Except…no.
The only reason he wouldn’t be frustrated or angry is if he was in on it; if he was the one who suggested it. Herman Davis just threw me under the bus. And there’s no question about what to do next.
I smile.
“Mr. Davis, may I speak with you for just one second?” I say in my best light and bright tone, trying to get up as gracefully as possible. I get tangled in the straps of my own purse. It’s like the Moscow ballet up in here.
“Of course.” He seems completely relaxed. As he would.
Mr. Davis and I walk out of the auditorium, past everyone grinning and shaking my hand and telling me what a great job I’ve done. And how natural I am on screen! Wow! Thanks for that! My super high blood pressure thanks you too!
Davis and I find our way to a quiet alcove, where I take a deep breath and begin. “I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m not supposed to be on screen with Flint.”
“Do you think I’m inept, Young?” Davis says. He narrows his eyes at me behind his rimless glasses. “Of course you’re not supposed to be on screen.”
“Then why was I?” Did that come out as a frantic shriek? I hope it didn’t.
“Because I saw some of the rough footage before you edited.” He smiles, adjusting his solid gold cufflinks. “You’re funny, especially with McKay. There’s natural chemistry between the two of you that the audience is going to eat right up.”
“So you’re telling me I’m on the show? Like really on the show?” Why does my mouth feel dry? Does anyone else hear how loud the lights are buzzing? Why am I flashing back to the time in third grade when I punched Billy Sims in the face?
“Most people spend their entire lives trying to land a starring spot on television,” Davis says coolly. “You should be thrilled. It’d be smart to enjoy this.” Wow. I’m definitely starting to see the Hollywood shark come out in him. Davis isn’t a misogynistic prick like a lot of the guys in this industry, but he gets what he wants. At any cost.
“What happened to the episode I edited?” I say.
“It’s been scrapped. I oversaw this one with Wendy Spears.” Another editor. Davis had an elaborate con game going this whole time. Like he was letting me play with my toys while he did the actual work behind my back. I could murder someone.
“Wendy’s got a good poker face,” I say, seething.
“She does.”
“Did it ever occur to you to include me in the discussion?” The world around me is going hazy. I think I’m actually going to go on a rampage.
“I get what I want,” Davis says simply. He knows if he told me, I’d find a way out of it. But now, there’s no time. Now public opinion’s against me even if I recut everything myself. Now I have no choice.
“This is my show. I produce, I don’t star,” I say, folding my arms. Davis doesn’t even blink.
“This is your show at my company. One day, if you move up to my level, you call the shots. Until then, if you want this to air, you’re going to be starring alongside Flint McKay. Got it?”
There are so many amazing curse words that are pirouetting across my tongue, doing pliés and arabesques. But I want to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach, so I make them sashay on down to the back of my throat. Taking a deep breath, I say, “All right. I guess that doesn’t change the interviews we’ve got set up for Flint. All the promotions are still on.”
“They are,” he agrees. Then, “And of course, you’ll be joining him. It’s great publicity, if you think about it. Producer steps out from behind the camera and into the limelight. If you can keep that banter you have going with McKay, it’ll be even better.”
Okay, my brain is exploding. Everyone please duck under your desk and cover your neck, this is not a drill. “I can’t join him on the press junket!”
“You’ll learn fast. It’s one of the things I always admired about you,” Davis says. I think I read sincerity in his eyes. “You’re a fighter. Only the best are fighters. You have what it takes.”
Yeah, but I slept with the star, and now I spend half my time missing him and the other half wanting to strangle him. If I were a man and told him that, Davis would probably pour me a drink and promote me. Being female, I know I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut to avoid being outed as ‘unprofessional.’
“Do you understand what I want?” Davis says. The only other choice is to lose everything I’ve worked so hard to earn. But maybe it’d be worth it to save my sanity.
I take a long, deep, steadying breath.
“All right,” I say. It sounds like I croaked those words, but Davis doesn’t deserve my happy professional voice right now. “I just can’t believe you sprang it all on me like this. Sir.” The last word is tinged with a bit of acid. I think he likes that.