Chapter 26
Ruby-red forever roses greet Ingrid when she walks back into her office. For a second, she fears they might be from Dillon. He sent her two texts after the dinner, both casual, no mention of the hand-holding, thank God. Both of them she deleted. The flowers, thankfully, are from the studio.
Congratulations! xx Charlie, the note reads.
Ingrid leans over to smell the roses, careful not to touch the petals with her nose.
It’s so LA to send preserved roses now, their delicate petals treated with a silica-based chemical solution to keep them pristine and youthful all year round, just like the women who roam the streets.
Ingrid fought the trend, but now her house is filled with the preserved flowers.
They look and smell exactly like regular roses, but they are supposed to last forever.
Unless you touch them with your aging human finger, of course. Then they rot.
She tosses the card aside and reaches for the phone.
“Beautiful roses, Charlie,” she greets him. She puts him on speaker. “And thanks for the announcement on Deadline!”
Ingrid saw the article shortly after landing in LA. In it, Rebecca is quoted as saying she wouldn’t trust any other producer but Ingrid Parker to make her book into a movie. On social, everyone shifted from talking about the Camila crisis to Summer Rain and what an iconic movie it’s going to be.
“Thought you would like that quote from Rebecca!” Charlie says.
“So let’s talk writers. I’d love to get a woman—”
“Before we do that, I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page before we move forward.”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Ingrid. We just need a little pitch. Doesn’t have to be long. Twenty minutes. Let us hear the full take—”
Ingrid lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You’re not serious…” She rubs her temples with her fingers. “I already gave you the take!”
“You had a ten-second conversation with me from a cab.”
Ingrid feels the urge to stick her whole face in Charlie’s flowers.
“We just need to get a feel for the tone so we can all visualize it. That reminds me, for the pitch deck—”
“Pitch deck? Are you kidding me?” Ingrid jolts forward.
“Ingrid, you know I want this to work this time. But there are just so many ways to go with the movie! I want to make sure we don’t get stuck in development hell again.”
Ingrid smothers all expletives. “Fine.”
“And for the lead, I know you want Camila, but maybe we can get a few other options…just for the pitch?”
Ingrid doesn’t say anything. She knows what he’s getting at.
This thing will be easier to push through if they throw in bigger names.
Actresses everyone’s going to recognize and there won’t be any problems with.
Someone who’s not going to be difficult.
She’s tempted to remind him of her promise to Camila.
But she bites her tongue. Now’s not the right time.
“Just for the pitch,” he repeats. “How’s Monday?”
After she hangs up, she sits at her desk for a full five minutes, feeling a little bad. Was it wrong of her not to push back? Roxanne comes into her office. Camila’s on the phone, she says.
“Do you want me to say you’re not in?”
“No, put her through,” Ingrid says. Maybe there’s a way to lessen their reservations about her. Ingrid picks up her phone.
“Ingrid, I just wanted to say congratulations! I read the news on Deadline about the option. So we’re going forward?”
“Working on it,” Ingrid replies honestly. “I just need to do a quick pitch. We’ll be off to the races by next week.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Camila asks.
Ingrid pauses. “I’m going to be honest with you. All this bad press about the last movie…The guys are worried.”
“They’re worried? About me?”
“They just want to make sure you still want to be in business with FYC Studios. After everything that’s happened, I can completely understand if you don’t. But if you do, we need to know that’s where your headspace is,” Ingrid says as tactfully as she can.
“ ’Course I want to be in business! I’m an actress!”
“Then show them that. Make them realize you’re one of their best—”
“I haven’t posted anything since my initial video, which I would delete, but that would send even more red flags to my fans…”
“No, no, I know! Don’t delete it. But maybe…you post something good about Uncharted?” Ingrid suggests gently. “Something to show how grateful you are. That you’re a team player?” Ingrid grimaces at her own words. “I know it’s so gross, but you know these guys. They love gratitude.”
Ingrid waits, hoping Camila understands. All she wants is to be able to put Camila’s face on the pitch deck along with five more famous faces and enthusiastically recommend they give it to her because she’s the best person for the role, not someone they have to give it to.
“No, I totally get it. I appreciate that. Thank you for watching out for me, Ingrid.”
“Always.” Ingrid smiles.
—
That night, she’s working on the pitch deck at home. The slides are almost ready, but the take itself is not quite landing. She decides to check her email. That’s when she sees five emails, all from various literary agents she knows in New York:
Dear Ingrid,
Hope you’re well! Just wanted to check in with you regarding a project—Maggie Wang, who sent me a very funny and engaging novella, WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, says you’re optioning it and she’s expanding it into a novel?
It would be a total honor to work with both of you, but just wanted to check before I extend an offer to Maggie, because of course editors will be very interested to hear of the option!
Fondly,
Ella
Hi Ingrid!
Congrats on Summer Rain—I heard from Stella!
That’s incredible! Reaching out re: a manuscript on submission that I just received—WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS by Maggie Wang!
From the pages I read, it’s quirky and fun!
I understand from the author that you’re optioning it!
Do you think there will be an official announcement soon?
I’d love to get the full lay of the land before I figure out next steps! Call me!
Best,
Megan Butler
The rest of the emails are exactly the same—all enthusiastic, politely curious emails confirming her optioning this book, which isn’t even a full book yet.
A thin vein pulsates on Ingrid’s forehead.
This is outrageous! Maggie took what Ingrid told her in the car—out of kindness—and now she’s dropping her name all over New York?
For a second, Ingrid is tempted to hit Reply on all of them and write, No, I’m not. Three words. Done.
But then she reminds herself, Maggie isn’t just anyone. She can’t just scream What the fuck at her. She needs her. She stares at the transfusion needle marks on her arm.
Then she picks up the phone and calls Maggie.