Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I don’t know why she wants me to face the past though. No amount of writing can change what happened to my sister late one summer night.
Or what I told her before she left the house.
Or what my father said to me months later.
On Wednesday, Bridger raps on my door and I look up from my laptop to greet him, adjusting my black glasses. “How were your meetings in Los Angeles?”
“Terrific,” he says offhand like he’d rather discuss something else. “Do you have a second?”
Nerves fly down my spine.
He’s firing me.
He’s reprimanding me.
“Of course,” I say, masking my worries with a smile.
“I was hoping you could join me this afternoon when I meet with some new execs at Streamer.”
Oh, thank god.
I handle production coordination for a couple of our shows, but none are carried on Streamer. “Sure. But I’m curious why?”
And I’m hopeful. He’s dropped breadcrumbs. But I’ve tried not to eat them or let them fill me up. I don’t want to hope and then lose out.
“Because I’d like to add a show to your list. It’ll come with a small pay raise. Would you want to handle production coordination for The Rendezvous?”
“I would very much like that,” I say, and I don’t try to contain my glee. I can’t. This is the it show. I’ve been dying to work on it but figured I’m too junior.
“Fantastic,” he says, then gives a sheepish smile. “That’s why I had you read the scripts. I was hoping to make the move, but I just needed to be sure there was an open producer assignment and there is.”
“I’ve been researching Paris and the neighborhoods where the show takes place. I feel like I could lead a tour through Montmartre,” I say, touting myself. My dad would be proud.
“Great. I knew you’d be ready to hit the ground running. Or the cobblestones, I should say.” He tugs up the cuff of his ruby-red shirt. “We’ll meet the execs for lunch at noon.”
“I’m there,” I say.
We take a Lyft to McCoy’s, a popular deal-making steakhouse in midtown. Along the way, we chat about the show, the shoot, and the fast-paced schedule, then Bridger segues to lunch. “Oh, and about McCoy’s. Just wanted to reassure you they have more than steaks,” Bridger says when we reach the restaurant with the emerald-green awning. “Harlow says the pasta and salads are amazing.”
It’s kind of him to think about the way I eat. It’s one of the things I appreciate about my boss. But I don’t want him to worry about me. “Sides are the best,” I say as we slide out of the car.
“Harlow says the same.” On the way to the door, his phone buzzes. “One second,” he tells me, stopping to slide a thumb across the screen. Then glances at me. “I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it or not, but your father is here.”
That’s odd. “He works with Streamer?” I ask, but then again, his client list is one of the many things my dad doesn’t share with me.
“He does some work for one of the execs,” Bridger explains as we head into the oak-paneled eatery. The lights are low, and he scans the booths before the hostess can say hello.
“There they are.” Bridger points to a far corner where he must have spotted the Streamer execs. He’s very focused, always on alert and fast on the draw.
We make our way across the restaurant. My work with Shira has helped me deal with anxiety about the unexpected, but no amount of therapy could prepare me for when my gaze lands on the people we’re meeting.
My father and Finn.
16
HIS TYCOON ATTITUDE
Jules
They say life is full of surprises.
This is not the kind of surprise I wanted when Bridger offered me the gig I’d been craving. Judging from the way Finn’s brow furrows, he wasn’t expecting to see me either. My dad probably knew, though, but couldn’t say anything to me for confidentiality reasons.
Still, years of practice being the good girl kick in as I smile uber-professionally while Bridger talks. He knows my father, obviously, so with a laugh, he says, “Tate, of course you know Jules. What you might not know is she’s on The Rendezvous production team as of”—he makes a show of looking at his watch—“three hours ago.”
Excitement flickers in my dad’s eyes briefly, then he rearranges his features into his cop face—all stoic and in control. But I’ve seen him when he’s not stoic. When he’s broken and falling to pieces. I’ve seen him on the worst days of his life. I try to erase those horrible images.
“Fantastic news,” my father says. “So glad my Julia has become so invaluable.” He means well, but it makes me feel like the kid at the table. I already feel that way with these three men. It’s hard to miss the divide in age between them and me, as well as the divide in experience.