Page 42 of The Dirty Version
Once Ram and Reggie made their exit, the conference suite drained quickly.
No one stayed behind to question why Tash loitered, or why Caleb returned her gaze so intensely from his spot on the sill.
When the hallway outside had cleared, too, Tash finished pretending to fiddle with her one-shoulder top’s silk knot. All that remained were the character photos and the Culver City skyline and the exhilaration of having vanquished her own python. And the tender loose threads of unfinished business.
Caleb broke the ice.
Ten feet away from her, he perched on the window’s bench seat, arms folded across his white button-down, his posture a defensive hedge. “‘A cliffside climax’?”
Unsure if it was praise or ridicule, Tash shrugged self-consciously. “Someone once told me each department has its own language. And I had to really use it if I wanted these guys to listen.”
His mouth stayed neutral. “You did a good job.” His gaze stayed politely aloof. “How do you feel about the changes? Fraternal twins is a big shift from the book.”
“I feel great about it.” Tash felt the wave of apology and resolution that had carried her from one coast to another. “Once I got past being precious about the plot, fraternal twins seemed like a smart way for the property to go.”
Behind his glasses, Caleb’s eyes flickered. He nodded slowly, perhaps picking up on her clue. “You gave the baby girl some interesting symbolism.”
“I did.” Tash inched forward in heels she could not wait to unstrap. “She’s supposed to signify second chances.” When Caleb just blinked at her, she took a more overt angle. “I know about the rider to Astrid’s contract. She told me it was your idea.”
Her tactic had the wrong effect. “You spoke to Astrid?” His bearing tightened.
“She got me in here. I wasn’t sure I’d make it past reception.”
“Well, the rider was a last resort.” He’d stiffened into a stoic barricade. “Story Edit seemed hell-bent on shooting something graphic, and I knew that was the last thing you would want. I’m sorry if you’re angry. I had to find a middle ground—”
“Caleb. I’m not angry.” Tash cut him off, her cataclysmic track record seeing it would need to make amends. Of course he assumed she was angry—he expected it, just like Denise and Janelle.
She dared another step toward his stronghold.
“I’m grateful. I saw the pink draft of the script.
I understand that we were cornered. I understand you did it to help me.
Again.” She remembered Doolittle’s parting quip.
“Although it sounds like I butchered Nine’s execution. Writing it without you kind of sucked.”
Limb by muscled limb, Caleb became familiar to her again. He leaned back against the plate-glass window. “Did you know I pitched half of your finale idea before you walked in?”
Tash shook her head, not following.
“The baby as a girl. I thought of it last night. I wasn’t sure it was okay, so I left Janelle an extremely long-winded message.” He shrugged humbly. “But it didn’t matter because I couldn’t convince the team. So this save is all you.”
The three missed calls from Janelle suddenly made sense. “Janelle’s probably laughing—I got the twins idea with her, too. I made her go over it with me a thousand times.” Tash would owe her best friend an update.
First, she owed Caleb something else.
She reached for the monologue she’d practiced.
“I know I ruined things. We were supposed to have a safe space, and I filled it with my hang-ups. I jumped to conclusions, and I got mad, and I ran away instead of letting you explain. These are habits I’m trying to break.
” She gave him a self-aware smile of entreaty.
“At least with you. I mean, if you’re into comebacks.
Which, I hear, are trending pretty hard. ”
His expression thawed. “What, like, tales of redemption?”
She nodded.
Caleb uncrossed his legs, purple soles planted on beige carpet.
“Then I’ll respond by saying I could have done a better job of laying out the Braverman dynamics.
I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark. I did it because you’d had such a bad experience with them already, and the inside of story negotiations can be such shit.
” He blazed with sincerity. “I should have been more open. I wanted to spare you the aggravation.”
“I get that now.” Tash found herself in the shelter of his knees.
He pulled her toward him gently. “Although. You handled things perfectly today. You pitched like a natural.”
Tash balked. “I am never coming to one of these meetings again.”
“You might have to.” Caleb pointed to the conference oval. “You probably just got yourself a second season.”
Tash trapped his shoulders against the window, silencing his wit. “The thing is, I’m difficult to manage. I need special collaboration. The only person I can really work with is very in demand.”
“I might know someone. I’ll introduce you.”
Tash climbed into his lap.
She kissed him in reacquaintance, the choreography all hot celebration.
His smile for her was private. “How long can you stay?”
Tash shrugged, high on his scent, already. “Until my brother and his boyfriend kick me out of their guesthouse?”
Caleb must have done the math. He withdrew for a moment. “Don’t you have to get back to your classes?”
She took in his mussed hair, his dilated pupils, the scruff on his jaw. “I’m on leave for a semester. To work on something new.”
He absorbed this. He stood then, grinning, fixing her legs around his waist. He walked them toward the exit. “So there’s enough time to help me write the virgin breaths after a sexual release? Because you just promised a bunch of people that dialogue and blocking.”
Tash laughed. “ You promised.”
“Same thing.”
She pretended to mull it over. “What you’re saying is—you need specific words and movement.”
He pinned her against the conference room wall unabashedly, right in front of The Colony ’s blown-up Polaroids. “Yes, but it has to be excellent. Hope and beauty. Cross-cultural legend. Spring, and dawn, and lust.”
Down the corridor, the elevator dinged open for them; beyond it, the California sun.
Tash smiled, certain what Caleb asked for wouldn’t be a problem. “Sure. I think I can help you flesh that out.”