by Jane Galaxy
“Well, a writing team that works as well as we do is a rare thing in my experience,” Sophie replied. “It’s collaboration, but it’s understanding each other on personal and professional levels—I mean, we should try the whole collaboration thing again sometime. If he could stand having me around.” She chuckled, thinking of Prasad talking around her with every possible polite objection he could muster. God, he was probably beyond ready for the film to go into full production so he could relax a little. After a few late nights like that, she probably owed him a cookie bouquet. Or several bottles of liquor.
“Sounds like you’re real partners, then,” the woman purred.
With that, she rose and flipped her cell phone end over end in her palm, her face as placid as a lake.
“It was nice talking to you, Sophie Markes,” said Gabriella Zahn. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. Good luck with everything.”
With that, the click of her heels faded until the outside door closed. Sophie sat on the edge of the lobby chair, trying to suppress a smile before she looked up at Madison, who gave her a sly look of excitement and not a little gratitude for getting rid of the woman.
She glided back into the conference room, triumphant, and even moreso when she found Prasad and Tristan still huddled together at the large table, the screenwriter straightening to his ridiculous height from where he’d been crouched over his friend, whispering furiously. Tristan still looked a bit pale, but that was all about to change, she thought with an odd touch of excitement.
“What happened?”
Sophie made a large gesture with both arms, a cross between a shrug and a what were you so worried about?
“I mean, I’m guessing she’s a typical spoiled actress, but I told her how hard we’ve been working,” she said.
“And?”
“I think she saw the light. Said she ‘didn’t want to get in the way of a good story,’ and wished me luck.”
“She’s gone?” Tristan sat up straight in the chair before turning to look at Prasad, who looked dumbfounded.
“Wow,” he said after a moment. “You actually got rid of her?”
“I don’t know that it was exactly a negotiation,” said Sophie, “But she didn’t talk to Poppy Ryan, and I count that in the win column. Guess we won’t be working with your ex after all, Tristan.” Sophie crossed her arms with a smile and looked between the two men.
Prasad tilted his head this way and that in an impressed-looking nod, Tristan’s eyebrows lifted while he mulled it over, and Sophie felt for once like she’d earned some good news.
A marimba from Prasad’s pocket broke the silence. Then Tristan’s phone made a soft series of beeps. And again. And then Prasad’s phone went off again. Both men dug into their pockets to see what was going on; Prasad lifted his phone up to eye level first and began reading.
And then looked horrified before making a face at Sophie.
Tristan caught up, murmuring something under his breath, before he went stock still, white in the face again.
“FB2 Exclusive: Anonymous source reports Tristan Eccleston dating the creator of award-winning Imperium comic book series as filming begins in LA,” Prasad read aloud.
Chapter Six
“Wait, wait, WAIT!” Prasad said, hands out like he was trying to wrangle a pack of wild animals. “Both of you just calm down.” In the midst of all the confused yelling post-press release, Sophie had gone for the door—what for, Tristan couldn’t imagine, but it likely involved a panicked correction on social media. It was admirable, her belief in her own capacity to fix things, as though she could merely twiddle a dial and right the narrative back to normalcy. As if she could un-capsize the Titanic.
“Why?” she said. “This is—” Sophie glanced down at Prasad’s phone still in her hand, “This… this is fucking crazy.” Her eyes found his. “I mean, no offense, but… Jesus.”
Tristan agreed, though not in so many words. Americans weren’t much for subtlety, which was sometimes grating, and sometimes made him have to twist his mouth up to keep from smiling at how oddly disarming it was. But the reality was that even though Sophie’d made a huge mistake they now had to live with, the alternative was admitting that whatever game Gabriella was playing had bested them, and then having that come out instead.
They had to get ahead of it. She could ruin everything, and this time Tristan couldn’t run off to Indonesia at the drop of a hat.
“I didn’t even say that much to her,” she continued, sounding desperate. “And she twisted it all around. I was talking about Prasad, and she starts a weaponized whisper campaign—?!”
Prasad looked over at Tristan with an expression that clearly said I told her, didn’t I? I told her and she didn’t listen, but there wasn’t much vitriol behind it. A newcomer to Gabby’s game wasn’t about to earn a surprise victory.
“Look, perhaps it’s not as bad as it seems—”
“It’s going to look like nepotism! Like I… I don’t know, fucked my way into this job!” Sophie cried, and started for the door again. Tristan winced internally at that, but held up his hand.
“I think what Prasad means is that he knows how to turn this story to our advantage,” he said calmly, and Sophie dropped her hand from the doorknob and turned to face them. Prasad looked back and forth between them, clearly with absolutely no idea how to use this to their advantage, but cleared his throat and gave Tristan one last glower before speaking. His friend was always at his best while giving a pitch pulled straight out of his ass, anyway.
“We need to look at this as a good thing first and foremost,” said Prasad at last.
“Oh, yes, it’s a good thing I’ve been dropkicked into the spotlight and my reputation now turns on being someone’s girlfriend,” Sophie shot back. But she didn’t turn for the door again, which was a tentatively good sign, Tristan thought.
“You’ve said you interviewed to write Imperium because you wanted better opportunities at being creative,” Prasad mused. “So you want to expand your list of contacts.”
She clearly saw where he was going with this.
“Don’t make it sound so mercenary,” Sophie said quietly, as if she was ashamed.
“No, that’s—” Prasad glanced over at Tristan. “That’s how entertainment works. Your work doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There’s no magical moment when you’re discovered and suddenly you get to the top by merit alone. It’s a cliche, but it really is all in who you know. So, if you’re dating an upcoming A-lister—even fake dating—” he said when she opened her mouth to protest, “That’s a huge step up from where you were before. Advancement with hardly any effort. That doesn’t happen often in this city,” Prasad ended carefully.
Sophie looked down at the blue and gray carpet with a troubled expression.
“I don’t know—”
“You’d be doing us all a massive favor,” said Prasad, warming to her lack of concrete objections. “Keeping the film—your story—from executive meddling. Not to mention you’d be helping Tristan.” Off both their looks, he shook his head. “Nasty breakup, it was all over the tabloids, which you apparently don’t read, which is weird, but okay. Filling in a recently-vacated role literally switches things around and puts control of the narrative in yours and Tristan’s hands. This is an opportunity to generate PR on your terms, and use it for your ends. Gabriella can only wait for you to make your move before she can do anything worthwhile for the gossip pages. By making the opening move, she’s weakened her own position.”
“What if she shows up on set, though?”
Prasad’s expression went from cautious to quietly triumphant in an instant—who’s the real master manipulator, Gabriella or Prasad? he wondered wryly.
“Then double down. She won’t do anything that can’t be written about. If she does something and nobody sees or hears about it, it’s like it never happened.”
Tristan glanced over at Sophie. She looked contemplative, worrying her thumb back and forth over her lip. Prasad had o
bviously hit a logic spot—she was a writer, after all, and crafting a narrative would appeal to her.
“What d’you think, then, eh?” Prasad said, and Tristan wanted to reach out and clap his hand over his friend’s mouth before he continued, but the words just kept coming out. “Tristan Eccleston’s girlfriend. Sound like a title you’d want?”
Sophie stared hard at Prasad, and then at Tristan.
“I’m not doing anything I’m not comfortable with,” she replied.
“Well, of course—”
“Obviously,” Tristan said quickly. “If nothing else, at least you’ll get better creative control.”
She looked at him again for another long moment, her expression difficult to decipher.
“What about you?” Sophie said.
He blinked—wasn’t it a foregone conclusion?
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, unsure of what his suddenly heavy pulse meant.
They ignored the whole situation for three days, until Madison appeared at Prasad’s office door to inform Sophie that Colin wanted to see her, and to bring Tristan, too.
Colin Younger had gotten his start in Silicon Valley developing a phone app that mocked people’s online purchase decisions to try to prevent them from spending too much money. The app had gone viral, mostly because the people who used it loved being made fun of more than they enjoyed sticking to a sensible budget, and he’d cashed in his share and gone to Hollywood to follow his real passion—making giant blockbuster films of people socking one another in the face.
Tristan had liked him when they’d first met. Here was a man with a radical dream who’d managed to talk the old guard of Card One Comics into letting him turn the stories he’d loved as a kid into a series of movies no one would dare miss out on.
It was a very different Colin who stood in the large office that took up most of the top floor of the studio headquarters, and Tristan wasn’t sure he liked this one.
“It’s really great synergy,” Colin was telling Sophie. “Perfect for coordination with and between the corporate subsidiaries—and it gives us plenty of open options to rework the narrative as needed.”
“Sorry,” said Tristan, cutting in at the baffled look on Sophie’s face. “You’re saying the studio has an interest in our relationship?”
Colin pointed at Tristan.
“We have an interest in making sure that our stars from both sides of the aisle are connected so that audiences see brand cohesion. The women who’ll go with their guys to see Dark Magic and enjoy watching Lucius are the same ones who’ll pick up a copy of the graphic novel to get more of it.”
“So what are you saying?” Sophie still had that deer-in-headlights look.
Colin gestured at them like a priest blessing their union. “I’m saying, you two make a lovely pair.”
“But it’s not real, it’s just something—”
The man waved her off.
“Regardless of whether it’s real or fake, make the most of the attention while you’ve got it.”
As the door to Colin’s office shut behind them, Sophie sneaked a look up at Tristan. It wasn’t until they got into the elevator that she said,
“I can’t believe he’s spending his time on this.”
“But if the head of the studio is involved…” said Tristan. We’re obligated to do whatever he wants, went the rest of that thought.
They passed the front desk, and Madison rose from her seat to catch their attention.
“Now what?” Sophie murmured.
“This is for you, Mr. Eccleston,” the young woman said, passing him a packet of paper. He flipped back the cover page and began reading, then flipped it back over and began striding down the hall, feeling like his fingers were about to start spitting ice everywhere for real. Sophie jogged to keep up with him before she finally laid one hand on his forearm like a vice grip and pulled him to a stop.
“What?” she practically yelled at him. “What is it?”
“Gabriella has notes for us,” he said, holding up the sheath of papers. Tristan flipped to a page and pointed to the line at the top. “Suggestions for appropriate date locations, how to dress for public appearances, how we ought to be seen, a list of possible couple nicknames.” Sophie slowly took the packet into her hands and flipped through it page by page.
Tristan turned and walked into Prasad’s empty office, flopping back into the comfortable office chair, the one behind the desk. Sophie followed, practically dragging her feet.
“So she’s running publicity for this, or…?” she said in a low, morose voice.
Tristan sighed and looked at the ceiling. “No, she’s just being sarcastic.” Still, he reached up and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “But rest assured, she’s the sort of person who’ll give us helpful hints and updates on our progress, for the sole of purpose of making sure we know who has the upper hand.”
“I’m…” Sophie trailed off, and he looked up to find her on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. This is all my fault. I just wanted her to leave us alone, I didn’t think it would turn into this, I’m just so tired of having to fight this hard to save my story, and I just…”
She dropped her face into her hands and stared at the floor.
Tristan leaned Prasad’s office chair back up. The anger he’d felt at Gabriella for trying to reassert control, and yes, at Sophie for getting them both entangled in the whole mess to begin with, began to fade in the face of her emotional distress.
He stood, went over to her, and pulled up a chair, then gently tugged at her hands. Sophie wasn’t crying, but she did look a bit shellshocked.
“You know, as much as I’m willing to do this for the sake of the movie, I was kind of hoping the media frenzy would die down and everyone would forget about it,” she murmured. “How am I gonna deal with this? I’m not a public figure, I barely leave the house when I’m writing.” She jerked her head up suddenly and looked at him. “And being your girlfriend, come on, who’s gonna believe that? What do we even have in common?”
Tristan was startled for a moment.
“Well, we both drink tea, for a start. Superhero stories, of course. Oh, and we’re both being roped into a fake relationship against our will. Plenty to unpack there,” he said, and Sophie choked out a little laugh. That was certainly an improvement over the doomed expression from earlier. “Lots of things to talk about,” he said soothingly. “Maybe even things other than comic books.”
“You’re fine with this?” Sophie raised an eyebrow at him.
Tristan weighed it back and forth.
“I wouldn’t say I’m fine with it, but… sometimes you have no choice but to play the game.” That had been the entire reason he’d left Britain in the first place, but it was hardly worth moaning over now.
“You’re right,” Sophie said quietly. “We’re just going to have to make the most of this, at least as long as filming goes on.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ve got a secret talent for acting you didn’t know you had, and you’ll be in the sequel.”
She shot him a look, but it was with a wry smile.
“Well, at least I won’t be facing the paparazzi alone,” she said.
Breathing a sigh of relief at having tamed the situation somewhat, Tristan reached for the papers Gabriella had sent over and had a closer look at what had been written.
“These restaurants are all terrible choices,” he remarked. “See? I’d never drag you to MYNDFULL, the whole west wall is exposed to the street. It’d be like eating sprout sandwiches on stage at the Hollywood Bowl—a guaranteed front-row spectacle.”
“Where do you go to eat when you don’t want to be bothered?”
“There’s a few reliable places. Lakmaa, The Consignment Shop, West21…”
It suddenly occurred to Tristan that Sophie might have been hinting that she wouldn’t be averse to going out to dinner with him. That she might like to go out. And with that thought came a curious sensation of something
at the core of him making its way to the surface.
The idea of going out on a date wasn’t just interesting—it was a bit exciting.
Tristan didn’t need exciting. He needed to clamp down on things, focus on Lucius, his dialogue, the project ahead of him that he was placing his future career on.
(Fake) relationship or not, it was not a good time to start being attracted to Sophie. Not now, not ever.
It wasn’t something that he needed, but it also wasn’t something he could switch on and off. Always an uncontrolled dive off a high board. That was another thing he’d learned in Bali—he was possessed of a heart that was constantly making room for people who never move in, was the way the therapist had put it. Everyone seemed to think it was a character flaw, for some reason. You love Love, and you love being loved, Gabriella had told him once before. That’s why you’re an actor—everyone’s got a hole in their middle, and the nonstop adoration of the public is what fills it.
Sitting in a well-appointed grass hut with a therapist dressed in a white linen tunic hadn’t produced any revelations on this apparent condition. He didn’t have a narcissistic need for attention, but rather an urge to throw himself headlong into romantic entanglements, without considering carefully whether it was a good idea, whether there was compatibility. Whether it would rob him of something, rather than bolster him.
Not cocaine, not alcohol, not even sex or whatever else Hollywood power players were into: Tristan was addicted to love.
His joking reference to Robert Palmer’s lyrics during those therapy sessions had not gone over well, and instead resulted in a lengthy lecture about why seeking validation through impersonal adoration and obsession wasn’t as good for him as self-actualization. It had been as boring as it sounded.
Tristan shook himself back to the present. Sophie was still gazing at him.
“Actually, I know a really good place, if you’d like to go.”
Chapter Seven
ACACIA & AMARANTH
