Or at the waterfall.
Or the late-night training sessions, which should be aboveboard but now feel illicit.
I search for him in the room and my eyes land on him fast.
He’s here.
Seated at the table, face unreadable. Next to him, a man I assume is his manager sits pin straight.
I swallow hard, my mind swinging wildly between best- and worst-case scenarios as I push open the conference room door and step inside. The shouting escalates.
“We’re hemorrhaging money by the minute!” someone yells.
“Has anyone spoken to Felix?”
“The press is already sniffing around—”
“Order! We need order in this meeting!” The head executive producer slams his fist on the table, making coffee cups rattle.
I press my palms together, grounding myself, and glance at the ice bucket in the center of the table. I’m tempted to place a cube in my palm, just as Dante showed me.
Four. Seven. Eight.
Ugh, this breathing is no use.
Dante finally looks up. And everything inside me unravels. Whatever happened between us yesterday feels like pretend. I need to focus. No matter how much I want to be next to him.
I settle into the chair next to Heather and Geraldine and whisper, “Status?”
“The studio’s trying to keep the movie alive, but it’s not looking good. Without a director, it’s going to be hard to justify finishing this project,” Heather explains. “Plus, whoever comes in will likely want to refilm, and that’ll mean a month’s worth of footage burnt up.”
It’s not my first project to be cut mid-production, but I’d rather take another dip in ’Gurt’s vat of yogurt than seeRobyn Hooddie.
“The set’s been a powder keg since the beginning,” someone mutters. “Bringing Felix on was a mistake.”
“We’re in too deep to pull out now,” the producer at the head of the table barks. “The budget we’ve burned through is astronomical. Three hundred crew members’ families depend on this paycheck. Felix paid back his director’s fee, but the sets alone cost an arm, a leg, and a whole fucking cadaver.”
“Shutting down production would be catastrophic,” another executive adds. “If we fail to deliver, no one will trust us with a budget of this size again.”
Their voices swirl around me like a gathering storm. I sink deeper into my chair, feeling as miniscule as I did on my first red carpet, standing there in a thrift store prom dress because I didn’t know any better and didn’t have the right team around me yet.
I didn’t know myself.
Do I know myself now? Do I know how to handle something like this?
Something inside me cracks open beneath the spinning torrent of doubt.
What would Robyn do?
That’s an easy one. She wouldn’t sit here frozen by fear. She’d take charge.
There’s no point in denying it any longer—all the method acting, the bad-girl lessons with Dante, the freedom of yesterday, and the desire to burn, to fuel, to catch fire. I have to become Robyn if I want to save this movie. “Then we find another director.” I project my voice into the room, pushing back my chair and standing.
Silence.
The same crew members who’ve been avoiding my eye on set are seeing me for the first time. I’m done playing small.
I continue, “I can call in favors.” Even as I say it, I know how impossible it sounds. Most directors are booked in advance, but I refuse to give up. “Felix never understood this film. The heart of it, the original script, the true vision. It’s all still here. We need someone who can see it through.”
