by G. K. Parks
“Is that all the advice you have?”
“Pretty much. It’s not difficult, just draining.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I held a manila envelope in his direction. “Cross said to pass off any open cases to you. Have fun.”
He glanced down at the paperwork. “Searching for hidden assets?”
“Yep.”
“Fabulous.”
Two
I reread the NDA again. The two attorneys seated across the table were getting fidgety. I picked up a pen, practically hearing their collective intake of breath. They wanted me to sign on the dotted line. Instead, I tapped the pen against the edge of the paper and read through a few of the clauses again.
“Let me get this straight.” I leaned back. “You want me to agree to these terms when I don’t even know what this is?”
One of the lawyers practically growled. “This is a boilerplate nondisclosure, Miss Parker. I’m sure you’ve encountered these before. If you desire someone to review it or explain the features to you, I’ll be more than happy to invite a member of Cross Security’s legal team to join us. But this is the same agreement we’ve used in all of our previous dealings with your firm. Until now, there has never been a problem.”
“Yeah, well, I went to law school. They told us we need to read contracts before signing them.”
His eyes practically rolled back in his head, and he got up from the table and turned to look out the window behind him. The mere sight of me was making him ill, and I couldn’t help but take a perverse joy in his misery. If the production company decided I was too much trouble, they would request another consultant, and I would be off the hook.
“Miss Parker,” the more patient attorney said, reaching across the table and taking the contract from me, “let’s make this easier on all of us. The conditions are simple. You will be given access to the set and production personnel. That includes writers, actors, producers, and directors. You’re going to see and hear things that are not yet available for public consumption. The movie we are making is going to be a blockbuster. We’ve been in talks about turning this into another hit franchise, and we need to do all we can to avoid leaks on set. We have no intention of confiscating your phone or searching you before, during, or after you leave, but should you share, remove, or otherwise spread any information, whether it’s for profit or not, Broadway Films needs to have legal recourse available.”
“The woman I spoke to this morning asked a lot of personal questions. I don’t have an issue with maintaining your production secrets, but I’m not signing anything until I know what you want from me.”
The attorney at the window turned around. “Agreeing to the NDA does not automatically bring you under contract with Broadway Films. That arrangement has already been signed by Cross Security. Your firm is under contract.”
I gave him a no shit look and said, “With the stipulation that your technical consultant agrees to the terms of the nondisclosure, so once I sign this, I become your technical consultant. Do you see my problem?”
He rubbed both hands down his face. “We’re at an impasse.”
“Or you can choose to trust me with some of these top-secret details. Honestly, my government security clearance is still valid. Doesn’t that indicate I’m trustworthy?”
“Andrew, why don’t you see what Dinah wants to do?” the seated man suggested.
“Fine.” He stepped into the hallway, and I let out a breath.
I offered the remaining attorney a small smile. “I’d like to state, for the record, that I’m not always this difficult. Normally, I’m the one asking clients questions, not the other way around, and I didn’t quite care for the third degree.”
He scratched his eyebrow. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to end up going for a ride in the back of a limo. It’s a little too sleep with the fishes if you ask me.”
I grinned. “Have you always been an entertainment lawyer?”
“It shows, doesn’t it? If you stick around long enough, you’ll undoubtedly witness my Christopher Walken impression and hear several lines from Jerry Maguire.”
“Please don’t,” a woman said, and I turned to see a statuesque brunette with expertly executed highlights entering the room. The only similarity between her and the woman in the car was the glossy red lipstick. She smiled warmly and took a seat beside me. “I’m Dinah Allen.”
The introduction was pointless. She was featured on the covers of half the entertainment and fashion magazines on the shelf this month. She was a few years older than me, having started her career as a fashion model after being discovered working behind the scenes for one of the big labels in Paris. After a decade of modeling, her agent had gotten her cast in some independent film that swept through Cannes like wildfire. Now she was a rising film star.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. I’d seen clips of the indie film on several late night programs, but the film itself wasn’t my cup of tea. Honestly, I might have just been too self-absorbed to care about the newest Hollywood darling or the trendiest flavor of the week. “Were you rehearsing for an Audrey Hepburn biopic this morning?”
“I was hoping for more of a Lauren Bacall vibe.” She grinned wickedly. “Tell me I didn’t miss my mark?”
“I guess I can see the Bacall thing,” I admitted.
“Great.” She gestured at the contract. “Andrew says we have a problem, and seeing as how I’m the one who caused it, I should be the one to fix it.” Her French manicured fingers swept her hair behind her ear. “Miss Parker, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. I’ve been cast to play an FBI agent, and I want to get it right. This isn’t just some shoot ‘em up, sexy, action flick. We aren’t doing popcorn films. My character has depth and a troubled past. I need insight on how to approach the role from someone who lived this and, based on your reaction, is probably still living with this. I don’t want to do a disservice to the women who fulfill these roles in real life. I need your help. I want to talk to you and learn from you.”
Kellan hit the nail on the head. “Wow, that sounds like one very boring movie.”
She laughed. “It won’t be. There are chase sequences and shootouts. The studio needs a technical consultant for those matters, and I figured two birds, one stone. I’m not exactly a veteran of this industry, and they are only offering me some slight indulgences. They couldn’t get the actual FBI to agree to let me shadow them. They said it was for insurance, but I imagine the federal government has better things to do than babysit some newbie actor.”
“But I don’t.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Regardless, I suppose it’s true.” I sighed. “Don’t come at me with a million loaded questions and drop a bomb in my lap. It won’t get you very far, and contract or not, I will walk away.”
“Okay.”
“How did you know those things about me?”
“Lucien mentioned your revolving door career.”
“I’ll be having a chat with him.” I reached across the table for the contract. “I’ll sign this on one condition, and it is non-negotiable.”
“You can’t reveal the nature of the film, plot points, lines of script, scenes, or anything related to the actors’ professional or private antics to the press, paparazzi, or the media in general, especially social media,” Andrew warned.
I glared at him before turning my attention back to Dinah. “If I tell you something is out of bounds, we aren’t discussing it further. I’ll provide as much help as I can for your preparation of the role, but some things aren’t about the job, they’re about me. And they’re private.”
“I can appreciate that.”
I picked up the pen and signed my name. If I hated being here, Lucien would pull me and assign another investigator. That was our agreement, and since he’d blatantly violated my trust by sharing details of my life with the client, he owed me. “Now what happens?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Miss Parker,” Dinah said.
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“It’s Alex.” I’d been nothing but hostile, and since she was the client, or at least one of them, it was time to mend fences.
“Dinah.” She held out her hand, and we shook. “Andrew will have someone take you on a tour of the set, get you a pass, and a copy of the call sheet. Be prepared to hit the ground running.” She went to the door. “Gentlemen.”
“Miss Allen,” they both replied in a dreamy tone. And Cross was afraid I would be starstruck. Ha. “We’ll take you by security and go from there. I hope those are comfortable walking shoes.” He glanced down at my heels. “This is a small lot by most studio standards, but it is nearly two acres and spans multiple buildings. You won’t need to familiarize yourself with everything, but we’ll show you around anyway.” He went to the door, waiting impatiently for me to join him. “Come along. I don’t have all day.”
And Kellan said they were going to be nice to me at the beginning. Surely, it wouldn’t all be downhill from here.
* * *
It was a little after seven p.m. when I made it back to the office. Most of my colleagues had called it a night, so I went up another two levels to Lucien’s office. Normally, his assistant was stationed in the outer office, but he wasn’t there. However, my boss’s open door clued me in that the big man was still hard at work. I knocked against the doorframe, waiting for him to look up before I stepped inside.
“How was the rest of your day?” he asked. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by tonight.”
Licking my lips, I struggled to figure out what to say. “You gave them access to my résumé?”
“Just the bullet points. Broadway Films wanted to be certain we could tick off their requirements.” He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, and I dropped into it. My feet hurt from too much walking.
“All of your investigators are qualified. I’m not the only woman who works here, and I’m not the only one who served her time with the FBI. Tell me why you chose me.”
“You fit the profile,” he stated coolly.
“Bullshit. The first case I worked was messy, and ever since, you’ve given me these easy tasks to complete.”
“Maybe I thought you were working on something on the side.” He glowered. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you forced me to strike the noncompete from your contract before you agreed to sign with my firm.”
“And I appreciate that.” I blinked, recalling the vast amount of resources I’d used and overseas phone calls I’d made since I began working here. It was no secret Cross monitored office communications. “Am I to assume these assignments are some sort of punishment?”
“Was the OIO that punitive?”
“No.” Something about his question and the look in his eyes gave him away. “This is about the missing persons case I worked, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to be out in the field.”
He shrugged.
An irritated laugh escaped my throat. “I didn’t take you for a sexist.”
“I’m not.” He stood, circling his desk before pacing back and forth, a sure sign of stress. He found this conversation vexing.
“Afraid I can’t handle myself?” Granted, he and Detective Nick O’Connell had come to my rescue, but the situation had been beyond my control.
“Even though I haven’t seen you use the company gym, I have no doubts that it would be difficult to best you in a fight.”
“Do you really think you’d win?”
He considered the question carefully. “Honestly, I don’t know, and I’d rather not find out.” A compliment, I should have been overjoyed. Instead, I feared the follow-up. “Like you said, the first case you worked was messy. Shit happened. Since then, you’ve come to work exhausted, jumpy, and in constant need of visits to the coffeemaker.”
“I’m not a morning person, and as you know, I was assisting on a case in England. The time difference sucks.” He didn’t speak, and I knew what he was thinking. “I’m not traumatized,” I insisted.
“Then you’re the only person on this entire planet that could go through something like that and not be.” He returned to his desk chair. “Along with medics on staff, there is a counselor equipped to deal with the fallout from these unpleasant experiences should you wish to speak to someone.”
I chuckled. “Really, Cross, I’m okay.” I eyed him. “Is that why you’ve been giving me these ridiculous cases? You want me to see the shrink?”
“The federal government mandates psychological evaluations.”
“I hated those.”
“I imagine more so than most. You’re a woman operating in a traditionally male-dominated field. You had to be stronger, faster, better, and more capable than your male counterparts. Anything that indicated weakness made your life exponentially harder. You should know it isn’t like that here. You earned your position on the merits. You made it through the audition phase. You have nothing to prove.”
“Who said I have anything to prove?”
A smirk played across his lips. “Regardless, I’m not in the business of endangering the lives of my people. Our security teams deal with the more dangerous situations, bodyguarding and such, but there is a reason every one of my investigators carries a piece. Typically, our case load doesn’t get messy, but…”
“I bring out the messy.” Leaning my head back, I rolled my neck from side to side. “Kellan said everyone on staff has served as a technical consultant for Broadway Films at one point or another. It’s only fair I serve my time as well.” I gave him a stern look. “You say I have nothing to prove, so stop lobbing softballs. I can handle whatever you throw at me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any problems handling the creative minds at Broadway Films or dealing with Dinah Allen.”
Three
Pressing my palms into my eyes, I wondered if I fell asleep in this position if anyone at the table would notice. The studio hadn’t exactly started production yet, or maybe they had. I wasn’t exactly aware of what was happening outside this tiny room. It was cramped, smelled like feet and pepperoni pizza, and three of the four walls were painted cinderblock. Kellan was right; I no longer believed in any of the glitz and glamour broadcast during award shows or red carpet appearances. This wasn’t even as ritzy as a TSA interrogation room in some third-rate airport.
“Moving on to the next scene,” Travis Kreecher said, and every person, excluding myself, turned the page on the script. The group assembled at the table was the writing staff. Travis was in charge. I was given strict instructions to interrupt if the jargon used was incorrect or if the dialogue was off the mark. He tapped his highlighter against my elbow. “Did you find a mistake?”
I pulled my hands away from my eyes and looked down at the 150 page script. “No, we’re all good.”
“Keep up then. We’re on a tight schedule. They want to start shooting tonight.”
I want to start shooting right now, I thought. Fortunately, my nine millimeter was locked in my glove box. The studio didn’t want to risk having an actual weapon on set with so many fake guns around. Granted, the fakes had a bright orange strip on them, but one could never be too careful.
The hours dragged on. At some point, someone from craft services came in with a box of sandwiches and salads and put them in the center of the table. I watched the feeding frenzy begin. Lions in the wild weren’t as voracious. Taking a moment, I went in search of coffee.
When I returned, Travis was anxiously pacing the hallway. “Where have you been? We’re on a deadline. You should have been here days ago. I don’t understand why Neil waited until the last minute before hiring a consultant. We could have already gone over this with someone in L.A.”
“How dare he,” I deadpanned.
“Damn straight,” Travis replied, leading me back into the room. “We have four hours to get through the rest of the script, and we still have,” he flipped to the end, “forty-three more pages to go.”
“You’re assuming we aren’t going to be doing last minute rewrites,” Artie, another
of the writers, said. “Lance always has his own ideas and ad-libs. You know we’ll be tweaking it until production closes.”
“And have to clean it up further in post,” Dallas added glumly. He shot a smile in my direction. “You aren’t the problem, Alex. It’s the director and the talent. They seem to forget without us they wouldn’t have anything. But we’re just little worker bees. What do we know?”
“I can relate,” I said.
Having convinced them I was onboard and wouldn’t cause any more delays with my annoying desire to stretch my legs, use the bathroom, or drink coffee to stay awake, I followed along as Travis pointed out the relevant parts of dialogue and asked a few questions. We spent the next four hours going through the last of the script, but at least that was finally over.
As soon as we finished, Travis printed a new copy from the master file and brought it to the director. A production assistant came into the room as the writers cleared out. She picked up the sticky note that was on top of the pages. Once the director approved the changes, she would be responsible for making sure everyone had new copies, and since secrecy was tantamount on this production, she’d have to collect each of the old scripts and replace them with the new ones. That wasn’t my problem, but now that we were done, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to do.
“You’re Alex, right?” she asked as I lingered just outside the room, wondering if I could leave for the day.
“Guilty.”
She yanked the radio free from her waistband. “Tell Dinah she’s finished.” She waited for a quick reply. “Just wait over there.” She pointed to the end of the hallway which led to the wide open expanse of the soundstage. I looked to see where she was pointing, and by the time I turned around, she was gone.
