Warner Bros. production wing.
The exec in charge of green-lighting projects was shuffling budgets and schedules when he asked, "Did we ever circle back with that Joey Grant girl? Any chance she's ready to hand us Twilight for distribution?"
Vinny, one of the distribution guys, winced. "Yeah, we talked. She's asking for the moon. Won't do an outright sale—only wants to give us 30% of the back-end."
The exec barked out a laugh. "You're kidding. Warner Bros. does her the favor of distributing her little vampire flick and she wants to keep 70%? Who does she think we are, some rinky-dink indie outfit that's thrilled to get scraps? With our muscle behind it, what's she even scared of?"
Vinny just shrugged, helpless. "She's dead certain this thing's gonna print money. That's why she won't sell the rights outright. And you know our policy—we don't do profit participation unless it's Spielberg or Nolan. She's obviously not there yet. So… we're at an impasse."
The exec waved it off. "It's a low-budget teen romance. Cute ambition, but come on. Even if it hits the ceiling, these things top out at three or four times the budget. Nobody's getting rich."
He's right—this isn't the '90s anymore. Back then rom-coms could still shock the world. Pretty Woman cost $14 million and pulled in half a billion worldwide in 1990, turning Julia Roberts into the only actress ever to crack the $20-million-per-picture club off the strength of chick flicks.
After that? Sure, some rom-coms still made bank—Sleepless in Seattle turned $20 million into $220 million and made Tom Hanks bankable; Notting Hill, Runaway Bride, Bridget Jones—all solid hits.
But none of them were franchise-level. Nobody was giving directors backend on a date-movie.
So yeah, expectations for straight-up romance these days are pretty modest.
Then Vinny dropped the real bomb. "Get this—she's not just aiming high with the split. Word from MGM is her endgame is United Artists."
The exec's eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"
Vinny smirked, half amused, half annoyed. "She wants Twilight to be a cash cow franchise. Like, mega-franchise money. Then use that as leverage to buy her way into ownership at UA."
"She's planning a whole series? She's that sure of herself?"
"Dead sure. Wants it to be the next Harry Potter. Then waltz in and grab equity at United Artists without spending a dime of her own money."
The exec actually laughed out loud. "Okay, now she's just high off her own supply. She's good—nobody's arguing that—but she's gotten a little too big for her britches. To become a UA partner she'd have to bring something worth nine figures to the table. You think one tween vampire book from 2006 is gonna do that? She'd have to turn a cheap romance into the next Star Wars. Every single sequel would have to be a billion-dollar monster. That's not just hard—that's lightning striking the same spot ten times in a row."
"Exactly," Vinny said. "Everyone in town thinks she's dreaming."
And everyone in town did think she was dreaming.
Joey Grant had tasted success fast, and now she wanted to fly before she could walk.
Maybe she was the next Garry Marshall and could pull off another Pretty Woman-level miracle.
But turning a brand-new YA novel into the next Harry Potter or Star Wars? That takes more than talent. It takes a cultural phenomenon, perfect timing, and a mountain of luck.
Twilight had sold a ton of copies, sure, but it wasn't Potter. Not even close.
If franchises were that easy, every studio head would be cranking them out like widgets.
So yeah—naïve. Arrogant. Cute, but no thanks.
Warner passed.
And once Warner passed, the rest of the Big Six quietly followed suit. Nobody wanted to gamble big money on a rookie director and a book that had only been out a year.
Joey didn't sweat it. She just kept grinding through post-production. Distribution could wait until the movie was locked.
Hughes cornered her in the VFX house one afternoon and shoved a coffee into her hand. "Heard you pissed your agent off so bad he's stress-eating In-N-Out in his car."
"Yep. Turned down Warner flat. Their offer was actually really good, too."
Hughes leaned against the railing, popping the tab on a can of some neon vitamin drink. "You holding out for a piece of the gross?"
"You think I'm crazy too?" She blinked at him all innocent. "Trust me—if we don't get points on the back-end, we're leaving hundreds of millions on the table."
He peeled off his jacket, revealing a blue shirt with the top three buttons undone (classic Hughes move). The man lived at the gym; clothes on, he looked lean. Clothes off? Built like a superhero. He caught her glancing and flashed that cocky half-smile. "Like what you see? I can give you the full show—just say the word and I'll find us a room."
She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Of course I am," he chuckled. "But with demands like yours, you're not gonna find any takers at the majors."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Go hit up Lightstorm," he teased. "You've got Hollywood's biggest Joey Grant fanboy over there."
She squinted. "Who?"
"James Cameron."
"Get out of here!" She stomped on his Italian leather shoe for good measure. "Though… now that you mention it… Cameron did say he loved Juno and Source Code…" She tapped her chin, pretending to consider it.
Hughes threw his head back and laughed. "Go bother your 'teacher,' then."
"Shut up, Hughes!" She stormed back into the edit bay and slammed the door in his face.
He just grinned, shrugged, and left.
But now the seed was planted.
As soon as the final cut was ready, Joey decided the very first person getting a look would be James Cameron at Lightstorm.
Hey, why not? The guy had always had her back, and nobody in the business had a sharper nose for what would explode at the box office.
The next few months were brutal—long nights, endless color grades, and a whole lot of "good enough for five-cent" visual effects because that's what the budget allowed.
But in August 2006, the director's cut demo of Twilight was finally done.
She gathered the inner circle for the first screening.
This was the movie she was betting everything on.
Would the Twilight miracle actually happen?
Was she really about to turn a little YA vampire romance into the biggest underdog story in movie history?
Lights down.
Play.