“You’re reneging?” Davis echoes. But he looks interested.
“I had a personal issue arise that I’ve since dealt with. It made saying yes the first time impossible, but that’s no longer the case. However, there are a few things that are not happening. I will not appear on camera again. We are not going to Alaska. But if your offer’s still good, and you put the reins back in my hands, I can promise you another great show. Just say the word.” There’s no doubt in my mind when I list my demands, only confidence. Davis’s eyebrows go way, way up.
“Are you high on estrogen, Young?” Tyler says, cringing a little when Flint gives him another look. “This isn’t how professionals do it.”
“I think the only professionals you know, Kinley, are the poor women unlucky enough to take your money for sex,” Davis says. He’s so blunt, so offhand about it, that we all kind of freeze up. For the first time this evening, a genuine smile appears on his face. “I would still like you on camera, Young.”
“Not happening. But you won’t regret your decision to have me return.” I wait a minute, and he nods.
“I was hoping you’d start hitting back. It’s what I like to see in a producer.” Davis laughs. “All right. You’re rehired. Kinley, you’re out.”
Tyler is spluttering, and continues to splutter as Davis hands him his drink. “Be useful for once, won’t you, and give this to a waiter. I’ve got to go visit the john.” Davis pats my shoulder, looking pleased, and heads off.
“What…what am I doing now?” Tyler asks. He looks down at the empty glass, then up at me, his eyes round with confusion. If it were anybody else, I’d have some compassion.
“Put your resume in at a few places. I’d say McDonald’s, but those people work too hard to put up with your bullshit,” Flint tells him, taking a step closer. The little asshole practically squeaks, and runs away into the crowd. Flint looks down at me, a huge smile on his face. “That felt good. I’ve never loved watching an ass get wiped so much in my life.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You sure about coming back to work?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “Heading back to Massachusetts for a few months will be all kinds of hectic, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Flint nods, cupping my cheek gently in his palm. I turn my face just enough to press my lips to his wrist and then notice the thoughtful expression crossing his face.
“Hey!” Charlotte walks over to us, beaming. “Did you two make up?”
“We did.” Flint smiles at her, a genuine, kind warmth in his face. But there’s no lust there; when I pay attention, I see it now. Charlotte looks between the two of us and breathes in relief.
“I’m sorry I stole him away from the premiere,” I tell her.
“When you stormed out, I told him to go. Ordered him, really.” Charlotte takes my hand. “I’m so sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”
I blush. “Look, this whole thing could’ve blown over a lot sooner if I’d used my big girl words and just freaking asked Flint what was going on. That mistake won’t happen again.”
She brightens. “Good. If you’re ever in New York, I hope you’ll visit. Paolo and I love taking people around town.” Damn, she’s kind and thoughtful as well as beautiful. I almost feel sorry for Flint, like he made a mistake. But when he slides his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, eh, I’m not so worried.
“Get you a drink?” he asks.
“Love one.”
Charlotte leaves to go talk with Jessa and Ed, and Flint and I sidle away. We pick up a couple of martinis at the bar, bumping into an attractive woman with dark hair in a black cocktail dress. As it turns out, she just so happens to be a reporter for LA Tattle, covering the after party with her photographer.
“There you are! The actual stars of the show,” she says, sounding relieved. The camera flashes in our faces, but I don’t mind. I don’t think Flint does, either. “You both left so long ago, I was afraid I’d missed my chance. I’m Consuela Barnes. I’ve got just a few questions, Mr. McKay. What do you think the best part of filming this first season has been?” She adjusts her bra strap and hits play on a recorder. The photographer grabs another picture. This time, I manage not to make a weird face. I think.
“Best part of the job was meeting new people. And keeping my business afloat.”
It’s true; we did save the chain. I’d love to jump in the air and do a freeze frame victory cry, but this isn’t the 80s. Consuela nods and asks, “So what’s next? I know this is only the first episode, but the response around town has been phenomenal. I’m assuming there’s a season two in your future. Am I right?”
“There is going to be a season two,” I chime in. “I’m producing again, though not starring this time. Thankfully.” Consuela laughs.
“Sounds good. And you, Flint? You’re staying on board the project?”