Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
And yeah, there was a standing implication that he’d loved and lost. No details given…just implied.
Fans ate that shit up. They loved a hardened hero with battle scars and a mysterious backstory. Women wanted to fix him and men wanted to be him. And vice versa. They usually wanted to fuck him too. But he couldn’t be pinned down. Baxter was elusive and cagey. You never knew where he’d show up or who he was coming for next.
But I did.
I had so much going on in my brain it was scary. Script meetings, budget talks, production concerns…you name it, there was a chance someone had a note with my name on it marked URGENT, all caps. I didn’t have time to think about Gray or Justin. I didn’t have time to worry that Rita getting serious with her new boyfriend meant a stepdad situation for Oliver.
He’d dropped a casual “Mom might get married soon too” on our usual prework and school conversation we had on days when he was with his mom. Of course, I didn’t care if Rita married anyone. I just didn’t want Ollie hurt. And yeah, I didn’t really want to share him either.
Nope. Not thinking about it.
I couldn’t control other people’s relationships. But I could control my time. And the more time I spent developing Baxter’s next adventure, the less I had to think about Trent and how unfazed he’d been about my surprise visit at the restaurant last night. That was a good thing, ’cause if I did, my mind would wander to that scene in my office…my suit pants around my ankles, his hand on my dick, his cock in my ass and—
Nope. Not going there either. I was all about Baxter.
I cruised through the studio with a big smile on my face, giving customary fist bumps to set designers and prop assistants on my way to the meeting I’d called with my production crew. I wondered if anyone here knew I’d been popping antacids like gumdrops for weeks and that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a real meal. Not a bowl of cereal or half a piece of toast, but a full sit-down meal. Probably a month.
I had no appetite, but that was normal. I had a habit of becoming consumed with a project and losing my grasp of time. That tended to happen toward the middle or end of filming or post-production, though…rarely at the beginning. Most people would point out that this was where I usually revamped marketing ideas and harangued Gray about spicing up the soundtrack. I always padded the time between shoots to give each Baxter production the attention it required. So yeah, my eagerness to tackle the next project didn’t make a lot of sense.
However, I was in charge here. The other producers and the rest of our team, including the casting director, screenwriter, and various assistants went with the flow, no doubt assuming I had some brilliant plan hatched. And I did.
Sort of.
I strode into the glass-enclosed fishbowl conference room and took my place at the head of the table, dropping the new script with a thump.
“Good morning, everyone. Baxter does London. Who’s ready for it?”
Of course they were ready for it.
This was my yes team. My “we’ll do anything for a buck” squad. And a few members of my marketing team…who also liked to make money. I allotted them a few minutes to congratulate me on my genius before instructing them to pull up the doc I’d sent. I outlined the script and my admittedly incomplete plan, then fielded a few questions on the upcoming project.
Edwin Hirsch flashed a phony-as-fuck grin as he pushed his round spectacles up the bridge of his pointy nose. “Walk me back a step, Seb.”
“Okay…from where?” I checked the time to wordlessly communicate that I didn’t have much of it to waste. I was not a fan of stupidly long meetings. Ed was.
Ed was one of my more annoying producers, but he had a flawless pedigree. His grandmother was a set designer for MGM in the forties, his dad was a B actor turned television director, and his sister won a Golden Globe last year. Ed didn’t have that kind of talent, but his quick mind made him a valuable asset.
“You mentioned that we have permits for filming in London, but if you also want to film in the countryside, we’ll need a permit for that too. Do we have that location set? Is there a preliminary schedule and…who do you have on tap to direct?”
I paced the length of the geometric-print rug under the glass conference table, tapping my chin thoughtfully. I stopped abruptly and gestured to the group of elite execs.
“I’m open to location suggestions. Someplace right outside of the city. The story calls for a forty-minute train ride—meaning a lot of action is supposed to take place in that specific amount of time. As for director…let’s get Rodriguez.”