Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“When they’re done right,” I added, deciding it was time to throw in my two cents. “And I would make sure that All the Dying Light was done right.”
“And so would I,” Willow added fiercely.
If Callum was impressed, he wasn’t about to let us see it. He harrumphed again and went to the refrigerator to pull out a vegan cheesecake that tasted damn good. Then he poured us all strong cups of coffee, despite the hour creeping close to 10 pm. Willow and I exchanged glances and shrugged. If he wanted to keep us around, we were staying.
Callum drank his coffee slowly, thoughtfully. His gaze was far away. Willow and I carried the conversation, talking about what was going on with Miller and the documentary. Then, at the end of the evening when we were getting up to leave, I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “So you have to tell me, Callum. Do I stand a chance, or did I waste my time coming down here?”
Callum grunted, and I figured that was going to be the totality of his response. Then he said almost reluctantly, “I’m not saying you wasted your time, Lewis.” He glanced at Willow. “It was a smart move, bringing the brains of the operation.”
Willow laughed, pleased. I was pleased, too. She was the brains. She’d found an in with Callum I never would have with all that talk about imitation meat. And she’d articulated the importance of movies so much better than I ever could have. It sounded damn near noble to let me turn his book into a movie, the way she put it.
“I’m so fucking impressed,” I told her honestly when we got back to our cabin and shut the door behind us. “You might have just gotten us the rights to All the Dying Light.”
She flipped her hair in an exaggerated motion and grinned. “It was luck.”
“No, it was shrewd and heartfelt intelligence.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and looked down at her as if seeing her for the first time. “If we get this movie, you have to work on it.”
“I’d like that,” Willow murmured. “I liked him.”
But despite her words, her eyes had lost their sparkle, and there was something haunted in the corners of her smile. Shadows.
Would I ever understand what the hell was going on in her head?
23
WILLOW
Julian and I made it back to the motel the following afternoon. It took hours to dig out the car and then a path from the parking lot to the road, which had thankfully been plowed. Julian was in a good mood on the way back. He kept insisting that I had done it. If Lewis Productions got the rights, it was down to me. He was full of plans and ideas for how I could work on the movie. It all sounded amazing. It all sounded impossible.
When we got back to the motel, Julian made things easy on me by going straight into the bathroom to take a hot shower. I slipped out to the lobby to make my phone call anyway. I wasn’t taking any chances.
Fletcher updated me on the sustainability campaign that Fletcher Films had launched. It sounded like a lot of marketing and very little change. He had to be spending close to a million dollars, and the odds that the news of his good deeds would reach Callum in his remote compound were slim.
“So what else do you got for me, kid?” Fletcher demanded after I’d sufficiently praised his marketing campaign. “Dirt on Lewis, I hope. I saw you at his table. Has he tried anything I should kick his ass for?”
My mouth twisted in disgust. It wasn’t just the hypocrisy of Fletcher threatening to kick someone’s ass for messing with a production assistant. It was the note of hope buried in his pathetic attempt to sound like a protective father. Nothing would make him happier than to find out Julian had forced himself on me.
“No, of course not,” I said evenly, anger mixing in with disgust. To make it more believable, I threw in the tabloid speculation I’d seen about his love life. “He’s dating that model, Shelly Monroe.”
“Huh, I thought she was a lesbian,” Fletcher said, losing interest in Julian now that he wasn’t sexually harassing me. “What do you have for me then?” There was an edge in his voice that said it had better be something.
I stared into the fake flames dancing in the electric fireplace. They were hypnotic, mesmerizing. The heat blowing out smelled burnt, like the flames were scorching the air instead of merely warming it. An idea had occurred to me last night when Callum and I were debating the various meat alternatives. A treacherous idea that bordered on terrible. I had dismissed it. I thought there was no way I could do it.