Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Exactly. And the season finale is drawing closer.” Cressida made a sweeping gesture, causing her ash-colored hair to fall forward over her shoulders. “People want spoilers. And we know you’ve had the episode written for months, but the fans don’t. They want to make their opinions known.”
“Loudly,” Harley added. His mouth twisted. I had no idea how he managed to stay all business when I was busy internally freaking out, but his tone remained steady and professional. “There’s a bullhorn involved. That could impact your shooting schedule.”
“I could go talk to them,” I offered. In the past, giving a few minor tidbits to fans worked to defuse their ardor as it gave them something new to obsess over and made them feel valued. “That might be quicker than calling the local cops.”
“We don’t need the cops.” Harley scowled down at me. “And you’re not going out there. This is nothing I can’t handle. Give me some of the swag I saw being handed out to the business owners. Guarantee I’ll have them gone or at least quiet in ten minutes.”
“You’re a miracle worker. Keely? We need some shirts and other swag, stat.” Cressida summoned one of the PAs hovering nearby, a young woman with a riot of dark curly hair. God, I hoped she hadn’t been around for Cressida’s earlier teasing. The last thing I wanted was to be a subject of show gossip.
“On it.” Keely bustled away, as efficient as all of Cressida’s protégés.
“I…uh…” I took advantage of the wait and Cressida being distracted by a different PA to try to speak to Harley. Try being the operative word. “Sorry about what you heard.”
“I didn’t hear anything, boss.” Harley gave a sharp, definitive nod.
Ah. So that was how he wanted to play it. Professional. Totally fine and probably for the best, and if I felt any sort of way about that, I needed to give myself a stern mental shake.
“Well, thanks. And here’s hoping your idea works.”
“It’ll work.” His confidence was one of the most appealing things about him, and I could easily see him on a military mission where failure wasn’t an option. I’d heard rumors he was a former SEAL, and I believed it. His combination of natural leadership skills and swagger made him an invaluable asset.
“Hope so.” I gave him what I hoped was a purely professional smile.
“And don’t listen to the haters,” he added as Keely headed back toward us with a pile of goodies. “Be true to your vision for the series end.”
“It’s still a ways off.” My tone became more animated, the awkwardness of him having heard me fading as I warmed to my favorite topic. “It will take a couple of seasons to play it all out. But I’m not telling fans the ending, even if they’ve got signs.”
“Good. Do right by Bishop.”
“You watch the show?” It wasn’t surprising that he knew the main character’s name, but his support for my vision seemed like more than a generic platitude.
“Of course.” He shrugged as he accepted the pile of stuff from Keely. “I watch all the ones I work on.”
“Oh. That’s cool.” I worked to keep my tone neutral, with no trace of disappointment that it wasn’t only our show. For a second, I’d felt special somehow. As if we had a connection, which was even less likely. While I was still mulling that over, Harley left to take care of the protesters, and true to his word, no bullhorn interrupted shooting, which went as late as I’d feared.
We cleared all nonessential personnel before filming a key kiss that would be the episode’s climax. It was one of those closely guarded secrets I loved. Part of what made Cressida and I such a good team was how she handled the business aspects so I could do what I enjoyed most: creating and overseeing story arcs.
After the kiss, I reviewed editing plans with our director and editor for the episode and took a moment with my phone to respond to some questions from the writing team, which was hard at work polishing my draft of the finale. Thus, I was one of the last people to leave the pharmacy location.
Continuing to mentally review the writers’ room messages, I was in a bit of a fog as I walked the couple of blocks to my car. The dimly lit lot was almost empty, but the lonely vibe didn’t bother me as I was mainly concerned with stowing Hercules’s bag in the passenger seat and getting home where I could return to my email. I tossed my phone and keys over to the driver’s seat before shutting the passenger-side door.
“Wallet. And keys,” a deep voice demanded as I rounded the back bumper.
The hard press of something blunt against my side yanked me away from my daydreams to the present. The very real, very dangerous present. I was alone, so alone, and in addition to the voice in my ear, two shadowy figures were advancing toward me.