seriously need the name of this place. This is freaking delicious.”
The ladies clinked their glasses together as Elle pondered all the ways in which she would change her attitude to improve her life. She was finished clinging to her past like she had planned to do that night. She was thirty-five now. It was time for her to enjoy the blessings of her life and she vowed to begin the very next day.
You what?” Elle shrieked, rising to her feet. One of her fists crashed into her coffee cup, and it plummeted to the floor. The ceramic cracked into several pieces and the piping-hot beverage spewed onto her floral office rug.
Her assistant, Nicole, flung her notepad and pen into the air and sprinted out the door. Elle and Rob watched as she flew from the room.
“What the hell?” Rob mumbled under his breath, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the open door.
“Focus, Rob,” Elle snapped before glaring at Nolan Rivera, who sat in her office chair, avoiding eye contact. His tan cheeks were turning a dark shade of crimson as his fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. “Nolan, what on earth—”
“Unfortunately, Nolan simply has too many offers on the table,” Shane Crawley, Nolan’s agent, interrupted, instead of allowing Nolan to speak for himself and defend his bombshell of a decision. Nolan was leaving the show, and there was nothing Elle could do to stop it. Hollywood was a machine—one that was constantly changing, evolving, and screwing over television writers like herself.
“What kind of offers?”
“Film mostly.” Shane crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was a portly man with more hair on his arms than the top of his head. His smug demeanor sent Elle’s anger through the roof. She ignored him, turning her attention back to Nolan, who was watching her from the corner of his eye.
“I don’t understand. You’re a star. This show gave you a name.”
“I’m sorry.” He shrugged, pursing his lips together. “It’s time for me to move on.”
“That was a scripted answer. Just be honest with me.”
“My client owes you no explanation. His contract is up this spring and he’s choosing to explore other opportunities. End of story.”
Elle looked to Rob for support. When he offered a meager shrug, Elle was instantly irritated that he didn’t seem nearly as shaken up by this as she was. He was the director of the show—he should have been incensed!
Elle plopped back into her leather chair, her breathing ragged as she struggled to calm down. Nicole whirled back into the room, rolls of paper towels in her lanky, tan arms. She threw herself to the carpet and covered the coffee with towels.
“Sorry I took so long,” she whispered.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Elle responded, holding her hand to her chest, her eyes pressed tight as she struggled to focus. “Well, gentlemen, I guess we’re done here.” Elle stood, walked to the door, and opened it, ready to usher Nolan and his agent out of her office. Her gesture was received loud and clear. Nolan and Shane said their good-byes and left the office. Just before closing the door, Nolan peeked back inside.
“I really am sorry, Elle.”
“Just go.” She knew his apology was genuine, but it was impossible for her not to take his departure personally. This show was her baby, her creation, and he was threatening its success.
“So what do we do?” Elle asked Rob. The idea of Nolan Rivera leaving Follow the Sun made Elle’s skin sweat, her heart race, and her mind swirl. The fourth season was set to start filming in just a few short weeks.
Panic.
Total and utter panic.
“He’s obligated to stay until the end of the season. Then, we’ll just write him off,” Rob said.
“He’s the main character,” Elle snapped, glaring at Rob. Did he not realize that losing the male lead would completely destroy the storyline?
Rob rose from his chair and walked to Elle’s desk, easing his bottom onto the corner of the mahogany wood. He crossed his arms in front of his thin chest and crossed one leg over the other, leaning in toward Elle. She was used to this routine. He’d perch on her desk and act like a wise sage, guiding her to a resolution, then convince her she’d come up with it all on her own. He meant well, but sometimes, Elle just wanted him to be real with her—have a frank conversation, not a politically correct one from a Hollywood script.