Donna Hill - For The Love Of You

“Thanks for seeing me.”

“You didn’t give me much choice, Mr. Lawson.”

“You’re right. I realize you were expecting me—us—tomorrow, but I wanted to see the estate for myself and meet you as soon as possible. I hope we can talk for a few minutes, go over the details and work out the schedule.”

Jewel lifted her chin ever so slightly, a move that Craig had seen his sister use whenever she was ready to do battle. He reflexively clenched his jaw. Craig glanced over his shoulder and angled his body. “Ms. Fontaine, this is my business partner and a producer of the film, Anthony Maxwell.”

Anthony stepped in between the standoff and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fontaine. Your home is better than any pictures.”

She offered up a hint of a smile. “Thank you.” She turned her attention to Craig, and he felt her stare right in his center. “We need to talk, Mr. Lawson.”

His radar went on full alert, and every instinct told him that this was not going to go well. “Of course.”

Jewel stepped down off the back porch and walked toward the brook that ran behind the house. Craig fell in step next to her and wondered what that incredible scent was that floated around her.

“Mr. Lawson—” She stopped and turned to him, and he was hit in the chest again by the depth of her eyes. “I don’t know how to say this, but—” She paused, looked at the water and then at him. “I’m going to have to back out of this arrangement.”

He’d expected a discussion about more money, no Mondays or eating in the kitchen, or whatever other quirky thing homeowners wanted when they rented out their property, but not this.

Craig bent his head toward her in an almost combative move. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve changed my mind. This may be a great opportunity, but it will be too disruptive and... I can’t allow this.” She folded her arms beneath the swell of her breasts. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Craig was totally thrown. It took him a minute to process what she was saying. Months of work would go down the drain; the time it would take to find a new location would cost thousands and set the production schedule back by any number of days, possibly weeks. As the scenario played in his head, his level of pissed off rose. He’d never been one to take no for an answer, and now wasn’t the time to get started.

“Listen—” He reached out to touch her, and the instant his fingertips touched her bare arm he knew it was a major mistake. What felt like electricity brushed across his skin. “I, uh, totally get it that having a film crew in your home is a pretty big imposition.” He gave her his best Oscar-winning smile, coated with Nawlins drawl. He held up his hands. “I promise you we will totally respect your home. Whatever rules you set down...that’s what it will be.”

He watched the pink tip of her tongue peek out and stroke her bottom lip. He swallowed.

“It’s much more complicated than that, Mr. Lawson,” she said softly, the hard stance that she’d taken earlier seeming to ease somewhat. “I deeply apologize for any inconvenience—”

“If it’s about money, we can work that out. It’s a big imposition, and you should be compensated accordingly.”

“What makes you think I need or want your money!” Her hands dropped to her sides, and her fingers curled into her palms.

The 360 in her tone and body was so sudden, Craig actually took a step back. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you did,” he said, keeping his voice low and even in the hope of rescuing this rapidly sinking ship. “I’d really like to talk this out. I’m sure we can do whatever it is that you need to be comfortable.”

Jewel slowly shook her head. Her lids fluttered rapidly, and her nostrils flared even as she turned her lips inward and tightened them.

Craig took a cautious step closer. There were two things he was really good at: finding movieworthy material and noting the warning signs in a woman’s face. This woman was on the verge of tears, and he was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with the film, at least not directly.

“I’m sorry,” she managed and stuck out her hand.

Craig’s gaze ran over her face, but she wouldn’t look directly at him. He took her hand and slowly let his fingers envelop hers. “Thank you, Ms. Fontaine. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out. If you change your mind, you have the number.”

She bobbed her head, and he released her hand, turned and headed back to where he’d left Anthony.

“Let’s go,” he snapped, storming past Anthony.

Anthony double-timed it to catch up. “Yo, what happened?”

Craig slid on his shades. “We’ll talk back at the hotel and Paul can start looking for a new job.”

* * *

By the time the crew returned—very subdued—to the hotel, Craig’s ire had diminished by a fraction. At least he’d stopped cussing and tossing death stares at his crew.

“Look,” Anthony said, pulling Craig off to the side once they’d entered the suite, “go easy. We’ve been in tighter situations. We have some alternate locations on tap. We’ll find the right venue and keep it moving. Every one of us has screwed up at some point,” he added with a knowing look.

Craig grunted. “Yeah. I know. It’s just when you feel something in your gut...” He let his words drift away and wondered if he meant the location or Jewel Fontaine. He clapped Anthony on the arm. “You’re right. We’ll work it out.” He slung his hands into his pants pockets and turned to the crew, whose gazes were glued to the floor.

“Okay, look...it appears that we’re not going to be able to use the Fontaine location for the shoot. For whatever reason, the lady of the house has changed her mind.” He tossed a look in Paul’s direction.

Paul shifted his weight and looked appropriately contrite.

“Mr. Lawson...”

Craig turned his attention toward Diane Fisher, one of the assistant location scouts. “Yes?”

She cleared her throat, glanced briefly at Paul then focused on Craig. She lifted her dimpled chin. “It wasn’t Paul’s fault. He gave me my first assignment. I should have had her sign the contract.” She swallowed. “I didn’t. I guess I was a little starstruck when I realized who she was. I’m sorry. But this isn’t Paul’s fault.”

Craig held back a smile. He admired loyalty among his friends and his working crew. It was clear to him, however, that there was just a little something more than work between Paul and Diane, which was cool as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. He’d give them both a pass on this one.

“Thank you for telling me that, Diane. You’ll know for next time.”

The wave of relief in the room was palpable. There would be a next time instead of a goodbye.

“In the meantime I want Paul and Diane to get busy with the secondary locations. We can’t afford to have this project fall behind schedule.” He paused. “Thanks, y’all.” He tugged in a breath and exhaled. “I know how hard you work, and you’re some of the best in the business. I don’t say it much, but I appreciate each of you.” He turned and walked into his adjoining room, totally missing the look of outright shock on the faces of his crew.

* * *

Craig closed the door to his room and crossed the plush carpeted floor to the minibar. He poured himself a shot of bourbon on the rocks. He took a deep, satisfying swallow and allowed the smooth liquor to seep into his veins, warming them before he went to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes cinched at the corners while he rocked his jaw from side to side and looked out on the city that he’d once called home. Had anyone asked him a year ago if he would ever return, he would have said, “Hell, no.” But here he was, back home, doing the very thing that had sent him away in the first place. He snorted a laugh at the irony of it all. The prodigal son had returned. By now his father would know that he was back. Why did it still matter?