Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle 15)

“I don’t approve.”

“I worked on that for three days straight.” He’s staring at me as if I just crawled out of a coffin and told him I’m Dracula.

“You wasted your time. I came all the way out here from Minneapolis to work with you. On my book. Do you even have a copy of it?”

“I have an electronic copy,” he says between clenched teeth.

I pull my paperback out of my briefcase. It’s full of sticky notes and dog-eared corners. Passages are highlighted. It’s gone through the wringer with me.

“I was told that you’re here as a consultant,” he says after taking a deep breath, most likely trying to keep from strangling me. “I write, you approve.”

“You were given incorrect information.”

He swears under his breath, taps on his phone, then holds it to his ear. “Hey, Luke, do you have five minutes? We’re in the conference room. Thanks.”

“Are you tattling?” I ask with a laugh.

He’s definitely looking at me now. Well, glaring is a better description.

Less than thirty seconds later, Luke walks into the room and smiles at both of us. “Good morning.”

“No, it hasn’t been,” Shawn says but shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “I was under the impression that I am writing this script, and that Lexi is here as a consultant.”

Luke starts to shake his head, but I reply before he can.

“It states in my contract that I’m the co-writer of this screenplay,” I say. “And that I have the final say.”

Luke spreads his hands. “She’s right. You’re co-writers here, Shawn. I don’t remember saying differently.”

Shawn pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Now,” Luke continues, “I have a meeting to get to. I have children at home that I referee on the daily, so I won’t be doing it here at work. You’re both professionals, brilliant at what you do, and I know the script will be excellent when you’re finished with it. I’ll expect it in one month.”

With that, he walks out of the room, leaving Shawn and I glaring at each other.

“I can’t believe you deleted all of that work without even giving it a glance.”

“I can’t believe you wrote five scenes without even speaking to me about them.”

He sighs and drags his hand down his face. “Okay. Let’s start over.”

“Excellent idea.” I reach across the table, offering Shawn my hand. “I’m Lexi.”

“Shawn,” he says, shaking my proffered palm. “Pleasure to meet you. Your book is excellent, by the way.”

I smile, and for the first time since I met him, I don’t want to strangle Shawn O’Callaghan. “Thank you.”

“Now, let’s get to work and make it into a movie, shall we?”

“Let’s.”* * *“You have to get me out of this.” I’m sitting on the bed in the bedroom of my rental, scowling at my agent, Martha, over FaceTime. “Today. Right now. Pull the plug, Martha. I’m not doing it.”

“What in the hell happened? It’s been one day.”

“Shawn O’Callaghan is a control freak and an egotistical jerk. He’s decided he’s in charge of everything, and he’s trying to change my story. I was hesitant in the beginning, but now I want nothing at all to do with this. Get me out of it.”

“That’s not possible,” she replies. “That contract is ironclad. You can give up your co-writing rights and go home, but they’ll still make the movie without you. If you leave, you have no creative control at all.”

I lean my head back in frustration. “The working conditions are so sterile. White and industrial. No pillows or cushions, no soft colors.”

“You can’t expect it to look like your office,” she says with a laugh.

“Of course, not. I know I’m being silly, Martha. I’m just so uncomfortable. I’d rather be holed up at home, writing something new.”

“Then why did you push for the creative control in the contract?”

“Because this is my story, and I want to make sure they stay true to it. I want it to become a movie that I’m proud of.”

“Luke Williams doesn’t produce duds, Lex,” she says with a laugh. “It’s only the first day. Take a deep breath, eat some chocolate, and get some sleep. Give it a chance. Maybe you and Shawn will hit your stride.”

“Or I’ll just hit him,” I mumble. “He’s so hot. It’s a waste.”

She barks out a laugh. “Stop complaining and go enjoy the personal chef and the hot coworker,” she advises. “And if it becomes unbearable, go home. Leave it to Luke.”

“I’m not quitting,” I admit with a long sigh.

“I know you’re a bit agoraphobic. And shy, as well,” she says with a gentle voice. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, take some pillows with you. Ask for a different chair. Do whatever you have to do to be comfortable.”

I nod, thinking it over. “I could probably order a few throw blankets from Amazon and have them delivered tomorrow.”