I eye him, wondering if he’s telling me the truth.
“Then feel free to apologize now,” I say.
“Nah.” He purses his lips. “We’re past that.”
The need to slap him is back in full force. Actually, I’m not sure the feeling ever dissipated.
This is just like Luke. He hasn’t changed at all in the past two years. I don’t know what’s more annoying: the fact that he hasn’t changed, or that he can still get under my skin.
I look up at the ceiling briefly, long enough to realize this is futile and I need to get on with this meeting. This little jaunt down memory lane is a waste of time.
I pull my phone out of my purse and open up my notes app.
“Right, so everything you’ll need—the press contact list, approved talking points River has been using, all statements that have already gone out, and the studio contact information—has been sent over to you.”
“Yeah,” he says, giving me a quick, resigned nod.
I look back down at my phone, using my thumb to scroll through the notes Tessa and I worked on after going through River’s file. Surprisingly, I learned some things about him. I knew he was a nepo baby—famous since birth with two A-list parents—but unlike most actors born with a silver spoon in their mouths, he’d actually paid his dues, working in theater first before landing bigger roles that led him to the part of Kaelric.
“River has two outstanding interview requests you’ll need to answer for,” I start. “He’s got a commitment to be at a charity event for the studio, and then a panel at FableCon in August for the show, and the season-four press junket in September.”
I look up to see Luke nodding. He’s not writing anything down, which is annoying, but also not my problem.
I scroll farther down in my notes, my eyes quickly scanning over the words.
“As for the breakup, the studio wants this handled quietly. No drama, nothing to threaten the show. I’d also flag that both clients have morality clauses. Just so we’re both clear on what’s at stake.”
Morality clauses make all this tricky. If either Bailey or River become a liability, the studio has grounds to reduce pay or recast. Which is why Simone couldn’t postpone this meeting. We need to get ahead of this story before it takes off on its own.
“We’re aware,” Luke says.
“Great,” I say, giving him a tight smile. “Then all we need to do is come up with a joint statement. Public sentiment is neutral right now, as far as Brandwatch is showing, and we need to keep it that way.”
At least it was when I checked the tracking software this morning.
“Right,” Luke says. “My client’s only request is that it doesn’t sound like damage control. It needs to feel mutual and genuine.”
“That’s . . . also how my client wants this to be handled.”
I actually have no idea how Bailey wants this to be dealt with, since I’m not her point of contact at the firm—Simone is. But considering the studio doesn’t want drama, I’m going to have to make assumptions here.
“Good,” Luke says. “Draft something, and I’ll let you know if it works.”
I squint at him. “How aboutyoudraft something, andI’lllet you know if it works.”
“Sure,” he says.
Hold on a second. That was too easy. Is this some sort of game? A power play? Should I take it back and tell him we’ll draft it? Yes.That way, we have control over the narrative. But wait . . . what if he knew I’d be suspicious and he’s using reverse psychology to get out of doing it?
Crap. What would Simone do?
I internally cringe. Simone would have shown up here, her hair pulled into the tight bun she always wears, her clothing perfectly tailored, with a draft already written. Come on, Claire. This was a rookie mistake.
“Actually, we’ll handle it,” I say. It’s what Simone would want. And even though it’s probably letting Luke win, Simone’s reputation is my top priority.
“Okay, fine,” Luke quickly agrees.
I hate him.
