Not just any script. Her script.
An odd sensation rolled through her chest. Yellow and orange and green tabs stuck out from several pages. Had he gone through her script and made notes? How long had she been gone? And was it good or bad that he’d analyzed her script?
He looked up. When his gaze met hers he smiled, softening the lines etched around his eyes. Chrystelle’s heart fluttered. What would it be like to see that smile every day? She shook her head. What was she thinking? She wouldn’t see that smile again, but she envied the woman who would.
“You read my script.” She stared at the tabs.
“Some of it. I’m quite impressed. You’ve written a good story. Editing will make this story shine.”
“What sort of editing?” Her stomach dropped. When her screenwriting teacher discussed editing, it meant drastic changes. Changing the plot or the main character would change the heart of her story.
“Let’s talk about it.” He gestured toward the conference table.
She’d talk but that didn’t mean she’d agree to make changes.
He held out a chair for her, then took the seat next to her. “I like how the townspeople react to Eleanor.”
Chrystelle was familiar with this tactic. She held her breath. Her screenwriting teacher had always started with what he liked about a script, usually incidental or inconsequential points, right before he ripped into the characterization and the plot.
“This character is an anomaly.” Quint thumbed through the script. “Someone the townsfolk have never seen before even though several of the residents are wealthy because of the silver mine.”
“That was typical of the old mining towns,” Chrystelle said. “They were isolated because of the terrain, limited transportation and harsh weather. Some were wealthy even though their quality of life wasn’t much better than the miners’.”
“That is an interesting point and something I want to work with.” Excitement flashed in Quint’s eyes and filled his voice.
Uncertainty was like a whirlpool sucking Chrystelle into the unknown. What ideas did he have about her script?
The intercom sounded. “Mr. Fairchild?” Bernice’s voice once again floated from the speaker.
“Yes?” He browsed through the script and opened it at a yellow tab.
“Your mother just called. She didn’t want to interrupt your meeting but called to confirm you had a date for tonight’s awards ceremony.”
Chrystelle’s heart stilled. Quint’s mother, Frances Brooke Fairchild, had once been known as America’s Sweetheart. His father was the famous producer Malcolm Fairchild.
“Do I have a date?” Quint’s mouth flattened, and he lifted his gaze to Chrystelle. A slight smile curved his lips. “Tell her she can be surprised.”
“I’ll let her know,” Bernice said.
Quint thanked her and leaned away from the speaker.
“Does this mean our meeting is over?” Disappointment dropped through Chrystelle like a jagged rock. It was just as well. Mr. Fairchild was a busy and important man. His awards ceremony was much more significant than discussing a neophyte’s script.
“Not over. To be continued. Don’t look disappointed.” His mouth curved with amusement.
“I’m not disappointed. I’m grateful. Thank you for your time.” She was disappointed, but she shouldn’t have been. This was the closest she’d come to discussing her script with an important Hollywood producer.
He smiled, and the kindness in his eyes made her heart flip over. “Your writing is a good first attempt. That’s why I’d like to continue our meeting.”
“I’m all for that. Tell me when and where.” A good first attempt. The words echoed in her head. Did that mean he liked it?
“We can continue our meeting tonight,” he said.
“You have an awards ceremony.” Chrystelle’s breath caught. How could they have a meeting when he’d be at his awards ceremony and she’d be holed up in her tiny apartment with three roommates eating double fudge sundaes even if it wasn’t Saturday?
“True.” He spoke slowly. “But our meeting won’t interfere.”
“It might. Your mother seemed concerned that you wouldn’t have a date for the ceremony. You told her you did.” How would his date feel if he spent the evening discussing Chrystelle’s script, and how would they discuss it? Maybe they could talk over the phone, but with his date there? Not likely.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tapped the end of her nose, a touch that didn’t take her by surprise. It felt natural. “I said I’d surprise her.”
“If you were a good son, you’d make sure you had a date.” Who was she to reprimand this Hollywood big shot, but she thought it was sweet that his mother had called.
“Are you in cahoots with my mother?” Before she could answer, he rushed on. “Every man wants to be a good son for his mother. I intend to honor my mother’s wishes.”
“Then you’d better get on the phone. The ceremony’s tonight. I have to think most movie stars have plans for the evening. You may have to call a few hundred people to find someone who’s free tonight.” Everyone knew movie stars had busy social lives. The photos of them in the grocery store tabloids displayed their glamorous lifestyles, not that she read those rags.
“You think I only date movie stars?” He looked baffled.
“Naturally, you couldn’t date anyone else.” Was he playing dumb?
“And why is that?” he asked with an amused laugh.
“Because you’re a famous producer.” She wasn’t sure how to gauge the way he looked at her. The intensity in his eyes made her shift. “You live in Hollywood. You’re incredibly handsome. Personally, I can’t see you dating anyone unless she’s a movie star.” Did she have to draw him a picture?
“Since I did wait until the last minute to find a date, and as you said, movie stars plan their social calendars months in advance, what are your plans for the evening?” He gave her a full look that made her pulse leap.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Heat burned her cheeks. Granted, she liked the look in his eyes, but she hated the way her body reacted.
“Like what?” Frowning, he gave a slight shake of his head.
“Like you’re about to ask me something I may not want to answer,” she spoke hesitantly.
“I hope you’ll answer. Would you allow me to escort you to tonight’s banquet?”
“Me?” She felt the blood drain from her face. She touched fingers to her throat. “You’re asking me to the awards ceremony?”
“If you’re available.”
“Are you kidding?” She stuttered a laugh. “I don’t date. I can’t. I work three jobs.”
“Are you working tonight?” The amusement in his eyes brightened. Because she had to work and couldn’t date?
She shook her head. “Business is slow at the restaurant where I waitress, so the manager said she wouldn’t need me tonight, but I need to stay by the phone in case another restaurant calls me. I completed applications for every restaurant along the Boulevard. People come and go so quickly in this town. You never know when a job will open up. I have to be ready in case someone calls. I can’t pass up a chance to earn money.”