“Please, don’t remind me of your cocktails at the White Hart,” Travis says, unbuttoning my shirt.

  “What, why not?”

  “Because…” Travis trails off, his hands still on my shirt. “I still remember you in that dress, trying to take away my sanity.”

  “What dress?” I play dumb. “The green one with the white heart polka dots?”

  “No,” Travis says, unfastening another button. “The other dress.”

  “Oooooh, the naked dress, then.”

  “You call it the naked dress?” Travis chuckles. “Admit you wore it just to torture me.”

  “If I remember correctly, you were the one playing hard to get at the time.”

  Travis’s face turns serious. “I was a fool to waste even a single night with you.”

  “Agreed.” I lean in and kiss him. “But you’ve made up for it since.”

  “I try very hard,” Travis says, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he finally succeeds in taking off my shirt.

  “Yes, you do an excellent job, Mr. Mayor.”

  The next morning I’m torn between spending all day in bed, part sleeping and part doing obvious other things, and getting the most out of the day with Travis in New York.

  “What do you want to do today?” I ask as we both stir awake.

  His wolfish stare tells me he’d be more of the stay-in-bed-all-day school of thought, so I clarify, “I meant in the city, with clothes on.”

  Travis groans in mock protest. “What do you do on Saturdays?”

  I check the time from the alarm clock on my nightstand. “Well, I’m about three and a half hours late for my Pilates class, for starters. But we’re in time for brunch.”

  “Oh, there’s this French bistro I used to go to.”

  “I was thinking of taking you to a French place, what was the name of yours?” I ask, then putting my hands forward, I add, “No, wait, we say it together on three. Ready?”

  He nods.

  “One, two…”

  “Lafayette,” we say in chorus.

  I swat him. “Oh my gosh, you’re such a New Yorker.”

  Travis brushes imaginary dirt off his shoulders, hip-hop dancer style. “Just gotta take some of the rust off.”

  And the day goes exactly like that. Like we’ve lived together in New York City forever and this is just another Saturday for us. It’s amazing how perfectly we fit in Manhattan or in Emerald Creek. Country, metropolis, it doesn’t matter. We’re good together.

  The high of the weekend quickly evaporates on Monday morning as I have to put Travis in a cab headed for the airport. The goodbye is just as gut-wrenching as it was when I left Emerald Creek only a few days ago. How many of these can I survive? How long before one of us gets tired?

  As the weeks progress, I learn the hard way why so many long-distance relationships fail. I can see my disappointment mirrored in Travis’s eyes as we video chat one night and discover the weekend he has to work at his mother’s ranch for some unpostponable farming job, I have a work event in New York I can’t skip. Or feel his frustration when our flights get delayed more often than not. I’m equally frustrated.

  Another weekend, Travis’s flight gets canceled altogether and then postponed to the next day, cutting our little time together even shorter. We try to put a brave face on it. Joke about it even. But underneath the surface, I can tell the distance and traveling are taking their toll.

  The next weekend is my turn to go to Emerald Creek. I book a connecting flight since there are no direct flights compatible with my schedule. But then I spend all of Friday dreading one of the flights being delayed and me having to spend the night by myself in Washington, DC or some other random city.

  Thankfully, I don’t. And my stay in Emerald Creek almost goes smoothly. At least until my Outlook calendar updates around lunchtime on Sunday, informing me Winthrop has scheduled a meeting for us on Monday morning at eight.

  What a dick move. Who schedules a meeting that early on a Monday? I do it only when I want to put someone off their game, show them who’s boss. Oh my gosh, is that what Winthrop wants to do to me? Why?

  I don’t have time to wonder as I literally have to drop everything in the middle of lunch to reschedule my flights. I had planned to take an early one on Monday morning that would get me to the office at ten-ish—a totally acceptable hour for an executive. Now I have to catch a red-eye, and Travis has to drive me all the way to Indianapolis because there are no late-night flights out of Louisville.

  Not exactly a happy ending to our weekend.

  The ride in the truck is silent. Tense. We’re both angry, not at each other, but at the circumstances that seem to keep wanting to pull us apart.

  By the time Travis pulls up to the curb at the airport, I’m so rigid I’d break if I tried even the easiest of stretches. We try to keep our goodbyes loving, but it’s clear how unsatisfied we both are. And I have a bad feeling about tomorrow’s meeting. I’m afraid things are about to get a lot worse.

  30

  IF YOU DON’T HAVE A PLAN FOR YOURSELF, YOU’LL BE PART OF SOMEONE ELSE’S

  Monday morning, I dress for a fight. A smart suit, not a hair out of place, impeccable makeup. I’m the image of a cutting-edge professional. My concealer is working miracles to hide the signs of a sleepless night. Yesterday, I arrived at home at 2 a.m. and spent the little sleep time I had tossing and turning, worrying about what Winthrop will have to say today.

  But at 7.59 sharp I knock on his open door, looking almost fresh-faced. Thanks, Ms. Estée Lauder.

  “Ah, Samantha.” Winthrop beckons me in. “I see you’ve survived farm life. I was worried.” My boss gestures for me to take a seat before his desk.

  “Worried?” I ask, sitting on the chair with my back straight and on high alert. “Why?”

  The boss leans back in his leather chair, interlacing his fingers. “Usually by the time one of your movies is completed, you’ve already presented me with ten ideas for your next project… but this time, nothing.” He whistles softly. “Total radio silence.”

  The boss is right, so right. I’ve taken my eyes off the prize. Between the constant back and forth with Emerald Creek, how tired I’ve been, the fact that Celia is gone and my new assistant, Adele, isn’t properly trained yet, I haven’t read a single one of the two thousand screenplays piled on my desk. Celia was a great help in screening and making summary reports of the best ones for me to choose from. But I can’t trust Adele with that kind of responsibility, not yet. Of course, I can’t tell Winthrop any of this.

  Instead, I lie through my teeth. “No need to worry, Boss, I haven’t put forward any new proposal because I’m working on something big at the moment and I wanted to make sure the pitch is up to par before I presented it to you.”

  Winthrop studies me for a long time as if he can see right through my cow manure. “Good,” he says eventually. “Wrap everything up this week and be ready to show me your proposal next week. Tamara will fit your presentation into my calendar.”

  I nod, ready to leave, when he adds, “I still haven’t assigned anyone to the Ember Crown franchise. You’d be perfect for such a high-profile job.”

  I swallow—hard. Ember Crown is a three-part fantasy movie series shooting mostly in New Zealand.

  The message is pretty clear: keep your head in the game, bring me something interesting, or else.

  ‘Else’ translating into me becoming his ship-around-the-world plodder.

  I muster a half-smile and try to keep my walk steady as I backtrack out of his office.

  Tamara, his secretary, schedules our meeting for next Wednesday at ten.

  I’m not sure if knowing the time of my professional death is more comforting or disturbing. I wobble on my stilettos until I reach the safety of my office and shut myself in. Adele has at least learned not to disturb me when my door is closed.

  I lean back in my chair and turn to stare out the window at the spectacular view of New York City.

  My relationship with Travis is already strained; if Winthrop assigns me to a job in New Zealand with several literal oceans dividing us, we’re toast.

  The alternative? Find a movie so good Winthrop won’t be able to say no.

  I turn back to my desk, grab the first screenplay from the slush pile, and get to work.

  I read, and read, and read. When Friday afternoon arrives, my eyes are bloodshot and I have to buy artificial tears because I’ve spent all the real ones. Since Monday, I’ve ruffled through what feels like a million screenplays while in actuality, I’ve skimmed maybe a third of my pile. I’ve been so obsessed with finding the perfect story, I forgot to leave enough time to actually put up a production plan around that mystical movie embryo that would save my love life.

  Now, I’m tempted to pick one of the scripts I earmarked for potential at random and just go with it. Cancel my weekend trip to Emerald Creek and spend the next four days holed up in the office, concocting a presentation. But without the help of my team, they won’t be at the office on Saturday and Sunday, the sacrifice would basically be a waste. Plus, usually, when I present something to Winthrop, I already have tentative agreements with investors, a few members of the main cast, and definitely a director in mind. But I can’t call all these professionals sounding desperate. It’d be like swimming next to sharks with a flesh wound oozing blood.

  This means I’m down to two possibilities: either quit my job and move to Emerald Creek, or keep my job and move to New Zealand and lose Travis in the process.

  My heart is telling me to show Winthrop the finger. Yeah, that would definitely make me happier in the short term. But long term? How much time would pass before I started resenting Travis for giving up my career? How long could I stay happy in Emerald Creek doing precisely nothing?

  The more I think about it, the more it seems I only have one option left.

  By the time I get to the airport, my mind is set: I have to break up with Travis.

  31

  IT’S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE DAWN

  After the security checks, I arrive at my gate only to find out my flight is delayed by forty-five minutes.

  I’m equally annoyed and relieved. Now that I’ve resolved to break up with Travis, part of me is worried I’ll lose my bearings if I have too long to sit on the decision. The other half is hanging desperately to the distant hope something will happen to allow me and Travis to be together.

  To kill time while I wait for my flight’s status to change to ‘Boarding,’ I go to my favorite bar. Mark, the bartender, is a friendly chap and always gives me free chips.

  “Samantha,” he greets me as soon as I grab a stool at the counter. “OJ, like usual?”

  I nod, even if I’m tempted to ask him to add some vodka to the juice.

  Mark gets to work, cutting oranges and feeding them to the juicer. Once he’s done, he sets a tall glass in front of me alongside the coveted bowl of free chips.

  His blue eyes linger on me. “What’s with the long face?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Well, usually when you’re off to see your beau I have to put on shades to not be blinded by your smile. Or are you flying out on business this time?”

  “No, I’m going to Indiana.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  I take a sip of juice. “I have a gun pointed at my head, and whatever choice I make, I’ll end up unhappy.”

  Mark’s reply surprises me. “You work in TV, right?”

  Weird question. “Motion pictures, actually. Why?”

  “Well, to quote a famous TV show to you, what do you do when a person has a gun to your head?”

  I blink, waiting for the punch line.

  “You take the gun, or you pull out a bigger one. Or, you do any of 146 other things.”

  Despite myself, I smile. “A Suits fan, huh?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe the royal family? Anyway, I’m pretty sure I already tried 145 possible solutions.” At least I’ve read as many scripts in the past five days. “And no matter how hard I rack my brain, I can’t seem to come up with a way to fix things.”

  “Then you’ve still got another try.” Mark winks. “If you don’t like your odds, change them. Go find your unicorn.” He points a finger to the sky. “And that’s your flight they’re calling.”

  Mark is right. I quickly pay my bill and stroll to the gate area.

  Change my odds… mmm, where do I find a bigger gun?

  On the plane, I pass out the second we take off because… lack of sleep and everything. But my brain stays active even while I’m unconscious. In fact, when a hostess shakes me awake upon landing, I’m on the cusp of having a life-changing idea. I stretch my mind’s fingers as if I could still touch that idea, but the big revelation remains elusively just out of my grasp.

  Still, unformed ideas keep spinning in my head. The solution is out there somewhere, I only need to find it.

  At the arrivals, I greet Travis with a quick kiss and get into his truck, still concentrating on searching for the missing piece of the puzzle.

  I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts, I don’t even notice Travis stewing next to me. At least until he breaks the silence and asks, “You seem a little preoccupied?”

  “Well, of course. I’d come here to break up with you—”

  Travis hits the brakes with such force the truck lurches to an abrupt stop, skewing to the side of the road dangerously close to a ditch. The engine rattles and then dies of its own accord. Good thing we’re on a dirt road skirting the borders of his mother’s property—a shortcut to his neighborhood—and no other vehicle is around or we might’ve caused an accident.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I say, heart still pounding in my chest for the surprise.

  “Gosh, Samantha, you said you want to break up with me. Forgive me for not being super Zen about it.”

  The mayor must be really serious if he’s calling me Samantha. “I said my intention had been to break up with you, past tense.”

  “I take it you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “You know the meeting I had with my boss on Monday?”

  “The one you kept insisting wasn’t important and after which you started dodging all my calls?”

  I nod guiltily.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Well, Winthrop said that I either present him with a grand project by next Wednesday or he’s going to assign me to a three-part movie series in New Zealand.”

  Terror takes hold of Travis’s features and he rakes a hand through his hair. “And?”

  “I don’t have a project to present.”

  “So, you’re moving to New Zealand.”

  “That’s what I thought when I left home.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think we need a bigger gun.”

  Travis shakes his head. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “We need to change the variables, only I haven’t figured out how yet.”

  Travis ponders for a moment and then says, “Well, I’ve had this idea… but I didn’t want to share it with you until I had a better look at the numbers, but, since we’re in a hurry…”

  I make a give-it-to-me gesture.

  “Lake View Acres has officially gone on the market after your lease expired, and you’ve always told me how convenient it was to have a whole ranch as your set, how much money you saved compared to booking studio time in LA… so I was wondering, what if we bought the ranch together? You could leave your job in New York and we could rent it out to other movie productions. I mean, you’ve so many connections in the industry… and I know it wouldn’t be exactly the same job you do now, but it’d still be movie related—”

  I raise a hand to make him quiet, cogs whirring furiously in my brain. Until the last piece of the puzzle slips into place and the idea that was eluding me finally takes full form. It’s like I’ve been hit by lightning. “Theodore Abraham Hunt, you’re a genius!”

  “So you don’t think it’s a stupid idea?”

  “No, it’s absolutely brilliant!” I beam at him.

  “Does that smile mean you’re quitting your job and we’re buying the property together?”

  “Oh, no, I’m keeping my job.”

  “How?”

  “Because you just handed me a bazooka.”

  32

  DIPLOMACY IS THE ART OF LETTING SOMEONE ELSE HAVE YOUR WAY

  Anticipation fills me as I wait for Winthrop’s reaction to my presentation. The head of Denouement Studios is once again holding my future happiness in his palm, only this time I also have him by the short hairs.

  My boss leans back in his chair. “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to do this whether I say yes or no?”

  Travis asked me the same thing. The business plan is solid. Travis and I spent the last four days working endlessly on the proposal. We both called in every favor we were owed to put together a bulletproof financial plan with an unquestionable upside. So why cut Winthrop in on it? Why not go at it alone?

  I told Travis it’s always better to have friends in the movie business rather than enemies. And now I tell Winthrop the same thing, making it perfectly clear at the same time that he’s correct in assuming I’m doing this whether he’s in or not.

  “But I’d rather do it with you,” I conclude.

  Winthrop leans his elbows on the desk. “Walk me through the numbers again…”

  “This is how much the property costs,” I say. “And that’s how much we’d save in studio rental fees over ten years, assuming we filmed just one movie per year in Emerald Creek. This figure shows the tax subsidy the state of Indiana is offering over five years for new companies operating within the state. Creating our own filming studio in Emerald Creek would save us millions of dollars. The property, with the hills, the lake, the river, and the flat pastures, is really versatile. We could shoot a million different things on it.”