4. Sierra
SIERRA
I arrived at the Hart of Gold Productions offices in Burbank with ten minutes to spare.
Once you got past the security gate, there was a main office building surrounded by workshops and warehouses and studios.
It was a massive operation, but I’d spent my fair share of time working for studios these past ten years, and I no longer got flustered by the chaos.
I pulled down the sun visor to make sure my lip gloss was intact and my hair was presentable. I was almost polished —until I ran my hand down my front and realized I still had my fabric scissors tucked into the pocket of my jacket.
“Shit,” I muttered, stashing them safely in the glove box.
I hopped out of the car and rushed inside where I was directed to a conference room.
Just outside of it, a young woman with a short brown bob sat in a swivel chair at a small desk.
She was so absorbed in a book, she hardly noticed my approach until I was standing in front of her.
“Hi, uh, Sierra Banks. I’m here for an interview. ”
The woman looked up, clearly startled, and I recognized what she was reading.
“ Every Day Is Sunday !” I said, pointing at the cover.
A smile lit up her face. “Have you read it?”
“Gosh, yes,” I said. “I devoured it. Have you gotten to the part where they sneak out of that wild society party together?”
“It was so intense,” she agreed. “And when they were hiding in that cellar, waiting to see if they would be caught by the rival gang!”
“I know, the romantic tension between them! Mmm…I just loved it.”
“Brenna!” an unpleasantly familiar voice snapped.
We both jumped in response. Brenna’s face turned bright red as Finn Lockhart himself stepped out of the conference room.
He adjusted his suit jacket, and I tried not to notice how perfectly it had been tailored to fit him, but I couldn’t help myself.
There was just something about the way he stood there, arms casually crossed, like he was waiting to be shot for GQ .
I swallowed hard. Focus , I told myself.
“I texted to tell you to send her in when she arrived!” Finn said.
“Sorry, Mr. Lockhart!” Brenna squeaked. “She’s here now.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
I tried not to grimace at the look on Finn’s face. This was not a great start to the interview. No doubt Finn would blame me for distracting Brenna and keeping her from noticing his text. Another strike against me.
That made two so far.
“You can go in,” Brenna whispered as I stood there awkwardly .
“Oh, right.” Here goes nothing . I headed down the hall to the room. Finn held the door open for me, his gaze steely. I met it with one of my own, remembering what Ro had said. If he didn’t like strong, sassy women, I’d already lost, so I squared my shoulders and marched past him.
The conference room was set up with a large table, even though the only people at it were Finn and another man.
Xavier “X” Bell, a highly regarded director with a temperamental streak, smiled when he saw me.
I’d worked with him a few movies back, and we’d gotten along wonderfully. Some of my nerves settled.
“Nice to see you again, Sierra,” he greeted me warmly as I took my seat. Finn, meanwhile, had crossed his arms and was leveling me with a glare clearly meant to fluster me.
And just like that, the nerves were back. I cleared my throat even as my stomach churned. Strong and sassy. I could do it! “Nice to see you too, X. Thanks for taking the time to see me today.”
“Ready to begin?” Finn interrupted, his voice sharp, impatient. “We’ve got a lot of interviews to get through.”
X shot him a look, his brow arched, but I nodded. Then Finn launched into his questions. “Tell us about your process. How would you approach a period piece like Every Day Is Sunday ?”
I straightened in the chair. “Well, I would deep-dive into the era. Thankfully, it’s one I’m already well-versed in, so?—”
“And by deep-dive, you mean what?” Finn said. “Read the biography? Because that’s a bare minimum expectation—you know, the same way you’d expect a store to stay open for its full posted hours of operation rather than being unprofessional enough to try to close early.”
Oh, you asshole .
“If I could finish my sentence?” I said. “Of course I’d never stop at the bare minimum. My expertise means I have a lot of resources to consult with beyond the biography to really understand the period and create costumes that help tell the story.”
“You think you’re the right storyteller for this story? Rather than, say, one about armies of sq?—”
“Yes,” I cut him off. Clearly, I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this job, so there was no reason to worry about little things like being rude by cutting him off.
At this point, the best I could hope for would be to maintain some kind of professionalism in front of X, who I hoped to work with again someday.
I was already blushing fire-engine red, and I knew it would only get worse if I let Finn keep needling me, so I needed to cut this off at the pass.
“I’m absolutely the right storyteller. You have no idea how Evelyn’s story spoke to me.
I know exactly what it’s like to live in a world where you can never speak your mind, where you’re bound in on every side by expectations.
Where all you want to do is make the men around you pay a tax for being such ass- toundingly dismissive boors. ”
Finn scoffed. A lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead.
He swept it away, fiddling with his watch.
“ You know what it’s like to not be able to speak your mind?
You don’t seem to have any trouble with it from where I’m sitting.
The building could be on fire and you’d probably keep rambling about the cost of almonds and aliens. ”
I glared at him. “Neither did Evelyn, by the end of her story,” I pointed out.
“That’s what gives her transformation such weight.
She broke free of the constraints society placed on her and found her voice.
It’s like they say—well behaved women seldom make history.
And you could bet your buttoned-up little self that she wouldn’t be forced into a position where the building was on fire. ”
X laughed, and I tried not to startle. Honestly, I’d forgotten he was there.
“That’s great,” he said, catching my eye. “That’s exactly how I see Evelyn, too. Except for the almonds and aliens.”
Finn’s face was like stone. Unreadable. “And how long would you need to complete this kind of project?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, thinking it over. “I’d say about two months.”
“Two months!” He scoffed, shaking his head.
“If you’d like things done properly,” I snarked at him.
“I would need to source authentic materials. This project might also require a customized fabric dying kit.” In spite of myself, my real enthusiasm pushed to the front.
I knew I wasn’t getting this gig, but man, it had the potential to be so fun .
“We just don’t use the same colors that were popular back then, but some of them are really gorgeous—and I know they’ll pop on-screen while still bringing real period authenticity.
All these things take time. Unless your goal is for me to rush in at the last minute and just use any old fabrics so long as they look era appropriate. ”
His eyes narrowed. “Can you even handle a project of this scale?” he snapped.
“I’ve seen her work,” X said. “She’s more than capable of handling whatever we throw at her.”
“We’ll see,” Finn said, waving a hand dismissively.
He pulled out a sketchbook and the bag from In Stitches, then walked around the table to hand both to me.
“We’re requiring an on-the-spot test. This book gives a few rough character descriptions for a specific scene.
Pick a character and design an outfit using the samples in this bag. Got it? ”
“Got it,” I responded. Tension crackled as I met his eyes, staring him down.
Goosebumps washed across both my arms. In spite of everything, part of me relished the chance to really show him what I could do.
Not that I thought he’d truly appreciate it, but I would know I’d nailed it. And that counted for something.
Finn finally broke eye contact to check his watch. “You have five minutes once you finish reading the descriptions.” His eyes flickered back to mine again. “ Go .”
I flipped the sketchbook open as nervous adrenaline rushed through me. I peeked at the samples to make sure they were the same ones I’d given Finn yesterday, then got to work. In the scene description, Tommy and Evelyn were at an underground speakeasy.
I remembered the scene from the book. This was the scene where Evelyn really started falling for Tommy. He needed to look amazing , but in a way that fit with the mood and demonstrated his character .
My pulse quickened as I started on the sketch.
I could feel Finn’s eyes on me as I worked, and it made the room feel smaller, tighter.
Five minutes was hardly any time at all.
My hand almost shook as I created the basic silhouette of Tommy’s suit.
I focused on a couple key features, like the cut of the suit and the sleeve style, then added a few extra details like pockets and buttons.
At last, I scribbled a few annotations at the side of the page, detailing my vision about the colors, textures, and fabric choices I’d select for Tommy’s dress shirt and the embellishments like his pocket square and fedora.
“ Eh !” Finn cried, making a horrendous buzzing sound. X and I jumped. “Time’s up. Pencil down.”
“Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” X said gently .
I carried the sketchbook over to them, pointing out the different parts of my design. X examined the page. “Impressive,” he said.
Finn’s eyes were locked on my fingers. I’d used them to smudge up the pencil a bit to create shadow on the page. He reached out to brush them off the sketchbook. “You’re leaving marks.”
I bit my lip at his brief touch, curling my hand back self-consciously as his eyes lifted to my face.
The intensity of his gaze making my heart race.
For a moment there was something else behind that icy expression.
Something that stirred warmth in my gut.
Then the spell broke, and he scowled. “That’s what you’d have our leading man wearing? ”
I crossed my arms. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s too subdued,” he said. “There’s no panache. He’s trying to win her over—how’s he going to do that by blending into the wallpaper?”
“Maybe he realizes that not strutting around like a peacock is the better way to get her attention,” I pointed out, bristling.
“He doesn’t need to be the loudest, shiniest thing in the room.
It’s that quiet confidence that draws her in—especially the way he lets her take the spotlight instead.
This moment isn’t about flaunting his power, it’s about getting to know Evelyn. ”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Costume design isn’t just fashion design. The garments need to reflect the character in the moment as much as they need to look good.”
“But they also do need to look good,” Finn said.
I dropped my hands to my hips. “And what would you know about costumes that look good when half your Run ’n’ Gun characters are shirtless or in halter tops?”
“I’d say I know my target audience,” Finn shot back .
“Well, I guess if all you’re selling is sex, then sure,” I said. “And you’d know all about that, judging by all the tabloids.”
His face screwed up. I knew I’d thrown “sassy” out the window and brought out the boxing gloves, but why the hell not? Screw this movie and screw Finn Lockhart.
“Well, at least I can say I am good at my job. That’s more than you can say. The most prestigious prize on your resume is Best Costume Design from the LA Film Festival. What do they give you for that? A participation trophy?”
Ouch . He’d clearly done his research. Or at least perused my IMDb page. “We can’t all be taking home Oscars for…” I tapped my chin. “Oh, that’s right. Run ’n’ Gun hasn’t won you any Oscars, has it?”
Finn’s eyes practically bugged out of his head as X intervened. “I’d say that concludes the interview. Thanks for coming, Sierra.” He gestured to the door, waving me out before Finn’s head could pop off his shoulders. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Yes,” Finn growled. “For more of your expert consultations .”
I turned on my heel, grinding my teeth as I headed for the door, pausing to look back for a brief second, loathing burning through me.
“You know, Mr. Lockhart, I’m surprised more businesses haven’t tacked on an AT.
You should probably scrutinize more of those receipts for those surcharges because I can guarantee that you’d save a lot of money if you send someone else. ”