalk toward Common Ground, side by side, Luke holding open every door we’ve gone through.
“This was the right call,” Luke says as we walk outside into the hot late-afternoon sun, our shoes clicking on the cement in tandem, the scent from the earlier rain lingering in the air.
“I don’t think I can listen to similar versions of the same questions and answers over and over again for another minute,” I tell him.
“If I hear River say ‘Kaelric is complicated’ one more time, I think I might lose it.”
“He does say that a lot,” I reply, laughing. “Or Bailey’s line about how much her character has grown over the last season.”
Luke groans. “‘Elora’s really come into her own,’” he says, pitching his voice up, not sounding anything like Bailey.
I laugh anyway. “Yes! She’s said that a hundred times.”
“Hold up,” he says, his hand on my lower back as he steers me around a puddle just in front of the coffee shop without breaking stride.
“Thanks,” I say, and try not to think too much about the fact that his hand stays there as he opens the door and we walk inside.
Later that night, I’m sitting on the green couch with Sam, catching up since we haven’t had much time together lately, when I get a text from Tessa.
Tessa: Not sure this is anything to worry about but thought you might want to see it.
She attaches a screenshot of a post from one of the cast members of Kingdom of Flame and Moonlight. It’s a picture of most of the stars from the show, gathered around, drinks in hand like they were at some kind of party.
I spot Bailey and River standing next to each other in the back of the group, but from my perspective it looks benign—like two costars hanging out.
The caption reads Well THAT was an interesting night.
I send it off to Luke, wondering if he’ll even see it. He said he was going straight to bed after I dropped him off at his place. We were both cross-eyed from watching so many interviews. The only one we skipped was the one with You Oughta Know since we wouldn’t use anything from hers on principle.
But my phone beeps almost immediately.
Luke: Wonder what that means?
Me: No idea. Tessa sent it to me.
Luke: Probably nothing.
Me: That’s what I’m thinking.
Luke: I think it means that Kaelric is complicated.
I snort out a laugh and cover my mouth when Sam looks at me.
I quickly text back.
Me: No, this is clearly Elora coming into her own
“And how is Luke Wilder?” Sam asks.
It’s fair of her to assume; he’s pretty much the only person I text these days.
“He’s fine,” I say.
She waggles her eyebrows. “You sure smile a lot when you’re texting him.”
“I do not,” I tell her.
But I can’t help it this time when my phone beeps and he’s sent me that same GIF he sent me before of a man running into the ocean.
“You’re doing it right now,” she says, pointing at me.
“Well, it was funny,” I say, showing her the GIF.
She furrows her brow, not understanding, and it’s too long of a story to explain.
“You have to know the context,” is all I say.
She stares at me for a beat. “I like this version of you.”
I tilt my head, not sure what she means. “What version of me?”
“I don’t know what it is,” she says. “You just seem . . . lighter. Happier.”
I give her a shrug. “I’ve been the most stressed of my life the past two months, but sure.”
She gives me a shrug back, not believing me.
Picking up the remote from her lap, she points it at the TV. “Should we watch our show?”
“Yes, please.”