Blood Ink by Dana Fredsti

Author:Dana Fredsti
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I slept in as late as possible, since getting to the production meeting involved nothing more complicated than taking the elevator and walking down a hallway. When I knew I couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer, I rolled out of the all-too-comfy bed, hit the “brew” button on the Keurig machine to start the much-needed caffeination of my bloodstream, and ducked into the shower for a quick rinse.

Berserker Productions had closed out Onc Cochon, our faithful waitress keeping the food and drinks flowing until Cayden finally slapped down a silver-embossed black credit card. One of those cards that means the bearer can afford pretty much anything. If the look on the waitress’s face was anything to go by, he’d left one hell of a generous tip.

The meeting was being held in one of the hotel suites, which was serving as the production’s office for the time being. Again, I wondered what kind of budget they had that could afford this type of luxury. The kind of budget that came with spiffy black credit cards, I guessed.

Devon opened the door when I knocked, hair still wet from the shower and brimming with near manic energy. “Lee!” he exclaimed, giving me an unsolicited hug. He didn’t try to turn it into anything creepy, but I really wish he would’ve asked first.

I was impressed with how clean the suite was. Given the normal habits of film crews, I’d half-expected to find empty beer bottles littering the surfaces and used condoms in the wastebaskets. But the only thing spread out across the available surfaces were script pages and storyboards, with several high-end laptops jostling for position. There was also a tray of sandwiches on a side table, along with a pitcher of ice water and a decent-sized coffee maker.

A woman with cropped blonde hair and a dark tan sat behind a desk near one of the windows, speaking rapidly into a Bluetooth headset. Although she spoke quietly, I overheard more than one swear word delivered in a broad Australian accent. Probably the unit production manager. She had a certain predatory smile and “I will take no shit” attitude that went with the territory.

“That’s Jen.” Devon pointed at the blonde. “She’s the UPM.”

Hah! Jen raised a hand in an absent-minded wave, never looking away from her notes or taking her attention away from her phone call.

“She’s also the line producer,” he added, “so don’t piss her off. She pretty much runs Berserker Productions.”

“And I’m Daphne, the FX coordinator,” a cheerful Southern-accented voice piped up behind me. I turned as a Junoesque brunette walked through the door. Smooth, milky skin, all voluptuous curves in a loose orange sun dress. Huge brown eyes with Bambiesque lashes, a tiny nose, and full lips that rivaled Angelina Jolie’s. She seemed supremely comfortable in her own skin and smelled like gardenias. Not perfume, but fresh flowers. Some sort of tree nymph.

I shook her outstretched hand and introduced myself. She nodded knowingly and said, “I’m so glad y’all are on board.

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