3. Celina #2
She’d told him about the appointment the night before, though she’d been deliberately vague about the details.
Unlike her dinner with Rennick at Bruno’s, where she’d spent two hours deflecting questions about her production company and dodging suggestions about her career trajectory, she’d chosen to keep this meeting private from him.
Something about it felt too important, too fragile, to risk Rennick’s inevitable interference.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, sliding into the backseat.
Trent closed the door and moved around to the driver’s side with efficient movements. As the engine purred to life and they began the winding descent from her Hollywood Hills sanctuary, Celina gazed through the tinted windows at the city spreading below them like a glittering promise.
This meeting might just change everything.
For the first time in months, she felt eager rather than anxious, ready to fight for something that belonged entirely to her.
Bates Films represented more than financial stability or creative control—it was her mother’s legacy, her own independence, and proof that she could build something meaningful in a town that specialized in beautiful illusions.
Whatever happened in Osias Fellan’s office, she would face it as herself. Not the carefully managed celebrity everyone expected, but the woman who understood authentic storytelling and refused to compromise on what mattered. The woman who was finally ready to write her own script.
The SUV finally glided to a stop against the gleaming curb outside Fellan Entertainment’s towering glass monument to success.
Celina gazed up at the building through the tinted window, its forty-story facade reflecting the morning sun like a beacon of possibility and intimidation rolled into one breathtaking structure.
“Would you like me to escort you inside, Miss Bates?” Trent’s voice carried the professional concern of someone who’d spent years ensuring her safety in unpredictable situations.
“No, it’s fine, Trent. I can handle this one on my own.” The words felt foreign on her tongue.
When had she last walked into an important meeting without Rennick or an entourage?
But something about this moment demanded authenticity, and authenticity meant facing Osias Fellan without the usual Hollywood armor.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, her heels clicking against pristine concrete, she spotted Gerri’s distinctive white bob near the building’s entrance. The older woman stood with the confidence of someone who’d never doubted this meeting would happen.
“Celina, dear!” Gerri approached with arms slightly extended, her smile radiating genuine warmth. “You look absolutely perfect. Confident and authentic—exactly what this situation calls for.”
The compliment landed with surprising weight. After years of stylists, publicists, and image consultants offering carefully calibrated feedback designed to maximize her marketability, hearing someone appreciate her authenticity felt like discovering water in a desert.
“Thank you, Gerri. I have to admit, I’m a little nervous.”
“Perfectly natural, dear. The important things should make us nervous—it means we care.”
They walked through the building’s soaring lobby together, their footsteps echoing off marble floors polished to mirror brightness.
Everything about Fellan Entertainment’s headquarters whispered power and success, from the contemporary art installations to the reception desk that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel.
At the security checkpoint, the uniformed guard looked up from his computer screen and immediately brightened. “Ms. Wilder! Good to see you again.”
“Hello, Martin. How’s that granddaughter of yours doing with her dance classes?”
“Getting better every week, thanks for asking.” He handed them visitor badges with the efficiency of someone who clearly knew Gerri well. “Mr. Fellan’s expecting you both on the twentieth floor.”
As they moved toward the bank of elevators, Celina’s curiosity finally overcame her nervousness. “So how exactly do you know Pell Dakar, the VP here?”
“Oh, Pell’s an old friend I met through my company.” Gerri pressed the elevator call button with a perfectly manicured finger. “The Paranormal Dating Agency.”
“The Paranormal Dating Agency?” The words tumbled out before Celina could stop them. “What do you mean by paranormal?”
The elevator doors slid open with quiet precision, and Gerri stepped inside with a smile that suggested she was enjoying a private joke. “Just a world that exists outside what many people know about, dear. Nothing to worry about right now.”
The cryptic response hung in the air between them as they ascended through the building’s gleaming core. Celina wanted to press for more details, but her nerves were building with each passing floor, and Gerri seemed to sense her growing anxiety.
“Just relax and be yourself, dear. Everything will go just fine.”
Be yourself.
The second person in two hours to offer that particular piece of advice.
Celina felt a flicker of frustration mixed with encouragement—if being herself was truly the answer, why did it feel like the most challenging role she’d ever been asked to play?
Thirty years of having Rennick shape every public interaction, every professional decision, every carefully curated version of Celina Bates had left her genuinely uncertain about who she was beneath all the polish.
The man had literally molded her life since she was four years old, transforming a talented child into a global superstar through decades of guidance that had gradually evolved into something that felt increasingly like control.
Doing anything without his hovering presence felt simultaneously foreign and liberating, like stepping outside during her first rainstorm after years of living under shelter.
The elevator doors opened onto the twentieth floor with a soft chime, revealing a reception area that managed to feel both impressive and welcoming.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of Los Angeles spreading endlessly toward distant mountains, while contemporary furniture in warm earth tones created an atmosphere of sophisticated comfort.