Chapter Thirty
Monday morning, Elliot went straight to the Woodstock set, so I made my way to RJF.
I was raw with nerves. Today, the script would be sent to the studio execs ahead of the pitch tomorrow; soon I would learn if the movie would make it to the big screen.
I’d have a scriptwriter credit to my name and perhaps, finally, I could see serious change in my career.
I went to the writers’ room and opened my laptop, determined to work on more financing solutions for Sadie.
As it booted up, I glanced across at the seat opposite me, where Elliot used to sit.
The room seemed horribly empty without him.
I tapped away disconsolately, trying hard not to think about what life held beyond leaving New York.
I had Bex to think of, as well as career plans beyond Temper.
And as for Elliot, well, between Woodstock and his potential second unit gig coming up, he had a busy year ahead.
It was clear that trying to develop whatever this was between us into something more would present a huge challenge whether I remained in New York or whether we lived oceans apart.
I could bury my head in the sand as much as I wanted, but the fact remained I had to say goodbye to him at the end of the week. Practical or not, it fucking sucked.
Moments after I’d sent Sadie my financing research, Michelle poked her head around the door. “Lucie, do you— Oh! What’s up?”
“Nothing!” I said quickly. “Why?”
“You look like you lost a dollar and found a cent. Oh fuck, Elliot.” She slapped her forehead in a d’oh gesture. “You guys hooked up?”
“How do you even know?” I yelped. “Do I have a Post-it on my forehead?”
“Nah,” she said gently. “I just have a sixth sense about these things.”
“That’s a weird superpower.”
“Totally.” She rolled her eyes. “Like, invisibility or flying would be way preferable.”
I was really going to miss Michelle. “Don’t tell anybody.”
“As if,” she reassured me, taking a seat next to me. “So. You’re having a crisis about leaving him.”
“Yes and no,” I said. “Like, my head says this is the right thing to do. I’m going home, I’m doing what’s right for my best friend.”
“And your heart?” Michelle asked softly.
“It’s giving me a hard time.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “And I want to get into this with you, I really do.”
“But you need something.” I shook myself, glad of the distraction. “What’s up?”
“Sol Rodrigues,” was the unexpected reply.
“Riiiiight.”
“She’s requested you to be her liaison for the premiere,” Michelle said, pressing her hands together.
“Me?” I was dumbfounded. “Why?”
“Why? I don’t know,” Michelle said. “Because, no offense, but you probably don’t have much experience in handling talent like her. She likes you, I guess.”
“Well, count me in,” I said. “But what does this entail?”
“Escorting her to the premiere at the Botanical Gardens,” Michelle said.
“Being on hand to help her get changed, fetch refreshments and the like. You got my number, so you can just keep me updated when traveling and of course if any issues come up. Honestly, it’s handholding, but it’ll be great to have someone I can trust there just in case. ”
“Okay,” I said. “No problem.”
“Thank you!” Michelle beamed. “I’ll email you the details.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Do you have, like, a formal outfit?”
“I have a nice black dress,” I said. It was a charity shop find Bex had insisted I bring.
“Is it red carpet worthy?”
“It’ll do.”
“Okay, I’m going to have to take your word on that,” Michelle said. “Given you wear pretty much the same thing every day.”
“I know, I know,” I said with a fake yawn. “Practical and boring. God, you sound like my friend Bex.”
“Well, as gorgeously practical as you are, your friend Michelle would love you to fully embrace a summer palette.” She laughed, then paused. “Oh, Sol’s publicist said to let you know Sol read the book and wants to talk about your proposal. Mean anything?”
I froze. “Are you serious?”
“I’m just passing on the message,” Michelle explained.
“Oh my actual God.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It could be an amazing thing.” In the haze of Elliot, I’d completely forgotten about my interaction with Sol and her interest in my Twin Roses project.
What an idiot I was! Once Michelle left, I dived into my bag and found Sol’s business card.
I didn’t think about it; I kept it simple.
I attached my watermarked pitch PDF to an email, branded it ‘confidential’ and included a short note to Sol about discussing it when she had a moment, then hit ‘send’ with trembling fingers.
Just then a chat message popped up on my screen. It was Sadie, asking if I was available to pop into her office. Could this day get any better? I asked myself. I hurried over, thrilled when Sadie greeted me with a big smile.
“So, I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with all the financing research you’ve done for me,” she said, before I’d even taken a seat. “You’ve really saved me some time should this pitch not go well.”
“Thanks.” I tried to play it cool, but my face was burning with pride.
“And I spoke to RJ …” She leaned forward. “Do you want to come to the pitch tomorrow morning?”
I gaped. “Are you … seriously?”
Sadie laughed. “Yup. This is just to observe, mind you, but I think it’d be a good learning experience. You’ve earned it.”
I nodded, lost for words.
“Okay, great. The car will pick up from here at 9 a.m. tomorrow to take us to the hotel where Janice is taking meetings, so meet here about 8.45, okay?”
“More than,” I said gleefully.
Later that evening, I let myself into Elliot’s apartment with the spare key he’d given me that morning, takeaway sushi in hand.
It was past eight o’clock and I was ravenous after some last-minute premiere prep with Michelle.
She’d offered to order in beers to mark the occasion of my leaving, but I’d made excuses; I only wanted to be with Elliot.
However, as I walked through the door my phone pinged:
I’m stuck here for a little longer, he said. Make yourself at home.
I wasn’t entirely shocked. I could only imagine the delays they’d had to deal with thanks to the feud.
I messaged him not to worry and shoved his sushi in the fridge, before plating mine up.
I ate smoked eel and wasabi shrimp alone, then showered, afterwards dressing in one of Elliot’s boxing hoodies that was soft from repeated washes and smelled just like him.
Although I was shattered, I was determined to wait up for him, and I was pleased to find a Married at First Sight episode that I hadn’t watched, followed by a few that I had.
As I watched mind-numbingly entertaining reality TV, the apartment gradually darkened around me.
Its vastness seemed to magnify my solitude and I wondered if I should have taken Michelle up on her offer of company because, as gorgeous as Elliot’s home was, his absence made it less appealing.
I huddled further down into the sofa for comfort.
I woke up, cold and stiff, to the distinctive scrape of the lift door creaking open, the TV now blaring an ancient episode of Sister Wives. My mouth was furry from the amount of soy sauce I’d consumed, my eyes sticky.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot said guiltily as he dropped his backpack to the floor and cricked his neck. “Did you get my texts?”
I glanced down at my phone and, sure enough, I’d received several messages from him over the past couple of hours bemoaning the fact he was stuck on set. “Sorry,” I said. “I missed them.”
“No, no,” he said. “Don’t worry. You didn’t have to wait up.”
“Does this even count as waiting up?” I yawned.
“Well, you aren’t in bed, so yeah.” Elliot kicked off his shoes and dropped onto the couch with a groan. He was pale, his hair mussed up as if he’d run his hands through it multiple times. “I’m sorry I’m late. There’s just so much to go through and the network want my opinion on everything.”
Despite his tiredness and his repeated apologies, there was a fire in his eyes. “You’re loving it.”
“It’s awesome,” he admitted.
“Then don’t apologize for being late,” I said. Despite my lonely evening, I meant it. “You’re right where you need to be. It’s just …” I clamped my lips shut. I couldn’t ruin things by making this entirely about me.
“What?” Elliot grabbed my hand and brushed a kiss across my knuckles.
“Tomorrow’s the premiere, then I have, what, two days left in New York?”
“You’re pissed I spent tonight working.” He spoke gently, without judgment.
“More like … sad,” I said.
“You’re sad?” He leaned closer, rubbing his thumb across my lips. My pulse quickened. “I can’t have that. How on earth do I cheer you up?”
“I can think of several ways,” I said languidly. “Have you noticed I’m wearing your jumper?”
His gaze flickered down to what I was wearing. “You mean, my sweater? Do you have anything on under it?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Why don’t you have a look?”
“Mm.” He grunted in appreciation and pushed me back against the sofa cushions. He parted my legs, his hot breath on my thighs as he inched my knickers down. “Let’s see how long it takes me to make you smile.”
It took him less than a minute.