Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle #15) - Kristen Proby Page 0,2

there will still be an issue.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Look,” Reggie says as he flips a switch. Suddenly, the windows are opaque, and I can no longer see through them.

“That’s pretty high-tech.”

“Only the best at Williams Films,” the security guard says with a wink. “Shawn should be here soon. In the meantime, get comfortable. If you need anything to eat or drink, just go talk to Chef in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Reggie.”

“You bet. Holler if you need anything.”

I need a lobotomy. Because as cool as I’m sure all of Luke’s employees think this place is, it’s absolutely terrifying for me. So many people. So much noise.

Good God, how does anyone get anything done?

I leave the windows frosted and turn to the workspace. It’s a pretty normal conference room with a massive table in the center and chairs arranged around it. A television is mounted to the wall. There’s a credenza off to the side that I’m sure holds snacks and coffee during meetings.

For now, there’s a fresh pitcher of ice water and glasses set out.

I pour myself a glass and start unpacking my briefcase—computer, notebook, pens.

It’s my deepest wish that Shawn and I get along today. That we can put our rocky start on Saturday behind us and work together well and efficiently.

I check the time.

He’s late.

Not just a couple of minutes late, either.

Shawn O’Callaghan, screenwriter extraordinaire, is thirty minutes late.

I sigh and sit in one of the chairs and then frown.

Has anyone ever sat in this chair? It’s stiff and uncomfortable. Similar to the entire room.

“Oh, Lexi, what have you gotten yourself into?” I mumble to myself.

“Sorry I’m late,” Shawn says as he bustles into the room, sets his briefcase on the table, and immediately starts emptying it. “There was a delay with the ferry.”

“The ferry?”

“Yes. And then traffic was murder.”

I’m intrigued by the ferry. I’ve never been on one. “Why were you on a ferry?”

“Because I live on one of the islands across the Sound,” he replies and rubs his hand over his face.

He’s striking, more handsome than I remember him being.

And he has yet to look at me.

Maybe he’s unsure of his footing because of Saturday. This is silly. I need to assure him that this is a new day. We’ll just start fresh.

There’s no need to be uncomfortable around each other.

I open my mouth to say exactly that when Shawn logs into his computer and hits me with, “I already wrote the first five scenes. You can just go ahead and skim them and approve, and we can move on.”

And just like that, my goodwill goes right out the damn window.

My eyes narrow.

My blood boils.

He still hasn’t looked my way.

“Shawn?”

“Hmm?” He turns to me then, those green eyes intense as he stares at me with expectation.

“We’re supposed to be writing this script together.”

“I got a head start. I figured there was no harm in digging in early. Save us some time.”

I sit back in the painfully uncomfortable chair and cross my arms over my chest.

“What?” he asks. “I did us both a bloody favor.”

His Irish accent is thicker when he’s irritated. Otherwise, I don’t hear much of a lilt in his voice at all.

It’s sexy and annoying, all at the same time.

Without another word, I take Shawn’s laptop from him. Rather than read a word of what he’s written, I highlight it all and hit delete, then pass it back to him.

“What the fuck did you just do?” he demands.

“I don’t approve.”

“I worked on that for three days straight.” He’s staring at me as if I just crawled out of a coffin and told him I’m Dracula.

“You wasted your time. I came all the way out here from Minneapolis to work with you. On my book. Do you even have a copy of it?”

“I have an electronic copy,” he says between clenched teeth.

I pull my paperback out of my briefcase. It’s full of sticky notes and dog-eared corners. Passages are highlighted. It’s gone through the wringer with me.

“I was told that you’re here as a consultant,” he says after taking a deep breath, most likely trying to keep from strangling me. “I write, you approve.”

“You were given incorrect information.”

He swears under his breath, taps on his phone, then holds it to his ear. “Hey, Luke, do you have five minutes? We’re in the conference room. Thanks.”

“Are you tattling?” I ask with a laugh.

He’s definitely looking at me now. Well, glaring is a better description.

Less than thirty seconds later, Luke walks into the room and smiles at both of us. “Good