Chapter 2
Chapter Two
NOLAN
Well damn.
I took a step back, chuckling a bit as I recovered from Charlotte’s slammed door, just centimeters from my face. I’d fully intended to make one more snarky remark, but she’d been quick on the draw, leaving me no time to get it in.
For a moment, I contemplated just waiting there a few minutes, in exactly the same spot. Finishing the show required her being on set, where we were both already supposed to be.
She was only staying in her office right now to make a point.
If she opened that door to find me still standing there, she would be absolutely infuriated.
Which was the whole appeal of such a stunt.
I shook my head instead, stepping back to stride away so she could have her moment.
I was pretty sure I’d already pissed her off enough.
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I headed down the hall to the elevator, passing door after door that housed the writers. One glance at the screen had me contemplating not answering, but if I did, it would just be delaying the inevitable.
I pressed the button to call the elevator and then the button to answer my call.
“This is Nolan.”
“Is she on board?” was the first thing barked over the line—no good morning , no kiss my ass , just immediate, demanding questions.
I hated dealing with these people.
One thing Charlotte didn’t realize we had in common.
It was cool—beyond cool, actually—when Nubia Perry and Braxton Drake were still actively at the helm, they’d been hands on, making sure things ran in a way consistent with the vision. Now that they’d both shifted focus back to their main businesses though and hired a board of directors that functioned as the decision-makers, things were starting to change.
I’d always been a stickler for the budget, even back then, but never to the point of sacrificing value or leaning into the cheap tricks and fast-cash methods a lot of TV studios were known for.
Quality over everything had been the goal.
The tide was shifting, unfortunately.
And fast.
Largely thanks to the arrogant, irksome motherfucker on the phone.
Why in the world Matt Stanley was at the head of anything related to innovation and artistic expression was beyond me, but I was especially baffled by his place on the board.
He was still my boss though.
“Not quite,” I answered, foot tapping as I waited for the elevator to arrive. “She has legitimate concerns about the audience reception.”
“No audience has ever complained about being entertained.”
“I think it depends on your idea of entertainment,” I countered, peering up at the slow-moving digital numbers over the elevator bay.
I was supposed to be on set right now too.
“If we play into drama just for the sake of online discourse, the viewers are going to notice, especially since that hasn’t been the show’s standard. They’ll feel the manipulation and won’t hesitate to tell the world about it.”
“But they’ll be talking about it, won’t they?”
My eyebrows lifted.
Seriously ?
“Well…yes, but it won’t be good things. They’ll be talking about how the last two episodes were trash, and we fell off.”
“Will it keep us trending?”
“Maybe. But, for the wrong thing.”
“There’s no such thing,” he countered. “You’ve been in this business too long to think otherwise—no such thing as bad publicity. We want people talking. If they’re tuning in to see how bad it sucked, who cares? They’re still tuned in.”
Charlotte cares .
Nobody would be talking about executive decisions—they’d be dragging Charlotte—and me, to some degree, but I wasn’t that bothered by the prospect of it—online. Suddenly, the whole internet would be talking shit about her being trash her whole career, and no one would be able to believe it had somehow escaped everyone’s notice.
She’d be the one under the bus wheels.
Which didn’t sit right with me.
“It doesn’t look good for the network if it seems like we don’t have a standard of quality,” I argued, shaking my head. “The numbers are important, but so is the reputation, right? WAWG has only been considered upper-echelon for what…six or seven years now? Before that, it was hit or miss, constant scandals with the executives, no true legs to stand on. I would hate to jeopardize what’s been built since then for fleeting attention on social media.”
“That’s not really any of your concern though, is it?” he asked, making a very specific muscle clench in my jaw. “It’s my job to worry about that, and yours to make sure the show brings the numbers.”
“Which it has,” I countered. “It’s met and surpassed every expectation that was set at the beginning. In some places, we’ve doubled the forecasted metrics. Nothing is pointing at a need to shift course.”
“The expectations have been shifted,” he responded, a new finality in his tone. “Get her on board, so we can make this thing happen. I’ve assured the board you can make this happen, Brinkley. Don’t disappoint me.”
He hung up on me.
And the elevator still hadn’t arrived.
This day was getting increasingly annoying.
If I hadn’t already gone a little too hard on my morning run, maybe the stairs would’ve seemed attractive, instead of waiting. There was no way I was putting my legs through more than I already had though, so I propped myself against the elevator bay, busying myself on my phone to force my way into a little patience.
A decision that quickly enough, paid off.
I looked up as the tell-tale sound of heels met my ears, patting their way down the hall. My curiosity allowed me to indulge myself in the full glory of Charlotte Fox’s approach.
She had to know how damn good she looked.
Her hips in close-fitting flare jeans were a sight to behold as she stalked up the hall, attention buried in her phone. A sliver of space between her waistband and the hem of her white blouse offered a glimpse of bare, dark-copper skin, just enough to skirt the line of “appropriate” for work without crossing it. She flipped a handful of sleek, blonde-streaked hair over her shoulder and out of her face, manicured fingers flying over her screen as she moved with purpose.
She was only a few feet away when she looked up, her big brown eyes registering surprise then annoyance when she saw me.
“Ah, hell,” she muttered, her heeled feet stopping her forward motion.
I couldn’t help the teasing grin that spread over my face. “Ms. Fox—funny meeting you here.”
“Did you wait around on purpose, just to torture me?” she asked, propping the hand that was holding her phone against the space where her waist dipped in. “’Cause this is ridiculous.”
“No,” I denied, with an exaggerated frown to feign offense. “I’m just trying to get to work on time, unlike some people I know. It’s not my fault the elevator is taking its sweet time.”
No sooner than I’d said that, the elevator let out a happy chime as the door opened, welcoming us inside. I stepped in first, placing my body in the opening to hold it for her, even as she hesitated.
I sucked my teeth.
“Come on here, mam—I mean, Charlotte ,” I said, gesturing for her to enter.
“How many times have I told you it isn’t funny?”
“My current count is somewhere around…let’s say fifty-leven,” I told her dryly. “You coming or not?”
She blew out a sigh but trudged past me anyway, smelling like cinnamon and shea butter before she tucked herself as tightly as possible into the back corner.
I laughed as I stepped out of the door so it could close then pressed the button for our shared destination of the ground floor.
“What’s wrong, Ms. Fox?” I asked as we began our descent. “You afraid I’ve got cooties or something?”
Not looking up from her renewed interest in her phone, she muttered an answer. “Well, considering the fact that you’re a known whore….”
“ Damn ,” I chuckled. “Why are you being so mean?”
Exasperated, she looked up. “I’m not being mean, Nolan—it’s a fact. Is it not?”
My eyebrows went up as I considered what she was saying. It would be a stretch to call it a lie, but …I wasn’t a fan of the characterization, personally.
“I am a single, handsome, successful man, who happens to enjoy the casual, consensual company of attractive single women. Is that wrong?”
“Not at all,” she replied, the disgust on her face contradicting her words. “I would personally recommend you add protected to your enjoyment of your company, but hey—none of my business, right?”
“We could make it your business, if you’d like.”
“Ew.”
She pushed past me as soon as the elevator opened on our floor, and I was right behind her, since we were headed to the same destination.
“It wouldn’t be the end of the world for us to walk together,” I called after her. “Since we’re going to the same place, you know?”
Charlotte stopped abruptly and turned to face me, waiting for a few people to pass before she spoke. “Have you already forgotten how our last conversation went, Nolan? Barely ten minutes ago, you basically told me I should shove my feelings about my work up my ass and forget them, so we can kowtow to over-dramatic bullshit from a group of people who wouldn’t know good TV if it fell in their laps tied with a big glittery bow.”
“Look, I know every project is your baby, and it’s precious, and you want everything to be just so, but I don’t get what the big fucking deal is.” I shrugged. “We can’t keep going over this like it’s up for debate, when it isn’t—it’s their money, and their network. Do it their way—that’s the only option here, Ms. Fox. So yes—suck it up, and move on to the next thing.”
She shook her head, eyes glossy as she glared me in face. “That’s the difference between you and me—you think sucking it up is even in the realm of possibility for me, and it’s not. You can make light of my work ethic all you want, but if the network wants me to bastardize my shit to fit some criteria for social media discourse, you let them know they’ll have to fire me first,” she hissed. “And I will not go down quietly while everything I’ve put in place gets dismantled.”
Without another word, she turned and stomped off, leaving me standing there stunned.
I understand her anger, but damn .
Why did I have to bear the brunt of it?
Because you’re the one enforcing the bullshit.
With a deep sigh, I followed the path she’d taken outside, taking my time to get to set. There wasn’t really any getting around the demands coming from over our heads, and if Charlotte did exit the show, it was going to be a mess.
I just didn’t know how to possibly make it work for everyone.
In the meantime, I had to do something to smooth things over, since I was reasonably sure this wasn’t going away on its own. It usually took a week or so to film each episode—this one wasn’t too heavy on the proposed changes, so we could start without much conflict with the existing script.
Within the next few days ago…something was going to have to happen.
I was halfway across the lot when my assistant rushed up, coffee in one hand, digital script in the other. Before he could get anything out, I raised a hand, signaling that my next words were more important than whatever else was on schedule.
“I need you to get in contact with a florist for me,” I told him. “By this evening…I want Ms. Fox’s office filled.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Any specifics?”
“Yeah. Let’s go with apology flowers.”