“Thanks.” Sol took the pen and deliberately crossed out his number, before turning to me. “Your digits, please.”
Shocked, I took the proffered pen and card. “Are you—”
“Before you ask, yes, I’m sure,” Sol said. “Put your New York cell and your UK number on there.”
“Sol, why not keep hold of my number too?” Ralf couldn’t hide his indignation. “Lucie is actually incredibly junior, whereas I have years of—”
“Look, when I meet someone special, I try to keep in touch with them,” Sol went on as if Ralf wasn’t talking. “You got something about you, Lucie. I’m not saying we’re gonna have sleepovers and braid each other’s hair, but thisTwin Rosesidea sounds like the sort of thing I want to be part of, so let’s stay in touch.”
“Right.” I wrote my details as best I could with a trembling hand. Was this even real? I decided not to put too much stock in it. This might not pay off; Sol could very well carry on with her stratospheric career and forget all about me. Or, she might not. She could follow through on her suggestion and give me the break I had been waiting for. Just then, Sol wascalled forward for her solo shots and I tried extremely hard to refrain from a doing a victory dance behind her back.
“You and Sol certainly get along.” Ralf’s comment interrupted my thoughts and I wheeled to face him.
“Seems like it.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, as if the notion of being friends with someone like Sol wasn’t a big deal. “And what was that about me being incredibly junior?”
Ralf spread his hands in what he probably thought was a peace-keeping gesture. “Did I lie? You are!”
“Seemed like you were offering to be point person onmyproject,” I said. “Why would you do that?”
“Lucie.” Ralf tilted his head. “I merely wanted Sol to know she had options.”
“She does,” I said. “Me. I’m one of them. The only one, in fact, when it comes toTwin Roses.”
“Yes, but do you really think you have what it takes to produce a movie for someone of her caliber?” Ralf said gently.
“I do.” I’d sat in the shadows for long enough to know that.
“Great,” he said. “Then I’ll be your biggest cheerleader. I’ll support you however you need. I hope you know that, Lucie. I mean, you don’t want Sol Rodrigues thinking you don’t know what you’re doing, right?”
I really wasn’t sure if I believed his offer of support. “So why didn’t you tell me that directly instead of trying to make Sol think I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
He frowned. “I didn’t, I merely said—”
“I heard what you said, Ralf,” I told him. “I was there. With my ears, junior as they are.”
“Is the pressure getting to you, Lucie?” he asked softly, tilting his head yet again. “The hours cooped up with Elliot in that windowless box?”
“What? No.” Despite his gentle tone, there was a thread of menace in Ralf’s words.
“So, don’t make me the enemy over this,” he said. “I was only offering to help.”
I was thrown. Had he really, genuinely been offering help and I’d misinterpreted him? Or had he seen an opportunity to further his own development at my expense? I genuinely couldn’t tell. I decided I couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him, not considering Queen Sadie was his boss. At any rate, it was very clear I couldn’t trust Ralf and I resolved on the spot to refuse his next invitation on a date.
“Thanks for offering,” I said tightly. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“Way to be a doer, Lucie,” he said, with a wink.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The day after the photocall, I sat down in the writers’ room, still pinching myself at the interaction with Sol. I was constantly checking my phone to see if she’d messaged, but to no avail. I’d told myself not to get excited and to give her a least a whole day to contact me before I started panicking it was a prank or something, but I couldn’t help fantasizing about what opportunities might come my way. It took some strength to put my phone to one side and log into my machine. At least, I tried to. As I tapped at my laptop, it became immediately clear that all was not well with my keyboard. In fact, the entire bottom half of it was not working. Although we hadn’t got any feedback from RJ yet, we only had a couple of weeks to go until the pitch; I needed this machine functioning. With a groan, I grabbed it and headed to IT. No way was I having a repeat of what happened with my script report – I’d end up booking a non-refundable flight to Barbados or something.
I poked my head in. Riley was fiddling with one of the server towers, a smear of donut glaze on her cheek. Noah was sitting at the desk, feet up and downing a can of root beer.
“What’s up, Brit?” Noah wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I raised my laptop with a grimace. “Keyboard woes.”
“Gimme.” He took it off me and began to inspect it as I signaled to Riley to check her face, which she did with a wince. After a few seconds of work, Noah turned back to me. “Faulty driver, but totally fixable.”
