Joey walked into Kingfisher Pictures with fire in her belly and a DVD clutched like it was solid gold. She'd already sent copies ahead, praying James Cameron and the higher-ups would watch it and finally give her an answer.
Now she sat across from Cameron and a handful of suits. The vibe was… not great.
Cameron folded his hands on the table, expression unreadable. "I watched it. My take? This is pure fan-service. The audience is gonna be almost entirely book fans. That's it."
Joey shook her head. "Respectfully, no. This isn't just for the existing readers. This is for every teenager in America. Hollywood makes movies for grown men, movies for women, movies for families; almost nothing actually built for teens. That's the lane."
Cameron raised an eyebrow. "So your core demo is kids?"
"Cool vampires, swoony romance, high-school drama; yeah, straight down the middle for teens."
He gave a small chuckle that wasn't exactly encouraging. "Teenagers don't move the box-office needle. The money still comes from adult men and women."
Joey opened her mouth to push back, but what was the point? Until the movie actually opened, nobody was going to believe Twilight could outgross Harry Potter. Even in her old life, Summit themselves had been shocked blind by what it turned into.
Cameron kept going. "That said, it's well-made. I'll buy the distribution rights. One movie only."
"Distribution only," Joey clarified. "Everything else stays with me."
"Fine. But we only do outright buys. No revenue share. I'm not rolling the dice on a profit split for a teen vampire romance. I like you, Joey, but this one doesn't scream 'worth the risk' to me."
Joey winced. "Then I can't do the deal. Revenue share, first film only. That's the line."
Cameron actually looked a little sad about it. "Then I'm sorry. Go shop it somewhere else. I still think you're brilliant; this project just isn't for us."
She'd known it was a long shot, but it still stung. Kingfisher was officially off the table.
Now what?
She was still turning options over in her head when her phone buzzed. Tom.
Word traveled fast.
"I heard your number-one fan Cameron just passed," he said, voice warm with amusement.
"Great. You calling to twist the knife?"
He laughed under his breath. "Bring me a DVD. I wanna see what all the fuss is about."
"You home?"
"Yep."
Tom was already waiting at the front door of his Beverly Hills place when she rolled up. He waved her into the garage like it was no big deal.
She climbed out of the car. He gave her a once-over and smirked. "You look like someone just kicked your puppy."
"Do I?" She flashed a cocky grin. "Please. Takes more than that to rattle me."
They bantered the whole way inside.
The screening room was ridiculous: basically a private bar with a massive screen. Dim lights, old movie posters, a fireplace crackling away, shelves of vintage scotch he never touched. The carpet was so plush it practically swallowed her heels.
Tom dimmed the lights, hit play, and they watched the whole thing in silence.
When the credits rolled, Joey spun on her barstool to face him. "Well?"
Tom didn't answer right away. He stepped behind the bar, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne. Then he leaned in, brushed a loose strand of her hair toward his nose like it was the most natural thing in the world, and inhaled.
"Your hair smells like roses."
She laughed, unfazed. "Yeah, I actually showered this morning. Rose-scented shampoo. Revolutionary stuff."
He rested one hand on the bar, boxing her in just a little, eyes locked on hers. "They say you can tell a director's love language from their romance movies. So… do you go for the Edward type? Brooding, push-pull, intense but responsible?"
She toyed with the rim of her glass. "Does the question actually matter?"
Tom's mouth curved. "Guess that's a no."
Joey tucked her hair behind her ear; slow, graceful, totally aware of how it looked. "If you like someone, you don't play hot-and-cold. Simple."
Tom's voice dropped, low and teasing right by her ear. "So what kind do you like?"
She tilted her head, thinking. "No single blueprint. I just need someone who gets me and has my back. That's it."
"Sounds easy," he said softly. "Feels impossible half the time."
"Tell me about it. Most breakups boil down to somebody not feeling seen or supported."
Tom went quiet for a beat, then asked the question he'd clearly been holding onto. "You and your ex… same story?"
He braced for the wrong answer: something about lingering feelings or "taking a break." He needed a clean yes or no. Because the idea of competing with ghosts made his chest tight.
Joey didn't hesitate. "We grew in different directions. That's all."
Tom's eyes flicked to hers, searching. "And now that you're… where you are… that gap's closed, right? Any chance you two circle back?"
"Zero," she said flatly. "It's done. Strictly professional now."
The tension in his shoulders eased so fast it was almost visible. A slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Sometimes love sneaks out the door without you noticing… and shows up again when you've waited so long it hurts."
She raised her glass. "To understanding each other. Cheers."
He clinked his sparkling water against her whiskey. She squawked that he was cheating; he just shrugged. "Haven't touched alcohol in years. Keeps me sharp."
Then, out of nowhere, he reached out and laid his palm flat over her heart; gentle, deliberate.
"Nobody home in here?" he asked, voice velvet-rough.
Joey froze for half a second, then stepped back with a playful smile. "Not at the moment."
The air went thick and electric for a few breaths.
Tom broke first, lightening the mood like flipping a switch. "I've got someone you should meet. Female exec; I think she'll actually get this movie."
Joey's eyes lit up. "Yeah? Who?"
He slid a business card across the bar.
"Meg Foster. Fox Searchlight. She's got the best nose in the indie game."
Joey picked it up, read the name, and felt the first real spark of hope all day.
Tom just watched her, that same soft, dangerous smile still playing at the edges of his mouth.