“We always have room for more,” Archer assures me. “What do you do, Lexi?”
“I’m a writer.”
Archer lifts a brow and turns to the man next to him. “Oh? Shawn’s also a writer. What do you write?”
“Novels,” I say and turn to the screenwriter, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.
“I’m not here to entertain any new projects tonight,” Shawn says, immediately cutting me off.
He thinks I’m trying to network with him? To get him to read something I’ve written and further my career?
Well, screw him.
My face goes from friendly to cold in a heartbeat. Luke sighs.
This is a fantastic way to start this working relationship.
“That’s convenient,” I say, ice dripping from every damn word. “I’m not here to pitch a project to you, Mr. O’Callaghan. I know who you are, but it’s not terribly important to me. I do fine all on my own. Have a good night, gentlemen.”
I give a curt nod and turn away, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor as I make a hasty retreat.
I want to get out of here.
The audacity! What a jerk. I was already nervous about being here. Now, I get the disappointment of knowing I have to work with a conceited ass who’s clearly completely full of himself.
“Lexi.”
I don’t turn around.
“Lexi.”
A hand lightly latches on to my elbow, and I turn to find Shawn staring down at me, his mouth set in a grim line.
“I owe you an apology. I didn’t know you were Nora, the author I’ll be working with over the next few weeks.”
“If you’d known, you would have been polite?”
He winces. “Again, I apologize. It’s been a shit day, and I was trying to avoid work talk. Not my finest moment.”
“No.” I glance down at the elbow he’s still holding hostage. He lets go. “It wasn’t. Have a good evening, Mr. O’Callaghan. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Lexi—”
But I don’t turn back. I know I’ll have cooled down by the time I see Shawn again. I won’t be embarrassed. My feet won’t be killing me.
For now, I want to hide.
I’m so far out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t find it with a map.Chapter 1~Lexi~I’m not a people person. I don’t mind people watching, but I’m much more comfortable alone in my home office.
Hanging out with the characters in my head is significantly more enjoyable than being around other humans, particularly strangers.
The engagement party Saturday night drained me completely. I spent all day yesterday in my Air BNB, watching television. Too many energies in one space drain me.
I’m better off alone.
I won’t be alone for weeks.
Every time that thought occurs to me, my stomach tightens, and I feel a panic attack rising, pacing just on the edge of my peripheral vision.
My agent—and Luke Williams himself, the owner of Williams Films—talked me into this. I didn’t want to agree to the film rights being sold to the production company at all. The thought of someone else, a stranger no less, writing the script didn’t sit well with me. The alternative, the scenario I’m currently living in, doesn’t appeal either. But Luke is a convincing man, and the money he paid for the rights was too good to pass up.
I’d suggested that the screenwriter and I work together virtually, but Luke balked at the idea and insisted that working together in person would produce the best product.
So, here I am, caution thrown to the proverbial wind, ready to make a beeline for the airport.
“Ms. Perry?” a security guard asks as I walk into the building in downtown Seattle where Williams Films is based.
“Yes.”
“Good morning, ma’am, I’m Reggie. I just need your driver’s license, and I can issue you a badge for the duration of your stay.”
“Oh.” I fumble in my bag for my wallet. “Of course. I guess I didn’t expect security to be so tight. Not that it’s a bad thing, or that I would do anything you’d need to worry about—”
I feel my face flush as the nice man towering over me at at least six-foot-five, smiles and accepts my license.
“No problem, Lexi. It’s just a formality so we know who’s supposed to be here and who isn’t.” He taps some keys and then passes the plastic card back to me. “There we go. Just clip this to your shirt whenever you’re here, and you’re good to go.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, fumbling to affix the visitor ID to my top. “I think I’m on the tenth floor?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll show you the way.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Mr. Williams asked me to escort you. Some of the spaces upstairs are a maze, so this is just easier.”
I nod in resignation and follow the big man to the elevator. We’re both quiet in the climb to the tenth floor, but when the doors open, the noise that hits us is startling.