When’s the contract signing? We need to celebrate properly
Iris
You are my idol.
Brody
Does this mean you’re going to forget about us little people?
A slow, stupid smile creeps in despite the nerves jangling in my stomach. They’ve been hyped since I told them last week, but seeing the words this morning makes it feel less like a dream and more like my actual life.
Seven years of writing. Five pilots that went nowhere. An inbox full of polite “no” emails that said the same thing in slightly different fonts.
And thenSpellboundhappened.
My phone buzzes again, pulling me away from the group chat. Stella. My best friend since she took my yoga class three years ago and declared we were soulmates over post-class smoothies.
Stella
Don’t forget we’re getting drinks tonight to celebrate. And by drinks I mean YOU’RE buying because you’re about to be RICH and FAMOUS
Me
I’m not rich yet. And definitely not famous.
Stella
Details. See you at 7!
I finally peel myself out of bed. My feet hit the cool hardwood and I shiver as I shuffle to the kitchen. The electric kettle isalready full, because last night Me set it up for this morning Me. Thoughtful bitch.
I flip it on and open my laptop while I wait. Nineteen new emails since I crashed at two in the morning.
Most are trash. One isn’t.
From: Victoria Wexler
Subject: This morning – see you at 9:45!
My stomach flips so hard it feels like whiplash.
Natalie,
Confirming we’re all set for 10 a.m. at Hays & Cole. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 9:45. The contract looks great – looks like everything we negotiated is in there. Congrats!
See you soon,
Victoria
I read it twice, fingers tightening around the counter. This is real. In less than three hours, I’ll walk into the most prestigious entertainment law firm in Los Angeles and sign something that changes everything.
The kettle clicks off. I grab my mug and move on autopilot, whisking matcha and hot water until smooth before topping it off with oat milk and a little honey. The ritual steadies me. If I can make matcha, I can sign a contract.
At my desk, I curl into my chair with the mug and flip open my notebook. Pages and pages of messy notes stare back at me. Episode ideas. Character arcs. Monster-of-the-week options. I haven’t even met the room yet, and I’m already trying to break the season.
Of course I am. My brain doesn’t know how to chill; it only knows how to plan.
My phone rattles across the desk again.
