“Guess we’ll be pulling all-nighters,” he said.
“Perhaps we could ask to push back the Melroy meeting?” I suggested meekly. “Because—”
“Doyouwant to ask RJ and Sadie to delay meeting with the nervous financiers?” Elliot shot back at me with a frown. “Because I don’t.”
“No, but if we rush the edits he’s requested then they won’t—”
“Lucie.” Elliot stopped. “I thought you understood thebusiness. So, this is the business. Long days, no sleep? It’s the nature of it.”
“You think I’m afraid of all-nighters?” I laughed bitterly. “Please. But you know all the changes RJ wants; it was going to be hard enough before this junket disaster happened.”
“But the script won’t get made unless all the funding is set,” Elliot said. “It’s just as important we calm Melroy down.”
“I know that but—”
“Look.” Elliot propped his hands on his hips. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but here we are. Michelle said we finish at five, we’ll come back here and put some time in. Fair?”
I nodded, relieved. After my faux pas with Melroy, there was no way I wanted to let Sadie or RJ down again.
The press junket forAll Kinds of Killinghad taken over the Clark on Twenty-Two, a prestigious hotel just blocks away from RJF. The hotel’s enormous ballroom had been partitioned into two rooms, one of which was a catering area, holding all manner of food and drinks for the journalists, bloggers and influencers who were held in the other section of the room and carefully monitored by a freelance assistant named Zarah, who wielded her clipboard with a gleeful ferocity. Next to the ballroom were two business suites that had been taken over for the actual interviews themselves. Both of them looked identical; plush armchairs had been set up in front of a floral backdrop facing an elaborate camera and monitor setup, with extensive lighting surrounding the chairs. The largest room was where Sol Rodrigues would take her interviews alongside a couple of cast members, with RJ in the other room. The space was bustling with people, including Sol’s publicist and several tired-looking glam squad members. Riley arrived minutes after us and immediately began hooking up her laptop in the corner. I was left standing alone, utterly overwhelmed.
“Are you me?” a sultry voice said from behind me. I turned. Sol Rodrigues stood there, waiting patiently as a stylist struggled to strap a watch to her wrist. Her petite frame was clad in an oversized blue suit, a cluster of twinkling brooches crowded down one lapel. Her mass of dark hair had been tamed into a slicked bun that showed off her freckled, elfin features and famous pouting lips. Despite her small stature, she was like the sun, radiating power and warmth.
“I – I’m. Hi.” What did you say to one of the world’s hottest movie stars?
“Are you me?” she repeated.
“I’m sorry, I don’t— Oh.” Then I remembered why I was here. “Yeah, I’m your stand-in for lighting.”
“Thank fuck,” she breathed. “I went hard at Pilates yesterday and sitting down is my least favorite thing right now.”
“Well, no fear, I’m here to protect your—”Do not say bum, do not say bum. She’s a movie star, do not let one of the first conversations you have with her be about her arse. “I’m here to help.”
“We love a helper,” she said with a giggle. “Do you think I can get a cushion for my chair?”
“I can get that for you,” Michelle appeared from nowhere to say, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m just the stand-in,” I said meekly. “Here to sit down and look good doing it.”
“Oh my god, you’re funny.” Sol grinned. “Say, what’s your name?” I was so surprised Sol cared to know that I was rendered temporarily speechless, and I could only stare at her. She chuckled. “It’s not a trick question.”
“Lucie,” I squeaked. “Lucie Clifton.”
She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “Sol,” she said.
“Oh, I know,” I replied. “I’ve watched all your movies. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “And you might think it’s a pleasure now, but I’m on the publicity campaign diet – black coffee and fresh air. It’s not easy. Without carbs, I transition into a rampaging bitch at a moment’s notice.” Her publicist, a tanned woman with a permanently anxious expression suddenly leaned in.
“I’d just like to clarify, no one has put Sol on any diet,” she said quickly. “She maintains a healthy lifestyle.”
“My ass.” Sol snorted.
“Sol.” The publicist stepped between Sol and me. “We have to be very mindful—”
“Lucie won’t say anything, Naya,” Sol said. “She’s a professional lighting stand-in.”
“We have a code of honor and everything,” I said solemnly. “But if you need me to smuggle some contraband pizza in or something, I will totally do that.”
