Awa
Chapter thirty-eight
Pinnacle Production Paused by Punch
Insiders say studio is considering lead recast in doomed production.
A Real Knockout!
Learn Tabitha Styles's no-fuss skincare routine that drives men wild!
TK-Oh no!
Will Luxe Partners drop Yong-rae Kim over his date night dust-up?
I roll my eyes and swipe the News app closed.
Right about now, I want to punch something, throw something, rip something to shreds, but the only thing within reach is my crystal goblet, and I don't feel like finding surprise glass in the carpet for the next three months. I settle for kicking my throw pillow.
In the five days since the news broke, the tabloids have been competing over who can write the most ridiculous headline; facts be damned.
Conrad and Emmitt are positively gleeful about the negative press.
They're so eager to see me look bad that they're completely ignoring how this could impact Tabitha, one of the firm's top-earning clients.
And my inbox is full of angry emails from Pinnacle, trying to figure out how they're going to salvage a film that was supposed to be their cash cow.
I can sympathize. A scandal when filming is so close to the finish line and the budget is already overblown is the worst-case scenario, but it could also be Yong-rae's saving grace.
Pinnacle wouldn't give a shit about Yong-rae's motivations if they weren't already so invested.
The drawn-out actor search, the press releases, the A-list names attached.
All of that helps when I'm on the phone with their counsel begging them to hold off on making any decisions until more evidence comes out.
I sigh, dropping back into my cocoon of blankets.
Noah thinks I can do this; that makes one of us.
My deep knowledge of contract negotiations, merchandizing agreements, and intellectual property rights means absolutely zip in a criminal case.
So I called Jill McIntyre, my classmate from Columbia Law and the best criminal litigator on the eastern seaboard, to collaborate on Yong-rae's defense.
The morning after the story broke, I went with Jill to the precinct to get a copy of the charges—assault and battery. Given how recently they'd been filed, there weren't yet detectives assigned to the case and no evidence had been collected.
We walked over to the bar to request the security footage from the night of the incident; the owner slammed the door in our faces.
"Your guy, Noah, might be right," she'd said with a smile. "The guilty ones never cooperate."
My guy, Noah.
My heart squeezed with the memory of the devastation in his voice when I told him we had to pause while the case was active, but I kept my expression neutral. I know she didn't mean it like that; that she had no clue about our relationship, and no idea how much I wanted her words to be true.
"What's next?" I asked, changing the subject.
"We file a motion for expedited discovery to keep that scumbag from destroying any evidence." She frowned. "Well, any more evidence. Then I let Philippe know it's time to start digging."
Philippe ended up being her firm's dedicated private investigator, and he's "scary good", as Noah would say.
In just two days, he found several witnesses from the night of the fight who gave sworn affidavits that they saw the owner grab Yong-rae first, and that Yong-rae and his date—they didn't know it was a movie star—left without incident.
One said they saw Yong-rae and the owner talking, but that it didn't look like anything was wrong.
All of it pointed to Yong-rae's account of what happened, but none of it was the proverbial smoking gun.
If there was footage, we needed it dès que possible.
On day 3, the owner told the cops the footage was gone. That he must've accidentally deleted it when he pulled the pictures for the article. It was another strike against him, since anyone could see right through his lie, but it still left us with very few options.
So now, two days later, we're waiting, praying Philippe performs miracles and can pull something concrete out of thin air.
The production is, of course, paused. I'm doing everything I can to keep it that way, since that's better than canceled, but none of it is enough to subdue thoughts of Noah.
The disappointment he couldn't hide. His poorly feigned acceptance of our fate.
It didn't say I'm bummed to lose my fuck buddy. It said—
Buzz. Buzz.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I groan. I'm really not up to getting reamed by my bosses again. I roll over with a groan to silence the device, but it's not Conrad or Emmitt. It's Camila.
"Uh, hello?" I answer hesitantly. Why would she be calling?
"Hey, girl. Are you dressed? We're going out."
I'm so startled by her pushiness, I actually laugh.
"What? Have you not seen the news? I'm not going out."
"Yes, I've seen the news, if that's what you wanna call that trash. That's exactly why we're going out. My guess is you're home, obsessing about the case and your client. Yong-rae's calling us twice a day for updates."
"Me too," I chuckle tiredly. "I wish I had something to give him, but we just have to wait for the investigator."
"Right," she says, like that settles it. "There's nothing you can do, so it's time to come and hang with your new best friend, Camila. We'll dance, get drunk, and talk shit about lawyers we both know."
I finally let out a genuine laugh.
"Um…OK. And your husband won't mind you going out drinking? You are newlyweds after all."
She scoffs.
"Luckily for me, I don't work for him anymore. We had six weeks of uninterrupted bliss. He can handle the occasional night on his own."
When I hesitate, she hums in disapproval, and I can feel the tone of the conversation shift.
"I know it's a little awkward; we don't know each other very well, and Noah's my brother now. But we don't have to talk about him if you don't want to. It can be a guy-free zone."
I gasp, taken aback by her words.
"He's not…uh, we're not—" I clear my throat. "There's nothing going on between us."
Camila laughs heartily, and I purse my lips in irritation.
"If you didn't want people to know about you two, you should've done a better job of hiding it. Half the crew has seen you leave in the same car, and Rory told me she's caught you guys holding hands more than once. For God's sake, Noah's face lights up whenever he talks about you!"
"What?!" I squeak. I thought we'd been so careful.
"Don't feel bad," Camila offers. "Rory would've found out even if you had tried to hide it.
She's always had a sixth sense about these things.
She knew what would happen with my husband way before I did.
But Noah?" She snorts. "Noah's hopeless.
Up until last week, he'd practically break into song at the mere mention of you. "
My heart drops.
"Last week. When the story came out." I mutter bitterly.
What's the harm in telling her? She's already guessed the truth, and I want so badly to confide in someone.
"I said we should take some time apart until things settle down," I whisper.
"Yeah," she replies, unfazed. "I figured it was something like that. And then with what happened with his mom…"
She trails off, but I'm sitting up now.
"Wait. What happened with his mom?"
"Uh…" She suddenly sounds uncomfortable. "Isn't tonight supposed to be a guy-free zone? Get dressed! Let's go dancing."
"I'll go dancing when you tell me what happened with his mom," I insist.
She's not the only one who can be pushy. When I didn't hear from Noah, I assumed he was just respecting my wishes, though a text or two would've been nice. If something happened, I need to know.
Camila sighs.
"She—" Camila pauses before continuing, her tone resigned. "She had a mild heart attack."
"A heart attack?!" I screech.
"A mild heart attack," she repeats, as if even a mild heart attack isn't completely awful.
"When?" I demand.
"Last Friday?" Camila answers, bracing for my reaction.
"Last Friday?! As in the same night his client was charged with assault? The night I said we should take a break?!"
I'm bordering on hysteria and force myself to take a few deep breaths. Camila's silent for a while.
"I'm sorry," she says finally. "I thought you knew. Anyone could see that something had changed between you two, but I thought he'd still tell you."
"Why would he tell me?" I ask. "We weren't even together. Not officially, anyway."
"Oh, please," she scolds. "Label or not, you clearly care about each other. If you didn't, finding out about his mom wouldn't have hit you so hard. And he wouldn't look like the before from a depression medication commercial."
I can't help but laugh at that.
"Do you not want to come out now?" she asks once my laughter subsides. "I still think it would do you good. He's not the only one who's had a bad week."
"I have had a bad week," I say with renewed vigor. "A truly terrible week. So yes, I'll get dressed. We'll go dancing. And then it sounds like Noah and I need to have a talk."
"That's the spirit!" she responds enthusiastically. "Any requests for borough or music genre?"
By the time we hang up, I feel rejuvenated. I jump out of bed, rushing to wash off the remnants of my pity party so I can hang out with Camila. With my friend. We'll forget about the case. Forget about the movie. And in the morning, I'll stop running scared from Noah.