Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I smile, not rising to the bait. “I had a very good job at Sony, in LA. I moved here because my ex-wife got a job and I wanted to be close to our daughter.”
Her expression falters—softening—before she reaches for her water. “Why did you agree to take on this show? Coastal climate change to a reality dating show? Not really a natural transition.”
“It was assigned to me.”
“So, you’re being forced.”
I go for honesty. We barely know each other, but I can already sense I don’t want to be caught lying to this woman. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice, no.”
“Are you at all excited about it?”
I reach for my water, taking a sip as I formulate an answer that is both honest and encouraging. “I’ll say this much: I’m truly glad you came on board.”
This makes her grin widely, brightly. “I know you are. You said yes to all my ridiculous requests.”
“If you thought they were ridiculous,” I say, setting my glass down, “why did you make them?”
“Because they’re hilarious. They’ll make the show different. Fun. We could all use a little more fun.” I can’t disagree there. “You said at our first meeting that one of the reasons you’ve brought me on is because our audiences intersect almost entirely. Tell me a little about this audience.”
“About eighty percent of the people watching dating shows identify as female ages eighteen to fifty-five, but about half of them are over forty-five. This is similar to the readership of romance novels. A third of all fiction sales are romance, and about forty percent of that market is women over forty-five, meaning a whopping twelve percent of all pure fiction sales are women over forty-five reading romance.” I pause, wondering what else she wants me to say. “It hasn’t been my demographic, historically, but I’m trying to learn.”
Fizzy’s gaze has an intensity I’ve seen in some of the most powerful executives in Hollywood. “What does that mean?”
She isn’t being harsh, but I still don’t like being put on the defensive, don’t like how carefully I need to tread here because she hasn’t officially signed the contract yet and I need this before I let her leave today. After going over Fizzy’s ideas, Blaine gave me two months of preproduction, with five weeks of filming, the finished episodes airing at the end of each week. That means crash editing every week. I’ve never made something with this kind of editorial pressure before. We’ve already spent so much time waiting for her terms and running everything through our legal department. I can’t start over again.
“It means I’m learning this the way I learn about any new audience,” I tell her. “Market research. In this case, studying what other things that audience does in their free time.”
She stifles a smirk and I lean back in my chair, inhaling deeply, getting my bearings. “Ask what you really want to ask me, Fizzy.”
“I don’t want to sign up to do this if your only research here is reading Nielsen reports. The documentaries you’ve made help convince me that your heart is in the right place, but why you? Why this? Why you for this?”
“It seems the company is taking a new direction.” I shrug, choosing transparency: “We’re small. There are only a few of us. That’s probably why me.”
“Have you read anything I’ve written, or did you ask me because your ex-wife had some of my books on her shelf?”
“I’m finishing Base Paired right now. It’s funny, sexy, creative, and…” I trail off, searching for the word that eludes me. I began reading per Nat’s instructions, looking for what it is about romance she loves so much, trying to find that kernel that has built such a huge following for Fizzy. If I can understand it, I think, I’ll be able to unlock what we need to make this show a success.
“And?” Fizzy prompts sardonically, like she’s expecting an insult to wrap up my list.
“Joyful.” It comes out in a burst. “There’s a lot of joy in your writing.”
I can see I’ve hit something important. She leans forward, happier now. “Yes. Now we’re getting somewhere. Romance is joyful. What brings you joy?”
“My daughter. My work, historically speaking.” I dig around for something that makes me sound more dimensional, but sitting here with this bestselling author talking about joy and connection makes my life feel like a lather, rinse, repeat of arid routine. “Watching footie. Mountain biking. Exercise.”
As I speak, I see her point: none of this really qualifies me to speak specifically to this audience. It’s true that, other than my time with Stevie, nothing in my life brings me outright joy anymore. Most of it, I realize, is a way to pass time when I’m alone, and none of it is about seeking connection.
I think about the chapter in her book I read last night. It was a love scene where, afterward, the heroine admitted that she was afraid of how fast things were moving. It wasn’t that this type of conflict felt groundbreaking, but the way it was written with such vulnerability and self-awareness after the most scorching sex scene I’d ever read left me feeling pensive all night. Fizzy is the playful, wisecracking alter ego, but I’m beginning to see that Felicity Chen is smart—brilliant, clearly—and I must give her more than just a confident smile and measured responses. She reads people expertly, and right now she needs to be convinced she won’t be stuck with a two-dimensional Hollywood stereotype.