CHAPTERONE
Have you ever had a moment you knew would change your life?
The moment Natasha Newberry’s desk phone beeped and the croaky voice of her boss’s personal assistant invited her to the big corner office, she knew: this was that moment.
She agreed to come right away and grabbed her leather portfolio, tucking it into the crook of her arm as one would a dear friend. Her father had lovingly cut and sewed the leather together. She brushed her fingers over her initials, hand-tooled with unmatched skill. He’d given it to her for high school graduation as a place to keep track of her hopes and dreams. Checking one off today would be fantastic.
She walked along the window-lined hallway, her black heels clipping against the cheap tile flooring made to look like Italian granite.
That was the movie business for you–inexpensive materials that looked good on camera. No one had to know that the mansion in the background was a painted piece of fabric or that the wedding cake was made of styrofoam. The magic was in the illusion. The illusion was necessary to create the world.
And the world was where love happened.
She was a sucker for a good romance. Heck, she’d take a bad one wrapped up with a Christmas ribbon and dusted with fake snow as long as it was on screen. Romance in real life was harder to come by than a pine tree on the beach.
Glancing out the window, she frowned. Snow wasn’t in the forecast for her this holiday season.
Even though it was November, the temperature was well into the seventies with a possible eighty degrees around 1:00 p.m. Going home to Virginia for all the holiday trappings, including decadent hot chocolate, sleigh rides through the fields, and eating until her stretchy pants protested wasn’t an option. It hadn’t been since her no-good, heart-stealing, text-to-break-up high school/college boyfriend had moved home and staked his claim.
Why was she wasting headspace on a cowboy with premature balding and a beer belly?
Okay, maybe he didn’t have those problems, but a girl could hope. She certainly would not check his social media feed to find out if he’d succumbed to the curses she’d wished on him the night he wrote her out of his life. Nope. She’d moved on. Way on. As in across the country.
Nat approached the corner office, her eyes sweeping over the bamboo fabric plants and reprints of famous abstract paintings on the wall. Nothing inspired filmmakers like living on set, right?
Jennifer’s PA, talking animately on the phone, motioned for her to go right in. She smiled in return and mouthed,thank you.
Jennifer Odem stood at the window, sipping a cup of coffee. She had her phone in her other hand and was texting rapidly with one thumb. The woman had some serious skills.
She also had an incredible wardrobe. The black and white houndstooth print, split back, bishop-sleeved dress hugged her curves, giving her that hourglass figure so many women craved even though she was impossibly thin. Was she wearing hip enhancers?
Nat glanced down at her lantern sleeve, mock neck, knee-length dress in solid black and zebra striped heels. She’d pulled her caramel-brown hair into a loose, low ponytail, yesterday’s barrel curls cascading over her shoulder. The pressure to dress for success was real.
“Why did you want to get into this business?” Jennifer asked, not looking up from her phone.
Natasha’s toe began bouncing like a third grader waiting for the bell to ring and start the Christmas holiday. She shifted her weight and looked up into the demanding eyes of the head producer at the Forever Love Production House.
Jennifer Odem demanded that her employees maintain as high of standards and as much energy as she did–an impossibility without vast amounts of coffee and sugar in your system, which explained the constant percolating sounds in the break room and the smile on the face of the vending machine owner when he came to empty the bills out of the machine.
It also explained why Nat’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.
Why did she want to make movies? Why did she sign up for exhausting days, with no respect, and a constantly nagging feeling she was behind?
“I want to be a storyteller.”
For as long as she could remember, Natasha devoured stories. It didn’t matter if she heard the story over a campfire or through an audiobook, or if she read them in a book, newspaper, or magazine, or if she saw it on a television special, a sitcom, or a movie. Story fed her soul.
She’d loved reading so much that her parents had to ground her from fiction until she finished her homework. She’d written several books and two movie scripts that languished on her hard drive until she could build a name for herself in the company.
Judging by the way Jennifer’s sharp green eyes bore into her at the moment, she was closer to being fired than asked to submit a manuscript.
“Storytellers are all fine and good,” Jennifer responded. “But what the world needs, what Forever Love Production Houseneeds,is writers, actors, and a crew who can destroy a person’s belief in love.”
Natasha’s mouth fell open, and she stared. “I’m sorry. Did you saydestroy?”
“Yes. Destroy with a capital D.” Jennifer leaned against her desk and picked up her coffee mug. She took a long pull while waiting for Nat to digest the information she’d shoved down her throat. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair.
Thankfully, Nat moved without having to think about it. Destroy love? “B-but… our mission statement is: We believe anyone can fall in love.” Sweet romances–the candy-coated kind–were thick foundational blocks for the company. They brought in billions selling feel-good movies and books to an audience (94% female and 6% male) who wanted the pathway to love paved with long walks in a snow globe of happiness. But they made romcoms, holiday romances, sweet mysteries, and light-hearted entertainment movies.
