Chapter Thirty-One
“Thanks for a wonderful pitch,” Janice Kittredge said, rising to her feet.
“Thank you, as ever,” RJ said effusively, taking her outstretched hand in his. “For your support of my art, now and always.”
Janice’s cheeks pinked. “Of course.”
“If you have any questions, do reach out,” Sadie said, shaking Janice’s hand. “And we’ll see you tonight, at the premiere?”
“Naturally.” Janice beamed. “Although I won’t have an answer for you by then. I’m going to send your script and notes to my team and get their feedback. It might be a week or so, if you can wait?”
“We can completely wait!” RJ blustered, although I suspected he’d expected Janice to drop to her knees and worship him for his greatness.
Janice turned to me. “And it was nice to meet you, er …”
“Lucie Clifton,” I enunciated as clearly as possible, shaking her hand firmly.
I’d not said a word during the pitch but had observed with delight as Sadie and RJ sold the script I had slogged my guts out on for the past few weeks.
It had been a masterclass in pitching, a vision of what my future could be.
“A pleasure. Artie will see you all out.” Janice gestured at her assistant, a lanky guy in an ill-fitting suit.
“Your next appointment is already here,” Artie told Janice as we filed out of the swanky hotel conference suite.
“Great, let’s get to it,” Janice said. “Take care, everyone.”
As Artie led us down a hushed corridor, my hackles rose.
For some strange reason I knew exactly who would be waiting to meet Janice even before I rounded the corner into the lobby.
I let Sadie and RJ walk ahead. Sure enough, Ralf stood there, immaculate in a navy suit, his blond hair coiffed back off his forehead.
He greeted RJ and Sadie with a supercilious grin.
When he saw me coming up the rear, his smile dropped minutely, but was soon back in place.
“I suppose I should congratulate you,” Sadie said to him stiffly. “One week out of RJF and you’re already pitching to studio heads?”
Ralf arched an eyebrow. “Good to see you too, Sadie. And, yes, already. Surprised?”
“More like impressed you have something already in place,” Sadie said. “Funding and all, agreements as well as the creative? In one tiny little week.”
“You always did underestimate my moxie,” Ralf said.
“Not at all.” Sadie’s voice was like steel.
“Yeah, well.” Ralf made a strange expression that I couldn’t quite place. Self-conscious? Anxious? It was uncharacteristic at any rate. “Something fell into my lap, and I guess the stars aligned.”
RJ was less magnanimous. “I think it’s shitty. Where’s the loyalty?”
Ralf turned cold blue eyes to RJ. “I worked for you for the best part of five years, and you only approved my producer promotion when I sorted out the tax breaks on All Kinds of Killing. Honestly, I’m a chump for hanging around as long as I did.”
Sadie’s eyes flickered with emotion but, to her credit, she didn’t show it. “Well, we have places to be,” she said graciously.
“Of course. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight,” Ralf said.
“Tonight?” Sadie exchanged glances with RJ.
“You think I’m giving up my invite to the Killing premiere?” Ralf said with a snort. “Not on your life.”
An awkward Artie cleared his throat. “Mr. Fisher, we’re ready if you’d like to come back.”
Ralf nodded at him, then turned his gaze to me. “And look at you.”
“Me?” It was hard to meet his eye. I couldn’t stop hearing the jingle of his belt from the other night, the way he’d begged Vivian to come back to his apartment.
“Joining studio pitches, after only a few weeks in the company,” he said coldly. “Good for you. No Elliot, I see?” He cast what was almost a hopeful gaze around the room.
“He’s busy directing Woodstock.” I took satisfaction from the displeasure that crossed Ralf’s face.
“An interesting development.” Ralf straightened his jacket. “Well, good to see you all.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “May the best pitch win.”
“The smug little turd!” RJ bellowed as we exited onto Fifth Avenue in the mid-morning sun.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Sadie advised.
“It’s bad enough he quit with one week’s notice,” RJ growled. “But to potentially undermine our chance to get my script made?”
“RJ, our movie will get made,” Sadie said. “Even if Janice doesn’t pick it up.”
“That snot was a mediocre nepo hire when I met him,” RJ carried on, oblivious to the stares of people around us. “I only took him on because of his dad. Gave him a break. And now look!”
“RJ.” Sadie sighed indulgently. “Ralf’s young and ambitious. He was always going to make his own moves in time.”
RJ made some huffing noises as we got into his private town car, taking the front passenger seat. Sadie slid in next to me in the back.
“How did you find that?” she asked as the car pulled away.
“So interesting,” I said. “And Janice is so focused on the bottom line, but you covered all her questions really well.”
“I hope so,” Sadie said. “Right, you’re on your way to another hotel, yes?”
“Yup. Don’t let me forget to get my dress out of the boot.
” I had to pinch myself. After a morning attending a pitch, I was now on my way to supervise an A-lister getting ready for a premiere, which I would then also attend.
What a way to sign off my last week in New York.
This was the kind of day I could only have dreamed of as an ambitious teenager working at Benny’s Chicken for pocket money.
RJ’s car dropped me off at Sol’s hotel, which was more luxurious than the one I had just left, if that was possible.
As I rode the lift to the penthouse, I wondered if Sol had had a chance to read my Twin Roses pitch.
There was every chance she hadn’t seen my email, let alone read the deck.
As much as I wanted to press her about her opinion, I had to let her lead the conversation; after all, tonight was about All Kinds of Killing.
Sol’s suite was like stepping into a sleepover party; music blared, and the smell of coffee filled the air.
In a chic living area the size of my entire apartment, Sol was prancing around in a lace slip, hair in curlers as her team buzzed around her.
Naya, phone glued to her ear, waved at a set of fat sofas crowded around a low glass table whereupon a couple of pizza boxes sat – largely untouched, I noticed.
I draped my dress carefully over the back of one of the sofas and perched.
Despite there being hours until the premiere that evening, Sol’s prep seemed already quite frantic.
Her manicurist was fretting about what shade of pink to use on her nails, while her stylist was holding up two metallic clutch bags, weighing them with a fraught look on his face.
Eventually, Sol slumped on the seat next to me, stifling a yawn as she greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. Her manicurist knelt in front of her and started rubbing lotions into her dainty little feet.
“Hydrate,” Naya ordered, pausing her call to hand a glass full of murky-looking water to her client.
“Ugh.” Sol obediently took the drink and downed it. “Electrolytes,” she explained when she saw my expression. She handed the glass back to Naya, who then continued her call. “So,” she asked, “when do you go home?”
“Friday,” I said.
Sol winced. “But that’s … today’s Tuesday! Man, that’s soon.” I nodded and tried to remain upbeat, but Sol was nothing if not shrewd. “You’re dreading it.”
“No,” I said quickly. It felt like a betrayal of Bex to think otherwise. But Sol’s eyes were kind. I sagged back against the cushions. “Yes.”
“I get it,” Sol said. “New York is my home; I miss it so much when I’m away.”
“It’s an incredible city,” I agreed. “But I’ve been so busy working I’ve barely seen any of it.”
“How do you know it’s incredible then?” Sol asked.
My mind instantly went to Elliot and all the things he did to me last night. My face must have betrayed my thoughts because Sol giggled. “Oh, I see. You met someone.”
I blushed harder. “Yes, but that’s—”
Her eyes went even wider. “The guy from the junket.”
“Yes, Elliot.” I sighed. “Just don’t tell anyone at RJF. RJ has a thing about workplace romances.”
“Well, that’s bananas,” Sol cracked. “Almost everyone meets their partners through work now. So, is it serious or are you two just fucking?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m thirty-one and I don’t know what a relationship feels like. But it doesn’t matter anyway because—”
“Because Friday,” Sol interrupted.
“Because Friday,” I said.
“Oh, Lucita,” she murmured, stroking my hair. “You’re so screwed.”
I burst out laughing, “I really am.”
“Change of subject!” She raised a finger. “I got your email.”
I tried to play it cool. “You did?”
“Yes,” she said. “Although I’ve not read it all, just the summary. But I have finished the novel.”
“Isn’t it great?”
“I totally see what you mean.” She smiled. “It is screaming out for an adaptation. And I could see myself in the role of Camilla, what do you think?”
Was this a real conversation I was having? Or some kind of fever dream? I pinched myself: nope, still real. “I think you’d be perfect.”
“Awesome,” she said. “Look, we’ll keep talking, yes? But I see something very special here.”
“Yes,” I rasped, trying not to pass out from excitement. My phone buzzed with a check-in text from Michelle, so I was able to distract myself with that.
The manicurist tugged on Sol’s foot. “Okay, let these dry.”
“Right, I’ll stay still.” Sol stopped, looking me over. “Why not do Lucie here?”
“Huh?” I looked up from my phone.
“You’re getting glam, right?” Sol asked.
“Sure, I brought something smart to wear.” I gestured at my dress then pulled my make-up bag out of my tote. “I thought I’d just refresh my make-up before we leave.”
Sol scowled. “If you’re walking down the carpet with me, you’re getting full glam.”
“I don’t need—”
“Baby, you need,” sniped Blaise, Sol’s make-up artist, with a grimace.
“But no one will be taking pictures of me,” I said. “Why does it matter?”