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Reece
I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’ve only had three face-to-face conversations with Lucía and the lines are already blurring. I’m seeing her less as my screenwriter and more as Lucía Vega, the sexiest, smartest, most driven, and most sincere woman I’ve ever met.
I don’t know why I offered to teach her how to swim. It means I’ll have my hands on her . . . while she’s wearing a bathing suit. I’ll need to beat one out every morning before I go meet her just to get through the lessons.
I can’t believe she doesn’t know how to swim. You can’t live in California and not. Our lifestyle requires you be comfortable being in the water: days at the beach, out on the boat, pool parties. So, I really am doing her a favor.
I meant it when I said I wanted us to break the ice. We can talk about the screenplay and discuss policy. I can make sure the screenplay is on track. I didn’t plan on being so attracted to Lucía. But it’s just a physical attraction. I’m not an animal. I can handle this. So swimming, yoga and talking. It should all go well.
I just wrapped up a status meeting on one of our productions. We’re still under budget, but our lead has been getting some bad press for a DUI he just picked up. I don’t understand these actors. It makes me not want to take risks on unknowns, but this kid was perfect for the role. I had our executive producer talk to him. I’ve given him advice, introduced him to financial planners and hired him an excellent personal assistant. But apparently, that was all in vain.
They get a lucky break. A once in a lifetime chance that millions would sell their soul for. Instead of keeping their heads down and working hard, they take their first check, the first real money they’ve ever had, and buy a house and car they can’t really afford, start drinking excessively, some even fall into drug use. It’s all such a headache.
I’m just hanging up when Liza comes rushing into my office. Her blond corkscrew curls are more disheveled than normal and I can see she’s flushed even under the layers of makeup she wears every day.
“Reece, you need to get to the second floor. The writers are screaming at each other.” She sounds panicked, and beckons me to follow her.
I step into the hallway and am greeted by silence. “Hurry and get down there, Reece. They sound pissed,” she says as she rushes after me.
I stop and turn to face her. I look at her and realize that what I thought was panic, is actually excitement. I narrow my eyes at her. “I can’t hear anything, Liza.”
She lifts her chin and shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I could… when I rode the elevator down there.” She has the grace to blush when I shake my head at her. “What? Annelle called and told me she was afraid they were going to start brawling. Come on, we’re missing it,” she says, grabbing my arm, practically pulling me toward the stairs.
“Wait here.”
She frowns at me but says, “Fine. I’ll just get the highlights from Annelle.” And walks off in a huff.
I suck in a deep breath as I head to the stairs. As soon as I reach the door for the second floor, I hear it.
They aren’t screaming, what I hear is more like a bellow. I glance at my watch. It’s ten in the morning. They haven’t even been working for two hours. What the fuck could have happened?
I walk into the suite and gape at the scene in front of me.
The two staff screenwriters, the so-called professionals, are standing on either side of her desk from one another yelling in each other’s faces. The only person not screaming is Lucía. She’s sitting at her desk typing away like nothing’s happening.
I walk over to the desk and when the two see me, they stop speaking mid-word.
“Mr. Carras. He’s being ridiculous.”
“Reece, tell this shithead that I’ve actually read the book and understand it.”
They speak simultaneously.
“Both of you just stop talking,” I say in a scathing tone. Their shoulders slump at the same time and they comply.
I pull up a chair and sit next to Lucía. She doesn’t look at me or even stop typing, but I can see that jaw working. “Lucía, can you tell me what’s going on?”
I put a hand on her arm and she finally stops and looks up at m
e. The expression in her eyes is pained and she seems to be trying to tell me something. But I don’t know her well enough to understand what it is she wants to convey. Even if I did, I wouldn’t let her avoid this confrontation. If she can’t be direct with her team, then she’ll never get this screenplay written. I know Todd and Dan have different approaches to this story; I heard their pitches when I hired them. But, they’re also the talent I need for this project.
“You’re going to have to tell me, Lucía.” I use the same tone I used with the men. I won’t coddle her. I won’t make this easy for her. She’ll have to toughen up. Quickly.
She purses her lips in frustration and shuts her eyes for a few seconds. She opens, them, runs a hand through her hair, glances back at her screen and takes what appears to be a fortifying inhale.
“Well, Todd thinks we should start the story on the night of Julio’s death. Dan thinks we should start the story with the family’s arrival to the United States. Show a dramatic river crossing and have the father drown and die in that scene.” Reciting words she’s clearly heard repeatedly.
I glance up at them and nod to the chairs that are across from me.
