Her comment raises eyebrows for both Kyle and Simon. I know what she means, but she certainly makes it sound like Daniel and I have been on a date or something. All of a sudden, her aside about seeing Daniel in the office makes sense, though I wish she’d just been blunt about it so I didn’t have to wonder. It’s not the first time I feel like Lelani is sometimes playing a game I’m too dumb to realize I’m even playing.
I frown but force myself to attempt some of Lelani’s charm instead of my normal fluster. “Ah, yes, Daniel. It was nice to meet you at the drag show, I’m looking forward to our work together for the movie.” I stop short of being overly elaborate about how we’d met, steering clear of “she doth protest too much.” It mostly works; Kyle and Simon turn back to Daniel while I finish putting down all my things at my desk.
“Daniel and I are longtime friends,” Lelani explains with a smile. “And Genius is excited about teaming up for this movie with the production company. MG, when you’re ready, I’ll meet with you and Daniel briefly to get you started.”
“No problem,” I say, adjusting the hem of my black T-shirt over the Millennium Falcon skirt I’d chosen for that day. It is a problem; I’m behind in getting this dialogue and beat outline to Kyle, and I had a ton of work to do besides today, but I’m not going to say no to Lelani. I need her to see I’m up for this new commitment.
I follow Lelani’s suit-clad form into the conference room, shoving my folder of work into Kyle’s hands as I pass. Daniel is dressed more casually in dark jeans and a button-down white shirt, the effect being very “John Cho in Selfie.” He cleans up amazingly well; I’d be hard pressed to recognize him on the street as the same man I’d met at the show.
I choose to sit across from Daniel with Lelani at the head of the table. Mere moments after sitting in our chairs, Lelani’s phone begins to buzz. With an irritated look, she silences it and turns to us.
“MG, I have some paperwork for you to sign for the production company.” She pulls a sheaf of papers out of a neat leather folder and pushes them across the table to me. I dutifully pretend to read them while secretly eyeballing Daniel across the table. So far, zero weirdness for how we met the other night, which is a relief.
He and Lelani make polite chit-chat while I sign my life away on several dotted lines. Nondisclosure blah blah blah. Basically, I won’t be able to tell anyone outside my immediate team anything that comes of my work on the movie until the movie is released.
Lelani’s phone buzzes again, and she growls. I pity that phone for the look she throws it. “I’ve got to take this, I guess. I’m so sorry for my rudeness.” She stalks from the room with all the predatory grace of a pissed-off lioness.
I watch her go with fascination. It’s rare to see Lelani with any feathers ruffled. I have to wonder if it was more than just a persistent phone. Maybe a text from a secret ex-lover. No, wait. I frown. A secret ex-lover could be Matteo, and now all I can think about is how Matteo has been distant and cranky. And then all I can do is imagine what sorts of texts Matteo would send to Lelani.
“Earth to MG.” Daniel waves his hands in front of my eyes, and I start.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” I say, sitting back and rubbing my arms. “I totally spaced out.”
“Happens all the time. I work with writers, I know the face.”
“The face?”
“Yeah, where you’re dreaming up stuff out of the ether.”
I laugh. “Any guy who uses the word ‘ether’ must be a writer himself.” And he’s right about making stuff up. Back in my real mind and body, I know my suspicions of Matteo and Lelani are completely unfounded.
“Nah,” Daniel smiles, and I find myself watching the crinkle of laugh lines in the corners of his dark eyes more than I should. “I just work with a lot of them. In fact, that’s our first meeting.”
I force my attention back to the table as he slides another few papers in my direction. It’s a schedule. Correct that—pages and pages of scheduled meetings. I try not to let my panic show on my face as I stare down at a column of days and times that are suddenly eaten up with this new project. What was I expecting? To keep my current schedule and just magic the work for this project? But staring at the list of dates makes my palms sweat, and I’m in serious danger of having a full-on early–Radioactive Man internal meltdown.
Daniel must think I’m studying the list to be thorough and plows on as if I’m not having an internal come-to-Jesus meeting. “So, this week we’ll start the writers’ meetings. Most of the storyboard and screenplay is set, but they’re still tweaking, and I’d like to have you present for feedback on some of the critical story lines. Canon checks. Stuff like that.”
I glance at the top of the list. These start this Friday. No rest for the wicked, I guess. I pull out my phone and start frantically entering dates and times.
“And then here”—Daniel leans across the table, and I catch a waft of subtle cologne—“are the dates for the costume meetings, and then on the second page are the set-visit dates for the iconic scenes where we want to have someone on hand familiar with the franchise to catch big mistakes.”
I’m still thinking about the cologne. Not woodsy, exactly. Something familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.
“Don’t worry,” he says, again misreading my silence for contemplation of the topic at hand instead of his cologne. “You won’t need to do a lot, basically just listen to what we’re doing and be available for questions. Costumes in particular are a place where I’m involved quite a bit at work, and Lelani thinks that’s a particular interest area as well for you.”
My eyebrow raises. “Costumes are of particular interest to your job?”
“Well, yes, I need to make sure they can function in a fight.”
I am intrigued. “I just realized I have no earthly idea what it is that you do for the production team,” I admit. “Is it terrible I assumed you were just a liaison? Like administrative? Check-the-boxes kind of guy?”
Which, as I look at him, relaxed in his jeans and work shirt, is utterly ridiculous. I’m usually great at reading people, and Daniel is not a sit-behind-a-desk person.
“Production assistant and specialist in combat choreography,” he answers, smile still in evidence, with a mock mini bow and flourish. I refuse to acknowledge the dimple in his left cheek that has emerged. I’m too busy picking my proverbial jaw off the floor.
“Combat choreography? That. Is. Awesome,” I manage. “The coolest.” And then I realize that I sound like a fourteen-year-old girl, and I snap my mouth shut for a moment. “Er, I mean, what a fascinating line of work. How did you get started in it?” I shove aside the schedule, so as better to rest my elbows on the table.
“This is actually only my second film on my own,” Daniel admits. “I came to the silver screen by way of the theater. Worked for a big-name choreographer for years out of college. My first movie solo—indie movie, probably nothing you’ve heard of—is actually where I met Lelani. And it’s through her I landed this gig, actually.”
Lelani, the patron saint of careers, apparently. Interesting. “What other movies have you done?”
“I mostly do stage combat choreography. Dance routines, fencing demonstrations. I did a pretty sweet combat scene for New York Comic-Con once, but the Star Wars Experience for Rogue One was maybe my favorite I’ve worked on.”
I can’t raise my eyebrows any more, so I just gape at him instead. “You do . . . Star Wars choreography?”
“Lightsaber duels, that sort of thing. It’s my specialty, but I don’t always get to use it. More often it’s pirate sword fights, or mixed martial arts for camera.”
“You have the best job ever.”
“It is pretty cool.” He smiles.
“Where did you learn all that? You look so young!” I flush, hoping he won’t take this as impertinence or overt personal interest.
“Not as young as I look, but I started dance and martial arts when I was little, in Seoul. When we moved to California,
it was a way for me to develop a community, so I kept dancing. The break-dancing movement was pretty strong at the time, and my high school had like five thousand kids, where my dance studio had only twenty. Way better odds for developing friends. I just never . . . stopped.”
“I always wanted to learn to dance,” I confide. “I’m hopeless. I have seven left feet. Truthfully, my dog is more graceful than I am, and he’s—”
“A corgi! I know. I love those little dogs,” Daniel finishes.
I must look alarmed because he continues, “Lawrence has a picture of you guys in his apartment.”
“Do you have a dog, then?” This was a subject I could bond over. My love for Trog ran true and deep.
“No, my mother had Jack Russells when I was growing up; I always wanted a corgi, though. She’s a horse lady. All the barn women have Jack Russells or corgis. I hated how those terriers dug, though. Ruined the carpet in my room.”
I laugh. “That’s amazing, I’ve never seen a horse in real life. How lucky you grew up with them! I can’t quite picture you as a cowboy, though. Or cleaning up horse poop.”
He shakes his head. “My mom boarded the horse at a stable. Luckily, I never had to do much more than go to the shows, pretend to be interested in her going around and around in circles, and then hug her and take pictures with her and her ribbons. Horses are large, smelly, and entirely time-sucking. I much prefer dogs.”
My smile broadens. Friendship status achieved.
At this point we’re gabbing like old friends, and I don’t even hear Lelani sweep into the room. I give a start as she enters my peripheral vision. Her eyes dart between the two of us, and a look of satisfaction passes over her face.
“Making headway?” she asks, motioning to the schedule on the table.
“Yes, we were”—just talking about our childhoods, no big deal—“going over the dates for the writers’ meetings,” I finish, willing myself to keep the blush that threatens to rise at bay. We’ve strayed way off topic, but it was so easy. Daniel has an effortless charm, so it’s like we’ve known each other forever.
He clears his throat and passes me another sheaf of papers. “I know you have things to do this morning, so now that the paperwork is signed, I’m allowed to give you these to study and provide feedback.”
The stack of papers includes rough sketches of various superheroes in costume, and I flip through them like a starving woman choosing from too many restaurant menus. I don’t know where to start, I’m so excited.
Lelani gathers up my signed documents and sticks them back in her folder, addressing Daniel. “Thanks for stopping by; I’ll scan these and then have a courier deliver a copy to your office. MG, did you have any more questions for Daniel? I don’t want to keep you.”
I have so many questions for Daniel, most of them about Star Wars lightsaber duels. But I can’t tear my eyes off the sheets in my hands for the time being. I get a chance to review costumes. For the Hooded Falcon movie. Here they are. In my hand. Awaiting my response. It’s like Christmas has come early, without any of the family baggage. I simply shake my head, eyes trained on the first sketch, already formulating my thoughts.
“It was nice to meet you . . . again,” Daniel says, rising and holding out his hand.
A genuine happiness I haven’t felt in a long time rises in my chest. I feel suddenly like I’m right where I’m meant to be, and that isn’t something I take lightly. I grasp his hand and give it a firm shake. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to this.”
We follow Lelani from the room, but not before I think I glimpse that strange Cheshire cat smile one last time.
CHAPTER 10
“It’s Friday, right? Office day? You’re going to be late if you’re riding your bike,” Ryan says without preamble as he jogs into the kitchen, heads for the fridge, and pulls out an Odwalla green smoothie. The swelling on his face is totally gone, the bruise mostly faded, and he has just a few little nicks that remain from his encounter. And he’s entirely too chipper for a man who narrowly avoided a mugging this week.
My gaze snaps to the clock from my iPad, where I’ve been reading up on Michele Clapton—the famed costume designer behind a lot of Game of Thrones looks. Rewatching the series has reminded me just how amazing the costume work is.
Damn. Ryan’s right. Not much time. I hit the button for the Reddit home page, planning a quick perusal of the daily highlights before I go.
“Shopping for an upgrade?”
“Hmm?” I look up to see Ryan over my shoulder, reading my screen. I follow his gaze to where the front page of Reddit has a feed about whether or not People magazine’s “Sexiest Man of the Year” really is all that. “Uh . . . no. Eyes on your own paper, Ryan. I was just reading the news.”
He gives me a dubious smirk. “Sure.”
I roll my eyes. “Like I care about”—I scan the preview of the comments—“Whalon Fox-Stevens. Whoever that is.”
Ryan chokes on a laugh. “Wait, you haven’t heard of Whalon Fox-Stevens? Do you live under a rock? Who do you think the tech guru is that basically runs your smartphone?”
“I prefer not to answer that question,” I say loftily. My interest is piqued, though, so I do a quick Google search and voilà. There’s the LA Times article proclaiming Whalon Fox-Stevens LA’s most eligible bachelor. And then People’s Sexiest Man Alive. “But, uh, they’re not wrong . . . hot damn, that’s a beautiful man.” Whalon’s coppery skin and dark eyes hint of Middle Eastern descent, but it’s his long lashes and tousled curls that momentarily halt my perusal. I catch Ryan’s amused look.
“Which”—I say as I click the cover of my iPad firmly shut—“doesn’t matter to me at all, because I have the best boyfriend in the world. And besides, as you’ve pointed out, I’m going to be late to work.” Today is chock full. Work at Genius, and then my first writing meeting with the production team. And then if I have energy left, sketch out a few cosplay costume ideas I have to see if they seem marketable. I’m toying with the idea of launching my own geek-couture line in my imaginary spare time, and for that I need a collection—sample garments that show my unique vision.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Ryan sips his smoothie and regards me over the bottle. “You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks. Love you too.” I scowl at him. “But thanks, Mom, I’m doing okay. I got at least five hours.”
“You’re really pushing; I’m worried you’re not taking care of yourself,” he observes. There’s no malice or judgment in his tone, just concern.
“Says the dude who came home bleeding after being punched by a mugger?”
Ryan pointedly ignores me, so I change streams.
“I need to take a few pieces back over to L’s this weekend. Do you want to come with me? Hang out a little?”
“Yeah.” Ryan’s eye roll is evident in his tone. “How’s he doing?”
“Pissed,” I answer, shoving the rest of my avocado toast into my mouth. I thought about my afternoon there. “Plus, he was all weird about this note from some guy named Stevie. My theory is that this assistant won’t last much longer. I don’t know that L is cut out for expanding his business bookings—he hates giving over control to someone else.”
Ryan casts a quizzical eye over me, reaches for the remote on the table, and turns on the news. “Weirder than normal, or weird just because of Cleopatra?”
“Weirder than normal, and I think it was because of that note. L says he and ‘Stevie’ were friends a long time ago, but he didn’t really seem happy about it. Maybe an old boyfriend who suddenly wants to rekindle something now that L is famous?”
Ryan’s thinking face is on, gazing off into space.
My own brows furrow, sussing out his reaction. Ryan should have just shrugged this off. “Have you heard him talk about a Stevie before? You’ve known him longer.” I wonder if this is some torrid affair I don’t know about.
Ryan slowly shakes his head. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place a face.
” He gives a comically overdone shrug like he’s trying to convince himself. “Did L say how long ago?”
“Nope.” I stand and head for the door. “Just one of those things where I realize I don’t know everything about L. Maybe he’s got a secret life as an ex-spy or something. The Casey stuff certainly came out of nowhere. They say you never know people fully, even those close to you.”
Ryan’s expression flashes through several emotions I don’t understand. I’m about to question his odd reaction when I realize he’s not even really watching me; he’s looking over my shoulder at the news. I turn to see what’s captured his attention. The local news. I’m just in time to catch the flash of a picture on the screen—a Latino man—before it disappears. Something seems familiar about the face, so I grab the remote from Ryan’s hand, and with two pushes of the buttons, the volume booms through the kitchen.
“Investigation is ongoing, but the victim from a party this weekend has been identified as Louis Castilla. The coroner reports that this is an unusual case of a drug overdose—the drug in question is one of the new designer drugs whose popularity is sweeping the nation. We’ll have more about this story at nine tonight, along with ways you can talk to your teen about avoiding these dangerous trends. The mayor of Los Angeles is expected to give a statement later this morning about the emerging epidemic in the United States, and LA’s response to the ongoing war on drugs. Back to you, Rosa.”
As the camera pulls out, I suck in a breath in recognition—they’re the windows of the tiny nightclub where Ryan and I attended the party. My gaze flicks to Ryan.
“They said ‘party.’ Like the party we went to?”
Silence from Ryan. He obviously just saw the same report; he doesn’t know any more than I do.
I glance at the television again. I’m too late; the little scrolling information thing on the bottom has already disappeared, and the anchors are back and talking about the weather. “I never heard about someone OD’ing, did you?”
The Queen Con (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 2) Page 9