Chapter 1
It’s impossible to mistake the bark of new CEO Hank Johnson of Hollywood Films. He doesn’t so much talk as snarl, or (if you’re particularly unlucky) snaps and spits like he’s some kind of military man ordering his lackadaisical troops about. My cubicle is on the other side of the foyer to his office, and I swear the floor vibrates in time with the less than politically correct recriminations he’s been bellowing at staff since his arrival yesterday.
I’m not going to lie, I’m quaking in my boots. Confrontation is not my thing, especially when I’m facing a six-foot, bald-headed sweary pants who doesn’t seem to care that this sort of behaviour went out in the Noughties.
We have rights, dammit. But I’m not going to be the one to tell him.
This is Hollywood. AKA Hollyweird. A universe unto itself.
A year ago, I landed the perfect job as a book scout; a feat really that I – quiet achiever – managed to get myself hired in Tinseltown after a decade in various publishing houses back in NYC.
Here, I spend most days reading manuscripts in the hopes I’ll find the perfect romantic comedy to adapt into film. It’s a bibliophile’s dream but, as always, it’s the people peopling around me that take the shine off.
There are so many big personalities in showbiz; it’s intense for someone who prefers the comfort of the written word to, say, actual conversations with living, breathing humans. But I am passionate about finding those hidden gems: the books that don’t shout the loudest, yet have the most beautiful message and a story worth sharing, so I persist.
Work was going swimmingly until my fabulously old-school Hollywood boss Gene announced he’d up and sold the business.
Enter stage left: Hank.
A potty-mouthed pedant who spent his first day telling us all how useless we are and that big, devastating changes are coming our way. Yikes. For someone who suffers with anxiety and is socially awkward at the best of times, this kind of remonstrating has been enough to send me into a tailspin. My inner critic is already quite proficient at negative self-talk, so he really doesn’t need to admonish me further.
Are we useless though? AmIuseless? This has been running in a loop in my mind since yesterday. It doesn’t take much for me to sink into this kind of self-doubt and get stuck there. The only thing that pulls me out of such funks is reading. Nose in a book, the real world slips away and, best of all, I get to call it work.
‘EVA!’
The internal walls shake at the same rate my hands do. Penelope, one of his personal assistants pokes her head in my door, her expression fraught. ‘That’s you, Evie. He’s calling you.’
‘Right.’ Of course, I knew it was me, but at times of high stress, I shut off and pretend to be invisible. I’m guessing this coping mechanism won’t work with Hank Johnson.
Penelope darts a worried glance over her shoulder as if Hank might pop up behind her. ‘He wants to see you in his office, like five minutes ago.’
‘Coming, coming.’ I shuffle my proposals together, not quite sure what to have at hand.
‘Don’t worry about all that. Just hurry!’ Penelope says.
I shuffle, half-run and try not to let fear show on my face. It doesn’t help when everyone shoots me looks of abject pity. Do they know something I don’t? I feel an overwhelming sense of impending doom, which might be my anxiety or a premonition of what’s to come. Hard to tell.
At the shiny double doors, I take a moment to compose myself. Tuck an always stray hair behind my ear and—
‘Where the hell is she?’
Heart galloping, I knock. ‘Sir, Mr Johnson, it’s me, Evie. Hi!’ Tentatively, I peek around the door.
‘I don’t have all day, Eva! Get in here and shut the door!’
A headache looms from all his thundering but I duly enter and sit in the chair in front of his vast desk, clasping my shaky hands together so he doesn’t clock my nervousness.
‘Right so, let me see here.’ He dons specs as he reads a sheet of paper. ‘Book scout, eh? One of three hired by Hollywood Films.’
‘Yes, sir, I—’
Hank holds a meaty palm in the air that implies I should stop talking. That’s fine by me.
‘OK, so you’ve been here a year. Relocated from New York. Already have two films in development. Romantic comedies.’ And with that he drops the piece of paper as if it’s downright offended him. ‘Well, as you can imagine, Eva …’
‘It’s Evie.’
‘Don’t interrupt.’
