Chapter Eighteen #2
I was no expert, but Elliot being the size he was, I felt confident he could best Ralf in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. “Elliot,” I urged. “Just leave it.” Elliot and Ralf eyed each other wildly for a few long seconds. I grabbed Elliot’s shirt. “Please.”
His gaze drifted to mine and stayed for a second, unreadable. He took a deep, shuddery breath. “Fine.” Then he stormed off without a backward glance.
“That’s what I thought,” Ralf snarled after him.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “That got kind of scary for a second.”
Ralf looked affronted. “Sure. Elliot may think he’s some tough guy, but you and I know the truth.”
I looked towards the writers’ room, where Elliot was currently squeezing through the stubborn door. When it came to knowing Elliot, I always felt like I was taking two steps forward and one back. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ralf said kindly. “And remember, you can bounce any ideas off me. Let me take you through that AI software I mentioned.”
“It’s okay.” I thumbed towards the writers’ room. “I’d better get back to it.”
He stroked my arm. “See you later?”
“Sure.” I backed away. Although I couldn’t deny it was reassuring to have someone looking out for me, when it came to Ralf, I was in a spin. Was he interested in me romantically or did he just see me as a pawn in whatever ambitious little game he was playing? Honestly, it was exhausting.
Ralf opened his mouth but then his phone rang twice, then stopped. He grinned. “That’s my cue,” he said, heading off. “Back to the grindstone!”
I stormed into the writers’ room, where Elliot was adjusting his chair. “Do you mind telling me what that was about?”
“I do mind.” Elliot straightened. “We have work to do.”
“I know.” I threw RJ’s notes on the table and took my seat. “And we’ll never get through it if you won’t stop picking a fight with Ralf Fisher.”
“I don’t know,” he rumbled. “I think punching Ralf Fisher could give me some kind of relief.”
“You shouldn’t let him wind you up so much.”
“I know, I know.” He slumped down on the desk, sitting next to my laptop and I had to lean back in my chair to look up at him. “You’ve been here for less than two weeks; you’re still learning the lay of the land. Fisher is not the guy to be showing you it.”
“You show me then,” I said.
Our eyes locked and suddenly the air felt thicker, as if it were forcing him and me closer together.
No no no, I told myself. Elliot and I worked together.
It was one thing for me to secretly appreciate his undeniable appeal, but nothing could ever happen between us, especially after my gross error with Melroy.
If Sadie thought I was unprofessional now, she’d have had a field day if she knew the thoughts that were currently rampaging through my brain.
Just then my phone chirruped, and I pulled it out of my pocket, desperate to wrangle my way out of this conversation before I said something truly embarrassing. It was a message from Ralf.
You got this! Let’s do drinks again sometime.
I looked up and saw Elliot had moved back to his side of the table. “Are we okay?”
“Yep.” He tapped at his laptop, not meeting my eye. “Figure we should just get working on RJ’s latest notes.”
Feeling as if I’d done something wrong, I leaned forward in my seat and began to work.
An hour later and the atmosphere in the writers’ room was little better. So it was something of a relief when Michelle burst in, desperately pleading for our help.
“Elliot, I need you!” she screeched. “My director phoned in sick.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“For the All Kinds of Killing junket,” she said. “Sol’s contract stipulates a director has to oversee the filming of all her interviews and the director I hired has gone home with gastric flu!”
“No.” Elliot shook his head briskly. “Nope. Not me.”
“Puhhllllease!” She grabbed his arm and tugged. “I’m desperate.”
Elliot fixed her with a sharp glance. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth and I knew he’d say yes, eventually. “I don’t think you’ve conquered this groveling lark.”
“The Song of You is a masterpiece,” Michelle blurted. “You’re a once-in-a-lifetime talent. You deserve eleventy billion Oscars—”
“Okay, I’ll help, I’ll help.” He waved her off. “Two-camera set up?”
“The whole nine yards,” she said. “You got full lighting kit too.”
“Who’s on data transfer?”
“Whoever you want,” Michelle said. “We got a bunch of freelancers.”
“No, I want Riley,” Elliot said. “I trust her.” He looked to me. “You good with me doing this?”
“I – do I have any say?” I asked.
“Why don’t you come along?” Michelle asked me.
“Um.” I waved RJ’s notes in the air. “Because of deadlines?”
“Yeah, but this is an emergency,” Michelle said. “Ooh, actually, we will need a lighting stand-in for Sol. I was planning on grabbing one of the freelancers, but you could do it.”
“I look nothing like her,” I said, blushing hard.
“Dark hair, small.” Elliot shrugged. “That’ll do.”
“Average height, actually,” I sniffed.
“Average compared to what?” he shot back.
“Oh my God, literally stop whatever this is.” Michelle waved her arms at the two of us. “The junket finishes around five because Sol has TV commitments, it’s just a few hours of your time. What do you say?”
“Okay,” I said, throwing my hands up. “But only because you said I’m Sol’s exact double.”
“You’re way hotter,” Michelle said, with a giggle, before turning serious. “But, no, the woman is an actual goddess. Sorry.” She tapped something on her phone. “See you downstairs in five?”
As we filed out of the room, I grabbed Elliot’s arm. “What about the script?”
“Guess we’ll be pulling all-nighters,” he said.
“Perhaps we could ask to push back the Melroy meeting?” I suggested meekly. “Because—”
“Do you want to ask RJ and Sadie to delay meeting with the nervous financiers?” Elliot shot back at me with a frown. “Because I don’t.”
“No, but if we rush the edits he’s requested then they won’t—”
“Lucie.” Elliot stopped. “I thought you understood the business. So, this is the business. Long days, no sleep? It’s the nature of it.”
“You think I’m afraid of all-nighters?” I laughed bitterly. “Please. But you know all the changes RJ wants; it was going to be hard enough before this junket disaster happened.”
“But the script won’t get made unless all the funding is set,” Elliot said. “It’s just as important we calm Melroy down.”
“I know that but—”
“Look.” Elliot propped his hands on his hips. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but here we are. Michelle said we finish at five, we’ll come back here and put some time in. Fair?”
I nodded, relieved. After my faux pas with Melroy, there was no way I wanted to let Sadie or RJ down again.
The press junket for All Kinds of Killing had taken over the Clark on Twenty-Two, a prestigious hotel just blocks away from RJF.
The hotel’s enormous ballroom had been partitioned into two rooms, one of which was a catering area, holding all manner of food and drinks for the journalists, bloggers and influencers who were held in the other section of the room and carefully monitored by a freelance assistant named Zarah, who wielded her clipboard with a gleeful ferocity.
Next to the ballroom were two business suites that had been taken over for the actual interviews themselves.
Both of them looked identical; plush armchairs had been set up in front of a floral backdrop facing an elaborate camera and monitor setup, with extensive lighting surrounding the chairs.
The largest room was where Sol Rodrigues would take her interviews alongside a couple of cast members, with RJ in the other room.
The space was bustling with people, including Sol’s publicist and several tired-looking glam squad members.
Riley arrived minutes after us and immediately began hooking up her laptop in the corner.
I was left standing alone, utterly overwhelmed.
“Are you me?” a sultry voice said from behind me.
I turned. Sol Rodrigues stood there, waiting patiently as a stylist struggled to strap a watch to her wrist. Her petite frame was clad in an oversized blue suit, a cluster of twinkling brooches crowded down one lapel.
Her mass of dark hair had been tamed into a slicked bun that showed off her freckled, elfin features and famous pouting lips.
Despite her small stature, she was like the sun, radiating power and warmth.
“I – I’m. Hi.” What did you say to one of the world’s hottest movie stars?
“Are you me?” she repeated.
“I’m sorry, I don’t— Oh.” Then I remembered why I was here. “Yeah, I’m your stand-in for lighting.”
“Thank fuck,” she breathed. “I went hard at Pilates yesterday and sitting down is my least favorite thing right now.”
“Well, no fear, I’m here to protect your—” Do not say bum, do not say bum. She’s a movie star, do not let one of the first conversations you have with her be about her arse. “I’m here to help.”
“We love a helper,” she said with a giggle. “Do you think I can get a cushion for my chair?”
“I can get that for you,” Michelle appeared from nowhere to say, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m just the stand-in,” I said meekly. “Here to sit down and look good doing it.”
“Oh my god, you’re funny.” Sol grinned. “Say, what’s your name?” I was so surprised Sol cared to know that I was rendered temporarily speechless, and I could only stare at her. She chuckled. “It’s not a trick question.”
“Lucie,” I squeaked. “Lucie Clifton.”
She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “Sol,” she said.
“Oh, I know,” I replied. “I’ve watched all your movies. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”