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)
The smug glee in Fletcher’s voice shouldn’t have made his words land in my heart like a volley of tiny arrows, but somehow it did. I opened my mouth to say something about how he’d finally succeeded in erasing the final legal connection we had, but then I stopped myself. There was no point.
“That still doesn’t explain how you’re going to get me the job,” I said after a moment. “If you can’t use your connections…”
“Oh, I can use my connections. Don’t worry. Right now, my secretary is turning your resume into a work of art, okay? A couple of directors owe me a couple of favors, so they’re going to swear on their lives that you were an invaluable production assistant. Best they ever had.”
I could tell by the way Fletcher was talking faster, his voice breezier, that he was wrapping up the conversation. I hadn’t said no, so he was taking it as a yes by default.
“It’s not illegal is it?” I asked before he could segue into his inevitable ‘walking into a meeting, call you back’ sign off.
Fletcher scoffed loudly. “Hell no. Besides, he’ll never find out, will he? You’ll only be around for a couple of months. Then the job ends, and you have a legitimate job for your resume and a golden ticket reference, if you impress Julian.”
“And you get…” I frowned at Camper, not entirely sure what Fletcher got out of it.
“I get the information I need.”
“Which is?”
Fletcher blew out an aggravated breath, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to wrap this up as quickly and easily as he thought. “Okay, you want the details? I want to buy the rights to Callum O’Conner’s latest book, but that asshole Lewis is already making his pitch. Luckily, O’Conner is a fucking lunatic and turned him down, but Lewis isn’t going to give up. So, I need to know exactly how he’s planning to approach O’Conner, and if I can’t get that, I need dirt. Shit I can leak to the press that’ll get back to O’Conner’s agent that will push O’Conner toward me, okay?”
He was practically spitting out his ‘okays’ now, and I could tell that, illegitimate daughter he needed a favor from or not, he was going to turn nasty if I prolonged this. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, stroking Camper and thinking. It didn’t feel right, but you know what? Neither did going on a million interviews that were already promised to someone else. And really, what did I have to lose?
“I’ll do it,” I said in a rush before my mind could flip flop again. “Just tell me where to go.”
4
JULIAN
It would be an understatement to say that Miller was pissed off when I showed up at the skatepark and told him I’d be hiring his next production assistant.
“I hire my own assistants,” he muttered, shading his eyes against the setting sun and staring at the sole figure flying around the concrete bowl.
“You fire them, too. Or they quit. I need someone who’s going to last.”
“I hire my own,” he repeated in his monosyllabic way.
I repressed an aggravated sigh. My dad was right. Geniuses were a pain in the ass. “You can hire your own assistant,” I said. “A production assistant works for me, too, and I’m hiring the next one.”
Miller turned slowly, his hand still shading his eyes. He stared at me with his expressionless brown gaze.
I stared back, running through the moves in my mind. I could threaten to pull funding, but Miller knew I was personally invested. I could–
“Fine,” Miller said abruptly, and turned his gaze back to Michio. “This kid is going to win the gold. In real life, I mean,” he added. “But if he doesn’t, he will in this film.”
I jerked my shoulders up to my ears reflexively and looked around for wood to knock on. We were sitting on a concrete bench, though, surrounded by concrete ramps and bowls. The nearest tree was thirty feet away. “Don’t jinx it,” I cautioned.
Miller snorted. He didn’t believe in luck or fate or curses or anything that wasn’t black and white.
“I’m going to start the interviews tomorrow. I’d like you to be there.” I’d already checked–Michio had a day off, and Miller didn’t have any plans to shoot B roll.
“I’m going surfing,” he said automatically. “I need to think.”
“We’ll do it after.”
Miller sent me an aggravated, sidelong glance.
“You’re not getting out of this,” I told him. “If you’re surfing from sun up to sun down, we can do it another day.”
With a disgruntled grunt, he said he could be at my office by one. I made a mental note to set up for two and stood up. Michio was coming up as I was leaving, sweat glistening on his broad, tan forehead, his dark hair slicked back from his damp face. His helmet was in one hand, his board dangling from the other.