11. February 14th

FEbrUARY 14TH

Kai

The shower washedaway the perspiration she'd developed facing off against her boss, but it did nothing to wash away the exhaustion she was experiencing. To this day, she still did not know what she had done to piss that man off, although it seemed like if you had a vagina, that was good enough.

Well, you've always wanted to be "good enough" to someone, somehow. Be careful what you wish for.

Every meeting with that man was a fight. And even when she won, which she always did, her psyche came away battered and bruised. She almost had herself convinced that he provoked her on purpose just so that occurred. That he didn't care if he won or lost the skirmish of the moment with her, even when it made him look like a raging asshole, because if it tore down her defenses just a little bit every time, he would eventually win the final climactic battle.

Toweling off, Kai caught a glance of herself in the vanity mirror. Hollywood was still very much a man's world, no matter what field you specialized in, and women directors had it the worst. Yes, actresses were susceptible to being taken advantage of, although that was less of a buried industry secret now with the #MeToo movement. Even the girls who worked on the crews were vulnerable. It was one of the reasons that she worked with female-heavy crews whenever possible and did her best to protect them. But female directors? The business was brutal. If someone wasn't harassing you through sex, they were beating you down verbally and emotionally. You weren't smart enough, capable enough, or connected enough. It was never good enough.

Am I wrong for wanting to be good enough for a worthy reason? Is that the eighth deadly sin no one talks about?

And now there was the hottest of hot men in her trailer, a man who had only to look at her, and she became a puddle of goo inside. A man she wanted to lick like her fork after chocolate-covered pancakes at Alice's Diner. A man she wanted to drag into her bed, tie him down, and fuck him like a total sex goddess would. But she couldn't. She was nowhere near good enough for that, let alone for him. Waters was so out of her league that he might as well be in another universe.

Get over it, Kai. You're not the one-and-done type, anyway. You're not even a commitment type. Who the hell knows what type you are?

Sighing, she slipped on a white gauze sundress that slipped off one shoulder. It was times like this when she couldn't bear being confined by her typical battle armor. She felt suffocated—hugged by the leggings, buttoned up by the tunics and oversized blouses, and forced upward by the heeled boots. Mindlessly running her fingers through her long hair, she began to braid it into a single plait over her shoulder. It was going to be a long night of last-minute details—likely a sleepless one—and she just didn't have the energy to dry it.

Another glance in the mirror, and she cringed at what Waters had witnessed this afternoon.

Time to face the music and apologize for my temper tantrum. Could I be lucky enough that he's already gone so that tomorrow I can pretend it never happened?

Kai emerged from the bathroom and entered the kitchen area. The blinds had been closed against the sun that would have been shining directly through the window, and the single light over her worktable was on with Waters sitting in his typical place, shuffling through her papers, putting everything into logical groupings, and lined up neatly in the top left corner. He must think she was a total slob.

Something brought her presence to his attention. It was a little spooky that he knew when she entered a room without making a sound, but she supposed that was part of the situational awareness he was always preaching. No one could ever accuse him of being oblivious to his surroundings.

He looked up, his face expressionless, and their eyes locked. His stare was so intense that she had to look down at the floor.

"I'm sorry about that," her voice just above a whisper and apologetic.

"Sorry for what, Kubrick?" he asked quizzically.

"I didn't want you to see that today."

"What shouldn't I have seen?"

"I was ugly. A bitch."

As if he were approaching a frightened animal, he slid out of the booth seat and crossed over to her. The tumbler was taken from her hand and placed on the counter.

Hands spanned her waist, and she felt herself being lifted into the air. Gently, he placed her on the counter so that he had to look slightly up at her. Under her lashes, she saw him pour a generous shot of tequila into the glass, and she followed his tanned hand, picking it up and handing it to her. Holding it in both hands, watching his face, she swallowed about half of it, allowing her neck to tilt back an extra bit as she felt the smooth burn down her throat.

Then he took the glass from her hand. As he shot the remaining clear liquid out of her glass, her gaze was drawn to his slow intake of the fiery liquid, his deliberate swallow, and then she locked eyes with him again as he set the glass down on the counter, pushing it and the bottle just out of her reach.

The back of his hand slid over her cheek. For just a moment, she allowed herself the guilty pleasure of closing her eyes and leaning her face into the stroke of his hand. When she opened her eyes, she confided to him, "I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I've been told repeatedly throughout my life that it's not a very attractive side of my personality."

Cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing gently back and forth, he spoke softly to her. "Depends on who's looking at you. Perhaps those people who find it so unattractive are envious they don't have the ease you do in speaking your mind. As for what I think? I think you were on fire."

"I pay you. Of course you're going to tell me that."

Confusion flared in his eyes. "I know we haven't known each other long, but what the hell, Kubrick? Does it strike you as my style to mouth platitudes at anyone?" His hands framed her face. "What is this really about?"

Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze, but he wasn't allowing her to hide from him. He tilted her face up so that her eyes instinctively went to his own. She could feel tears stinging. She could not cry in front of him. That would be the final blow to her ego. She whispered, "When will I no longer need to fight for every inch of what I've already proven I can do?" A deep, ragged inhale and exhale escaped her. "I've made eleven movies, all box office successes, each bigger than the last. I've made careful choices and diversified across genres so that I can't be pigeonholed. I've had to fight tooth and claw for each one of those jobs, all because I have tits instead of a dick. I'm not afraid of working hard, so I've pushed and pushed and pushed. But it never seems to be enough. When am I good enough, Waters, just as I am?"

His hands left her face, lowering to gather her skirt in his hands, dragging the material to just above her knees. Gently pressing them away from each other, he stepped in tight to the counter to be closer to her. Brushing back the already drying wisps of hair escaping her braid, he begged her, "Don't doubt yourself. You were fierce today. I have never witnessed a woman wield power as you did. It was the most phenomenal thing I've ever seen in my life."

His smile was sad. "The problem is, you're so used to fighting your own battles you assume no one will stand beside you. But I've watched everyone around you, and I see a very different story. The people who work for you… they love you. You build them up instead of tearing them down. You show them they're important and that what they do matters to you and, by extension, others. You protect them by putting yourself in the line of fire for them, and you keep getting up each time you're shot at, too stubborn to lie down and take it.

"But you're not bulletproof, Kubrick. You can only take so much punishment before, eventually, the damage will become too great to rally. When that day comes, you'll need to lean on those people. You have an army you aren't even aware of. They'll heal the wounds you suffer, and they'll do it gladly, without question."

"You sound like you've been there."

His eyes seemed to go far away for a brief moment so that he wasn't really looking at her but at something past. "That's because I have. I have my tribe to hold me up when things seem darkest." Then, he was back to the present moment. "Learning to accept the help of others is one of the most difficult things to learn. Asking for that help is the only thing more humbling."

His forehead to hers, he reassured her, "You are good enough. More than good enough. A force to be reckoned with. I'm proud to work at your side."

Smiling with gratitude, she asked, "Why are you so fucking perfect? It's not fair."

"Not even close to perfect," he admitted. "But thank you for stroking my ego."

His irises seemed to flare, and then ever so gently, his forehead was replaced by a soft touch of his lips, where they lingered for just a second too long. He followed with a nuzzle of his nose tip to hers, then, as if realizing he might have crossed a line, he stepped back two steps from her.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I should go." His voice was only a step above a whisper. "Be careful not to micromanage here tonight. Just put all those papers in the file folders I laid out and into the Backpack of Death. I'll see you in the morning. Go home," he emphasized the last two words. "Pack. Get some sleep."

He walked to the door, but after he opened it, he looked back at her. "Don't forget. Fierce. A force. So much more than good enough." Then he left, reluctantly it seemed, shutting the door behind him.

Well, what the hell do I do with that?

She slid off the counter and crossed over to the table he had vacated, a smile on her lips at the neatness and order he left behind. Her face froze in thought.

He left behind… He left.

Waters broke one of his own rules. Rule five. One of his nonnegotiable rules.

"Huh. Interesting."