6. Finn
FINN
I flicked my pen against my desk repeatedly, getting more and more irritated as the minutes ticked by and my inbox remained empty. It had been hours since I’d emailed the offer to Sierra and still, no response.
Seriously, what kind of person didn’t check their emails after an interview? It was like she didn’t even want the damn job. I needed this contract signed, and I needed her in the workshop—actually working.
Screw it . I picked up my phone and dialed her number from her application. The phone clicked.
“Hello, you’ve reached Sierra Banks. I’m afraid I’m terribly busy giving expert consultations and can’t speak right now.”
I grimaced. No way in hell did her voicemail actually say that. I cleared my throat. “This is Finn Lockhart from Hart of Gold Produ?—”
“Eh!” she cried into the phone, making a horrible noise. “Time’s up!”
I blinked in disbelief as she hung up on me. How the hell did she realize it was me? I’d never called her before. I flashed on me tossing my business card down on the table before I left.
The audacity! I couldn’t believe I was actually offering this woman a job. Could X not see how terrible working with her was going to be?
A flash of anger flared hot in my chest even as I struggled to shove aside the memory of the way she bit her lip when she was particularly focused. I stuffed down my frustration, redialing.
Sierra was a distraction I couldn’t afford. But I needed X. Hart of Gold could finally blossom into more than an action movie studio with his continued partnership.
Regardless of how much she aggravated me, I needed her.
The phone clicked. “Hey, this is Sierra. I can’t take your call right now because I’m busy shining my participation trophy from the LA Film Festival.” She hung up before I even got a word out.
I sucked in a deep breath that did little to calm me and redialed. “Do not hang up!” I said immediately. “I am trying to extend a job offer. If you’d check your ema?—”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Sierra snarked. “I’m too busy being bored out of my mind watching another Run ’n’ Gun sequel.” Beep. Call ended.
Okay. I’d had enough. In the background on that last call, I’d caught someone asking about fabric bolts in the background, and I suspected she was at In Stitches. I grabbed my keys and raced over there.
When I arrived, I spotted Sierra behind the cutting table, talking animatedly to a short blond woman with the energy of a cat that would scratch if I got too close.
I adjusted my jacket, plastered on my brightest smile, pulled the contract up on my phone, and walked over there with determination filling every step. I’d won over tougher people than Sierra Banks.
“Lord,” she said when she spotted me, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “How hard is it to take a hint?”
“I’m trying to give you a job,” I said. “Most people would be grateful.”
“Yeah, well most people don’t have to deal with you ,” she said. “I don’t want your job. You can take your Armani-clad self and head out the way you came.”
“Make sure to let the door hit you on the way out,” her friend said.
I gritted my teeth and decided to try diplomacy. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you’ve got a skillset that I want to employ. And I know you want this job.”
I put my phone on the cutting table, contract in view, and stared her down. “We both know this kind of production is a costume designer’s wet dream. I can help you take your career to the next level, Sierra.”
She blinked at me, looking like she was seriously considering it.
God, she had nice eyes. And I couldn’t help but notice the way some of her auburn hair had slipped out of the clip at the back of her head.
The strands fell in an unruly swirl, with no rhyme or reason, and the desire to reach out and tuck those hairs behind her ear was so strong I curled my fingers back.
Then her brow furrowed. “I don’t want my career anywhere near you, thanks!” She picked up a stack of fabric bolts and set off down an aisle.
“Now you did it,” her friend said, arching her eyebrow in my direction .
I rolled my eyes and set off after Sierra. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“ I’m being difficult?” she cried, returning one of the bolts to the shelf. “Okay, Mr. Bigshot.”
My smile faltered for real. I wasn’t here to play games with her. I needed to get down to business. “It’s a competitive contract. You won’t find a better offer on a production like this.”
“I’m not interested in your money,” she called over her shoulder as she turned the corner at the end of the aisle. “I already told you that you couldn’t afford my expert consultation!”
“Everyone has a number,” I said, following her.
I’d done my research on her last night. I’d reviewed her IMDb page top to bottom and scrolled through her social media.
I never walked into a negotiation without knowing exactly what every player brought to the table—as well as what they lacked that I could provide—and I never walked away anything less than satisfied. This would be no different.
“Then go talk to those people.”
“If you sign the contract today, I’ll make sure you get that customized fabric dying kit you mentioned during the interview.”
She paused, considering my words as she put another bolt of fabric on a shelf. I reached out and straightened it.
“Don’t touch things,” she said.
“It was crooked. So? What do you think?”
“No.”
“I’ll outfit your studio with all the bells and whistles you ask for. Get me a list, and you’ll have every gadget you want before you even start.” I’d come up with all the knickknacks her little costume designer heart desired. What more could she want ?
Sierra bit her lip in that way that was highly distracting, and after a beat, she put her hand out for my phone. I felt a surge of triumph as I handed it over, watching as she scrolled through the contract.
I couldn’t help but notice her fingers. Long. Lithe. Delicate. I’d noticed them earlier, too, when they’d been smudged with pencil. My thoughts trailed off, chasing the way those hands might run over silk, over skin?—
“You want the costumes done in a month?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “Are you kidding me?”
Dammit ! She really did have an eye for detail. She’d picked that line out of paragraphs of legal mumbo-jumbo. “With hired staff, that’s plenty of time to finish the costumes,” I said.
“I told you I needed two months to do this properly.” Sierra shoved the phone back at me with force. “If you even want me to consider this job, that timeline is nonnegotiable.”
I fought the urge to bang my head against the nearest wall. Who was she to be telling me about non-negotiables? “I can do six weeks,” I countered.
“Eight,” she shot back, setting off again. I followed her to the display table near the front of the store.
I don’t want her, but I need her , I reminded myself. I needed her because I needed X to remain the face of this project. He was the name that would make this an undeniable success. I smoothed my hair back. “Fine. Two months. No more.”
She sniffed, reaching for a bolt of fabric. “I guess I’ll consider it.”
“You’ll take it,” I growled, catching the bolt before she could pick it up. What the hell were we doing here if she wasn’t going to sign on to the project ?
“Or what?” she argued, pulling on the bolt. I held firm. She tugged again. “You’re going to run off and offer the job to someone else? Go ahead!”
This woman! Frustration burned behind my eyes, but I couldn’t relent. I wouldn’t. I was not going to let anything stand in the way of making this movie a success.
If that meant I needed her to sign on, then she was damn well going to sign on. No matter what I had to do. She pulled harder on the bolt. I pulled back, the two of us locked in a tug-of-war.
“Let go!”
“Sign on to the movie.”
“No.” She yanked on the fabric so hard the bolt flipped up, whacking the mannequin next to us, which tipped into the other one, landing the two figures in a very compromising position on the floor.
Sierra huffed, righting them as her cheeks turned bright red. “What do you have against Merle?”
“Who?”
She slapped her hand down on the mannequin’s head as it started to fall off. “He’s delicate and you’re smacking him around like a stunt double on one of your ridiculous car movies.”
I didn’t have time for this. “Sultry Stitches,” I said. It was her side business. I’d seen it on her business card. She made burlesque costumes.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What about it?”
“I’ve seen the script for the next Run ’n’ Gun production. You sign on to do the costuming for this movie, and I can guarantee there will be a nice little burlesque sequence that can only be outfitted by Sultry Stitches.”
She finally released the mannequin, crossing her arms and pursing her lips. I was offering her the promise of more work.
Work that would be seen by millions . That kind of product placement could shoot her orders into the stratosphere. And anyone working in this business knew you never turned down an opportunity when it fell into your lap.
“Not sure I’m the biggest Run ’n’ Gun fan,” she said.
I already knew she’d say that. Just to be difficult. But I could tell I was wearing her down. At the very least, she’d stopped marching away from me. “Look,” I said pointedly. “X is really excited to work with you.”
“Yeah, too bad his producer is insufferable,” she said.
I bit down on the grumble that surged up my throat. “X fought for you in this role even when I said you’d be nothing but trouble. And right now, you’re proving me right. Is that really what you want?”
She glared at me.
I kept at it. “And you know this picture is going to be an award contender with X at the helm. I’ll push you forward for award consideration. Are you really prepared to turn that down?”
A muscle in her cheek twitched, and I knew I had her. Recognition was what everyone in this industry wanted. We all wanted a shiny statue that said we were the best. Because recognition meant you got to keep making movies.
“I know how badly you want to be a part of this movie. You gushed about the biography all over your social media when you read it. You’re not actually going to throw this opportunity away because I annoy you, are you?”
She let out a heavy sigh. Her eyes flickered back to the phone in my hand.
“I’ll sign it,” she muttered.
A sense of relief finally seeped through me. Thank the gods of unproduced films.
“If…” she added.
“If?” I repeated, annoyance creeping into my tone.
“Yes…I’ll sign it if I’m provided with a bottomless supply of RevX.”
My entire face screwed up. “You mean that poison disguised as an energy drink?”
She looked as offended as if I’d told her her baby was ugly. “It’s my favorite energy drink,” she shot back. “And I’m obviously going to need a vat of it if I have to deal with you every day.” She stuck her hand out. “Deal?”
What a ridiculous addition. I couldn’t believe that’s what she wanted, of all things. “Fine,” I grumbled. “Deal.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled it back at the last second and tossed her arm around the damn mannequin.
“Put it in the contract, Mr. Bigshot. I want to see it in writing.”