Two
TWO
“I’m the nasty surprise your parents didn’t warn you about but should have.”
Lys Amarga, The Quantum Wraith
S utton Spencer could live to be 373 years old, and she would still never tire of taking the first step onto a film set. There was something magical that occurred, a crossing of the boundary between real and make believe, like something out of her favorite childhood stories. Sure, Wonderland had a rabbit hole, Oz a tornado, and Narnia a wardrobe while she arrived in a much more prosaic manner. Her Prius had a suspension system that suggested the previous renters had taken it climbing in the surrounding jagged hills. But she knew exactly how Alice, Dorothy, and the Pevensie siblings must have felt: stomach churning, palms sweating, heart knocking against ribs upon finding themselves in an unfamiliar world. But unlike her fictional counterparts, Sutton was aware her magic world was real, the result of hard work by talented professionals.
She had wanted to work in the film industry as long as she could remember. To tell stories. After all, stories had always nurtured her. When she started a new school in the middle of fourth grade, Anne of Green Gables was her friend when she didn’t find an immediate welcome at various lunch tables. When her parents, who always seemed to be on constant business trips, left her with a variety of paid caregivers who could care less about advising her on urgent life dilemmas, the teenagers on the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon series helped her cope and showed her different paths forward. When her first boyfriend abruptly broke things off, she lost herself in old rom-com films and romance novels, which provided promises of love after heartbreak. The first time she ever outright defied her parents was when she chose to study film at Los Angeles University in the hopes of telling her own stories, although she dual majored in business which took some of the edge off the familial frosty disapproval. She loved knowing she played a part in bringing new stories to life, to provide the same illumination and hope to others.
But many movie lovers would say her contribution to making films was a minor one, including her. Her job wasn’t creative per se, at least not how the entertainment industry defined creative . She wasn’t a craftsman or a designer, wasn’t an actor or a director or a screenwriter… Her mind skittered away from ancient dreams and charred hopes. She sat behind a desk in a blocky office building instead of being a hands-on member of the film crew. Her tools as a production executive were spreadsheets and budget reports and a massive wall calendar with multicolor sticky notes and flags tracking various schedules. But she was damn good at her job. She just had to remind herself of that fact.
Especially after seeing Xavier again. Maybe her thumping heart wasn’t only due to walking onto a set.
Her gaze traced his figure in the distance. She still hadn’t had a chance to talk to him after she announced her presence. He’d barely shaken her hand before the first AD needed his immediate attention. She had no idea if the flash in his eyes had been one of recognition or merely an “oh shit” reaction to having been overheard by the new studio suit.
Her tote bag vibrated against her leg. She fished out her phone, smiling as she saw her best friend’s name on the screen. “Hey,” she answered. “Sorry I had to bail on going to the networking event tonight, but duty called. I’ll be back tomorrow if you want to grab drinks.”
“The crowd will be same old usual suspects, so you’re not missing anything,” Nikki Rosales said. Sutton could picture her leaning back in her chair in the corner office she’d earned as a vice president of finance at Monument Studios, twirling a pen as she spoke. “Your text was very cryptic. Where are you?”
“Near Tucson.”
Nikki was silent for a moment. “Tucson… Wait. Did they send you to The Quantum Wraith set?”
“Got it in one.”
“Wow, you drew the short straw. In so many ways.”
“In other news, water is wet.”
“I’m torn between demanding you tell me everything immediately or asking if you need to get off the phone.”
“Filming has broken for the day. I can talk for now.” Sutton’s gaze returned to Xavier. He still hadn’t glanced in her direction. Which was probably for the best as far as her equilibrium went.
Working for a Hollywood studio and living in Los Angeles, Sutton was accustomed to seeing some of the world’s most acclaimed beautiful people on a near daily basis. This year’s People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive played noisy games of pick-up basketball outside her office, which was less glamorous than it sounded when she was trying to concentrate on a complicated budget. She and Nikki had long ago considered themselves immune by exposure to falling for people based only on good looks.
But one glance at Xavier and she was in danger of plunging into a deep swoon with him. Again.
And that was the one thing she could not, would not do.
“Good, so I can ask the important questions. Like, are you okay?” Nikki’s tone softened.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sutton. C’mon. Even without why Monument sent you there, I know who the director of The Quantum Wraith is. Did the earth move as he begged your forgiveness? Or did your glare incinerate him on the spot? Either are equally possible.”
Sutton sighed and turned her back on the vision that was Xavier. “Sorry to disappoint. He barely blinked when I introduced myself, and then he was called away. I’m not sure he remembers me.”
“Ouch. You positive you’re okay?”
If only she knew the answer to Nikki’s question. “You know what? It’s been a decade since Xavier and I last saw each other—and under vastly different circumstances. Of course he wouldn’t remember me. Why would he? I was just a student in his seminar. A naive, silly college senior. He probably had a good laugh and then forget all about me. Which is what I should’ve done about him.”
“You weren’t just a student. And he might have been teaching the seminar, but he was barely out of school himself. You were—what?—twenty-one and he was twenty-seven at the time?”
“I had this enormous crush on him and didn’t know how to handle it. So, I kept throwing myself at him. He gets credit for not acting on my very open invitation until the night of graduation when I was technically no longer enrolled in his seminar.” She groaned. “I was such a fool.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not like you slept together.”
“Clothes came off.” Searing mortification threatened to turn her into a pile of ash. “No wonder he walked away and forgot me.”
“Enough about the past. Discerning minds want to know: is he still hot?”
Against her better judgment, Sutton’s gaze sought out Xavier again. Ten years ago, he had been the most attractive human she’d seen in her admittedly short adult life. He’d returned to Los Angeles University as the filmmaker in residence to teach how to maneuver a career in the entertainment industry while using the student crew members to make his next movie. When she was one of fifteen seniors chosen for his honors screenwriting seminar, she could scarcely believe her luck. And also worried she would be too busy noting every detail about him to pay attention to his lectures.
But Xavier now…
Damn. The passage of time looked good on him. So good. He’d filled out, added some needed bulk to what an almost too-wiry frame had been. Back then, he kept his black hair cropped short and his cheeks clean-shaven. Now, his longer, unruly waves were perfect for running her fingers through. And the dark, neatly trimmed beard that accentuated his strong jawline…yeah, she could envision situations where the stubble would be entirely delightful.
But his confidence and quiet authority struck her the hardest of all, a punch to her gut. This was a Xavier who knew what he wanted and how to command others to get it. And that, more than anything else about him, made her stomach squeeze while her knees had the structural integrity of a Popsicle in the desert heat.
“He wouldn’t harm your eyes,” she finally said.
“Oh, babe, you still have it bad,” her friend said. “That was a hell of a pause.”
“It was not,” Sutton protested, laughing. “And there’s nothing to still have. At best, I had a childish crush. I’ve had far more meaningful relationships since then.”
“Eh.” Nikki sounded less than impressed. “I wouldn’t call Piano Guy and Sunglass Stud meaningful.”
“Van is a talented composer, and you know it—”
“Shame the only thing his fingers were good at stroking were piano keys—”
“And Derrick’s family owned the chain of sunglasses shops, not him—”
“Yet his only topic of conversation was polarization vs. UV blocking.”
“That’s not fair.” But not that wrong. Derrick had been a bit of a bore, chat wise. And Van… She sighed.
“Y’know, for someone who is a devoted fan of swoony happy Hollywood endings, you always choose the most boring romantic options.”
“Xavier wasn’t boring.”
Nikki’s tone turned from joking to contrite. “I’m sorry. I know you were hurt. Forgive me.”
“It was a long time ago,” Sutton repeated automatically. “And after I do what I came here to do, I doubt the atmosphere will be warm no matter what the thermostat says.” She glanced up and noticed the unit production manager—Luisa, if she recalled correctly—was hovering just out of voice range, obviously hoping to politely catch her attention. “I better go. I’ll call you later.”
“Break a femur,” Nikki said.
“Doesn’t that apply only to actors? But I’ll take all the luck I can get.” She said goodbye and then turned to the waiting woman. “Hi. Do you need me?”
Luisa smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You must be tired after your trip. Xavier suggested that you might be more comfortable in his air-conditioned office instead of standing out here.”
“I’m fine. I like being on set.” Besides, this gave her the opportunity to observe the crew.
Everyone appeared to be relaxed, working well and efficiently together—well, as relaxed as one could be on a production where every minute cost thousands of dollars. Which was odd, because she had been informed this film was veering wildly off the rails with expenses out of control. In her experience, a well-run set didn’t often correlate to spiraling budgets. The opposite, in fact.
Which only made the mission she was on harder.
Luisa’s smile tightened. “Xavier doesn’t know how long he will be and we’re about to break down video village. You’ll be much more comfortable inside.”
Sutton recognized when she was being politely told to leave. She understood. Sets were their own communities with their own rules and hierarchies, and outsiders—no matter how benign their presence—tended to be looked on with suspicion. And as a representative of the studio, her presence would arouse a metric ton of suspicion.
Of course, that meant her gaze could no longer linger on Xavier. Which was probably for the best. She nodded at Luisa. “Sure. Can a PA show me where to go? I should introduce myself to Pauley.”
Luisa’s smile tightened. “I’ll take you. And, um, Pauley is away at the moment.”
“That’s odd. He knew I was coming.”
The other woman shrugged. “Something urgent must have come up.”
“More urgent than meeting with me?” She began to revise her assessment of how well the production functioned.
Luisa held her hands out, palms up. “Who’s to say?”
Sutton opened her mouth to respond, and then thought better of it. Pauley’s presence made no difference to the eventual outcome of her visit. Perhaps he knew why she was there and had decided to avoid any confrontation. “Certainly not me. I’m ready to go when you are.”
hours later, Sutton continued to sit alone, waiting for Xavier and Pauley to appear. Luisa had driven her back to the Pronghorn Ranch and then deposited her in a meeting room in the main building that had been turned into an office for the duration of the shooting. But despite the open door and the constant whirr of the window air conditioner, the atmosphere was claustrophobic and suffocating. Or maybe the room only felt that way because seeing Xavier caused the butterflies wreaking havoc on her nervous system flutter and careen freely.
For the first time since she started her career, beginning as a production assistant and rising quickly to becoming a line producer on made-for-streaming movies and then to her current executive role, Sutton questioned her life choices. Perhaps she should go back to school and become, for example, a paleontologist. Someone who no longer had to hear the name Xavier Duval, much less meet with him.
She’d looked at her emails and made a half-hearted attempt at reading the latest script acquired by Monument before admitting she currently lacked the ability to focus. Her gaze fell on the desk in the center of the room, a sleek modern set up with a whiteboard for a desktop. Xavier’s distinctive scrawl in several different colors covered the surface.
Her pulse began to pound, a low drum beat reverberating in her chest. Since this was his office, then certainly he would have personal items around, photos, or mementos. Memorabilia that would tell her what was now important to him.
Who, if anyone, was important to him?
She shouldn’t snoop. But—and in her imagination a cartoon devil popped onto her right shoulder—she was the studio executive in charge of production. Technically, wasn’t everything related to the film her business?
Her gaze fell on the wall behind the desk. Storyboard sketches covered the surface, the graphic illustrations demonstrating how Xavier intended to tell the story, edit by edit. Looking at storyboards was exactly within her remit.
She started with the storyboard on the far left. She’d been given the script in preparation for her trip, but she couldn’t get past the sight of Xavier’s name on the front page and the file stayed unopened in her email inbox. The storyboards were her first real introduction to the story.
It didn’t take long for her to be swept away by Lys’s journey, from escaping from the Maro Empyreal’s detention hold to crashing her ship on a hostile desert planet to her rescue by the local Filloli. They were a band of hardened warriors who kept her alive only to exploit her knowledge of tech, not knowing the Empyreal would pay a hearty ransom to have her in their clutches.
She breathlessly went from one storyboard to the next. There was nothing in the world she loved more than a good story. While her dream of being a scriptwriter had been long revealed as an impractical notion, she still got goose bumps whenever she came across an engaging, exciting tale.
And the skin-raising sharp tingle was back.
She was familiar with The Quantum Wraith comic book, having read it as a child. But Xavier, who wrote the screenplay in addition to directing the film, had taken the beats of the story and twisted them into something new. He maintained the core themes, but his adaptation made the emotional connections deeper, drew resonant parallels to real-life situations and current issues. She flew through the illustrations, eager to discover how Xavier would approach Lys’s choice between making an ally of the Fillolis’ fiercest rival or betraying them to the local Empyreal garrison—
A knock came from the door, and then it was pushed open before Sutton could answer. “Xavier? Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’d had a chance to talk to Pauley—oh!”
Contessina Sato stood in the doorway. Sutton recognized her right away even though it had been a few years since she’d seen Keiko Stowe, CEO , the sitcom that first brought Contessina to prominence as a teenaged toy company tycoon. The actress smiled, and the room became less oppressive. “My abject apologies! I thought Xavier was here. Usually when the door is closed, it’s because he’s holed up inside.”
“I think he’s still on the set. I’m waiting for him myself.”
“Can I wait with you? I’m Contessina.” She held out her right hand, which Sutton shook.
“I’m Sutton. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you don’t mind if I say I really enjoyed your performance as Keiko?”
Contessina laughed. “Just don’t yell, ‘Oh my bulls and teddy bears,’ whenever you see me, and you can say anything else you like.”
“That must get old.”
“You have no idea. Word of advice: choose your character’s catch phrase carefully, because you’re going to hear it for the next twenty years. But I wouldn’t have been cast in this film without being ol’ Keiko, so I’m pretty fond of her.”
“I was looking at the storyboards. Lys is an amazing character.”
If Sutton thought Contessina’s smile chased away the room’s shadows earlier, that wattage was nothing compared to how she lit up at the mention of Lys. “She’s awesome. I’m so lucky to have landed the part. A kick-ass assassin turned revolutionary leader? And I get to fly a starship? And this could turn into a franchise? With my own action figure? Every dream I’ve had, box checked.” She threw her arms open in emphasis. “But on the other hand—” she lifted her right shoulder in a half shrug “—it’s scary as hell. And getting scarier.”
“I bet.” Sutton flicked her gaze toward the door. C’mon, Xavier, make your appearance. She didn’t want to know more about Contessina. She absolutely didn’t want to like her. That would only make the upcoming conversation that much harder.
“Oh, I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” Contessina said, pushing aside a haphazard stack of comic books so she could perch on the edge of the desk. “And Xavier is awesome. He’s the best director I’ve ever worked with. I mean, he knows what he wants, and he has a firm idea of how he’s going to get it. But he also gets you on board and makes you feel as if you are a valuable contributor to the creative process. The entire crew feels that way. I can tell, because believe me, Keiko Stowe was not a functional set. And I’ve been on even worse.”
Sutton didn’t need to be reminded of how Xavier made her believe she had talent worthy of being shared with the world. But had his encouragement been real because he’d truly believed in her, or had he been stringing her along because he enjoyed how she hung on his every word? From Contessina’s description, his charisma hadn’t diminished in the past decade. And if the stars in Contessina’s eyes—which Sutton very much recognized, having had them in her own eyes once upon a time—when Contessina talked about Xavier were any indication of how everyone else involved in the production felt about his leadership… Sutton inwardly sighed. She’d have earned her glass of wine with a multicourse meal from room service at her airport hotel when this day was through.
“And have you seen the dailies?” Contessina continued, excitement coloring her voice. “I was there when the scenes were filmed, and I can’t believe how amazing they look. Not to brag, but I’m a damn good actor. You don’t make it through five seasons of Keiko Stowe without being able to sell a ridiculous concept. But he makes my performance…elevated somehow.”
Sutton believed her. The storyboards alone demonstrated a uniquely Xavier approach to framing the story. The film did show potential. But every word of praise only reminded her why she’d been sent to Arizona. “I appreciate you sharing all this with me, but—”
Contessina spoke over her. “We’re all so thrilled to be a part of this project, especially because Xavier is taking a chance on a lot of us. Raul, who plays Autarch Zear? He couldn’t get an audition after his last movie bombed, but he’s so good in this, he’s going to blow everyone away—”
She stopped and covered her mouth with her right hand. “Oh, but I didn’t let you speak. Sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous. My wife says I need to stop doing that. She thinks one day I’ll talk too much to the wrong person and I’ll lose an opportunity or implode my career or find myself on Page Six or worse, in the Daily Mail, with my deepest secrets revealed.” She laughed. “However, you’re in Xavier’s office and he only allows a select handful of people to enter, especially if he’s not in it, so I figure you’re safe. You’re a friend of his, right?”
“Actually, I’m—” Sutton started.
“She’s with Monument,” Xavier finished from the doorway, causing Sutton to jump. Her cheeks flushed hot. “Meet the new Chester Bronson.”
“Oh.” Contessina slid off the desk, standing ramrod straight. Several emotions quickly flitted across her face before her features smoothed into a bland, pleasant expression. “What happened to Chester?” she asked lightly. “He was very enthusiastic about the film whenever we spoke.”
“He’s…pursuing other opportunities elsewhere,” Sutton said, using the shorthand that appeared in entertainment trade journals whenever someone left their job, perhaps not of their own volition.
“That’s rather sudden.” Contessina’s gaze narrowed.
“I agree. But that’s all I know.” The studio grapevine had gone into overdrive as soon as Chester’s departure was made known. The current favorite rumor was that he was starting a new production company with money out of Silicon Valley. Others thought he had been caught in bed with the wife of the chairman of Monument’s board of directors. Sutton was merely happy she no longer had to work with him. He’d had an annoying habit of taking credit for other people’s ideas, especially hers.
Xavier turned to Contessina. “I assume you’re here about our earlier conversation. I don’t have an answer for you yet.”
Disappointment briefly creased Contessina’s face. “No worries. I was just checking.”
“Checking what?” Sutton asked.
“Contessina, if you would excuse us, I need to talk to Ms. Spencer—” Xavier began.
“It’s urgent I go to LA, but the production schedule might not permit it,” Contessina explained at the same time.
Sutton let the “Ms. Spencer” slide. If he wanted to keep things formal and distant between them, she wasn’t going to complain. In fact, she welcomed the distance. Even as she was annoyed at him for introducing the distance and then annoyed at herself for being annoyed.
In the meantime, she could solve the immediate problem. Contessina returning home wouldn’t impact the film’s future. At all. “Contessina can fly to LA.”
His dark eyebrows flew up, just for a second. “Oh? You know our schedule, just like that?”
Before Sutton could answer, she was tackle-hugged by Contessina. “I can? Thank you!” Then the actress stepped back, her right hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask if you like to be hugged. My dad likes to say I got that from my Italian half, but my mom disagrees.”
“It’s fine. I’m not bothered at all. I like—” Sutton was suddenly mindful of Xavier’s gaze on her. Flashes of her senior year, of throwing her arms around him for a spontaneous hug when she learned her first screenplay had been selected for a competitive festival, played across the screen of her inner mind. “Being thanked,” she finished.
“Contessina,” Xavier began, his voice a warning.
“Don’t worry, I’ll only be gone a day.” She appeared to almost float toward the office door. “And I promise, no more flubbed lines.”
“Don’t make a promise I don’t expect you to keep,” he said before she closed the door behind her. Was that a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth? Damn it, Sutton didn’t want to be reminded—again—that this was a happy set. Or how attractive Xavier was when his expression relaxed from stern controller of all he surveyed to human.
Really attractive.
And now Sutton was very aware that with Contessina’s departure, she was alone with Xavier for the first time since that long-ago night.
For years, Sutton had wondered when—if—she would see Xavier again. But despite rehearsing their encounter in her head 11,738 times, she was woefully unprepared for the reality of having Xavier Duval’s entire focus once more turned on her.
Suddenly she was twenty-one years old again, convinced by Xavier the world was hers for the asking. And the one thing she wanted, more than anything, was him.
It was hard to think of those days now. When she pictured her younger self, she saw a newly hatching chick, awkward and stumbling but joyous, almost free of the safe but boring walls of her college egg. Her life stretched out before her, a golden road filled with dips and curves she couldn’t see, but she knew with an absolute faith she would be able to maneuver whatever was ahead of her with ease.
She’d been so trusting. So blindly confident. So naive.
Concentrate, Sutton. The shoe is on the other foot now. He’s not the one who gets to determine the outcome, you are. Get this meeting over and you can be back in your hotel with a room service order and maybe read a book for fun instead of scripts for work.
Xavier’s smile faded as Contessina exited, taking all traces of human emotion from his expression. But damn it, still appealing. He settled into the massive leather chair behind the desk, his gaze neutral. “Hello, Sutton. It’s been—what?—several years.”
“Ten,” she said without thinking. Then she kicked herself for showing she had been keeping count.
“Right. Good to see you again.” He smiled, tight-lipped and not reaching his eyes.
Good to see her? Was he kidding? Did he not remember what happened the last time they were alone together—and that they hadn’t spoken since? That he left her breathless, weak with desire, but oh so hopeful and excited—in so many ways—only to go radio silent forever? Or at least, until now.
She wasn’t going to touch the final betrayal, the “C” she received as her grade in the seminar. Not that she had expected him to play favorites. He’d made that clear. Still, seeing what he truly thought of her been the ultimate, conclusive slap in the face.
If he wanted to pretend that they were nothing but long-lost former acquaintances, so be it. “Thank you for meeting with me on short notice. Luisa said Pauley didn’t inform you I was arriving. Where is your producer, by the way?”
“No problem. How can we help you?” His shuttered gaze gave nothing away, although she noticed he didn’t answer her question about Pauley. “I assume you’re not here to observe filming, because you just sent the primary actor home. I also assume Monument is signing off on the extra days that need to be added to the schedule by allowing Contessina to go to LA.”
Sutton licked her dry lips, her heart rate accelerating. When she was told to take over for Chester on The Quantum Wraith , having the upper hand over Xavier held much appeal. Finally, the universe delivered some karmic retribution. But now that the moment had arrived, delivering bad news to him, without a buffer, alone in his office, was almost more than her tolerance allowed. “We should wait for Pauley to join us.”
A shadow flickered across Xavier’s expression. “He’s otherwise occupied.”
“He needs to stop occupying himself. This is important.”
“He can’t. He’s…indisposed.”
She scoffed. She’d heard that one before. “I made it clear in my email to him that he needed to be present for this meeting. If he’s upset because a woman replaced Chester, too bad.”
Xavier raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite the accusation.”
“Not in my experience. This isn’t my first film.”
“I know.”
He kept tabs on her career? That shouldn’t make her heart jump, but it did.
“I receive the LAU alumni newsletter,” he continued. “You’re featured often in the class announcements.”
“Are you accusing me of bragging?” Because he would be right. After that disastrous night, she’d sleepwalked through graduation and into the first several months of postcollege life. Many had questioned out loud if she had what it took to succeed in a cutthroat industry, the loudest being her parents, who made their opinion clear she would wash out eventually and she must join the family real estate business before she failed. So she jumped at every opportunity to let the people in her world know she was thriving.
And maybe—okay, definitely—she’d hoped that Xavier would see her name, see how well she was doing despite…well, just despite.
Xavier regarded her. “No. I’m congratulating you. It’s good to see a former student succeed.”
Oh. The winds of indignation started to die down, only for irritation to set in at “former student.” Which technically was true, but still. “Thank you.”
He began to shuffle through papers on his desk. “As much fun as catching up is, I’m busy and I assume you are, too. To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Sutton?”
She’d always loved how he said her name. In her opinion, Sutton was a collection of harsh sounds, starting with a sibilant “S” and then the hard “T” and “N.” But on his lips, her name was the romantic song of poets.
She shook her head to clear the nonsense out of her brain. She couldn’t lose her focus. Not now. “You’ve seen the latest news about Monument Studios, I’m sure.”
“What news? Again, busy here.”
She inhaled, weighing her words. In a perfect world, Xavier would start putting two and two together on his own but apparently that wasn’t happening. Oh well, she already knew she would be shot as the messenger, might as well earn the anger.
“Monument’s investors are demanding a change in how the studio does business.” She stopped. “This meeting requires Pauley. I’ll be able to answer your questions in one sitting.”
Xavier’s gaze searched hers with an intensity she remembered all too well. Icy hot sparks traced her spine, her nervous system fizzing with pleasure-pain. He appeared to find what he was looking for as he nodded, a quick, almost angry movement. “Pauley isn’t here. He’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“That’s what I said when I was told. He disappeared sometime between last night and this morning, along with his—our—assistant. This is the text he sent just before you arrived.” He handed his phone to Sutton. Her fingers brushed against his and she couldn’t suppress her shiver. He frowned. “Cold? I can turn down the AC.”
She chose not to answer, concentrating on the message on his phone screen. “‘It’s Hollywood, Jake’? How utterly pretentious.”
“Who doesn’t appreciate a reference to a sixty-year-old film?”
“It could be worse. He could have said, ‘Here’s looking at you, man.’”
“We’ll always have Tucson.”
“Round up the usual on-set suspects,” she countered, for a second losing herself in the game of Top This Film Reference they used to play, the fun and the laughter of that semester flooding back. Then she snapped out of it. She wasn’t here to skip down memory lane.
She handed the phone back. “This was his goodbye note?”
“That and…missing payments to vendors.” His lips pressed together in a firm line.
Sutton blinked. “I see.”
“And you also see why Pauley won’t be coming to this meeting.”
She finally sat in the chair he indicated earlier, her mind churning with Pauley’s defection from the crew. But she was on the clock. She didn’t have time to puzzle through the implications. At least, not right now. “I’m here because The Quantum Wraith is thirty million dollars over its allotted spend.”
Xavier became very still, the slight flare of his nostrils the only sign of movement. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I ran the numbers last night, when I was asked to take over for Chester.”
Xavier’s gaze searched hers as if trying to determine whether she was bluffing or not. But she wasn’t. The numbers were all too real. And he had to know that. That much money didn’t evaporate into nothingness.
“Earlier today, I was told the caterers weren’t paid and the funds meant for them had disappeared,” he said. “But that doesn’t account for—I’m sorry. Did you say thirty million?” His expression couldn’t be more shocked if an earthquake had just opened a fissure in the ground beneath him.
But she wouldn’t feel for him. Couldn’t feel for him. This was her job, she repeated to herself. “Yes. Thirty million.”
“That’s impossible—” he started to say.
She cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. No need to prolong the back and forth. “The exact amount doesn’t matter. The issue is Monument is currently under increased scrutiny from Wall Street. Their recent acquisition of Vestar Pictures put a strain on the company’s debt load and the P/E ratio is causing concern among investors—”
He shook his head. “I don’t speak jargon.”
She inhaled deeply, but her lungs still screamed for oxygen. Just to stick to the script, Sutton. “As a result of the increased scrutiny, Monument is reassessing its priorities and making some tough but necessary decisions in response to the changing and evolving marketplace and the current needs of the cinema-going audience—”
“Still jargon.”
“Fine.” She folded her arms, hugged them close to her chest. An extra layer of protection for her heart, to guard against the horror she could see dawning in his eyes as he parsed her meaning, but also the hope he interpreted her words wrong.
He hadn’t.
“The production budget has spiraled out of control and Monument is under increasing pressure to cut costs, which has led to a difficult but necessary decision for the financial future of the studio.”
Xavier’s gaze bore into hers. “You’re weaseling. Spit it out.”
She kept her chin up, but her gaze slipped to land, unfocused, on a spot somewhere vaguely over his left shoulder. “Monument is pulling the plug. The Quantum Wraith is being shut down. Immediately.”