4. February 9th

FEbrUARY 9TH

Waters

Over the next two hours,Waters followed Kubrick, God's nickname for her, around the studio lot. She was stopped at least once at every location they visited. He watched how each person interacted with her and how those who passed by reacted to her. Nothing was outwardly out of place, but his skin was crawling.

Something isn't right.

Finally, they arrived at Kubrick's office, a trailer on a side street between sound stages and visible to the inner parking lot. She handed him a bottle of water from her refrigerator. Cracking her own open and downing half of it, she slid into the round booth-like table littered with papers, pens, highlighters, notepads, photos, blueprints, and renderings. She began unpacking her backpack of death. It was clear that she used the table as her desk. She motioned for Waters to have a seat across from her.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"I think you need a bigger workspace," he commented as he sat.

Blushing, she stood as best she could between the bench seat and the table edge and started to pick up piles of items, attempting to put them into some semblance of a neat stack. "Sorry."

He reached over and placed his hands on top of the pile she was trying to pick up and held them down. Their eyes met.

Her skin is burning me.

He drew back his hands. "No need to be sorry. Everyone works differently. I'm just used to clear space, in and out boxes, and folders," he replied. She sat down, brushing her hair back, trying to tame it into her signature ponytail. She was embarrassed, and that hadn't been his intent.

She smiled, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Yeah, I'm a bit obsessive about having everything on paper. And it looks like a bomb went off, I know, but I can lay my hands on anything at any moment."

"Nothing wrong with it. You should see our conference room table when planning a job. Tablets are popular, but I still love paper planning." He sat. "As for OPT, I always have contingencies for contingencies."

"OPT?" she asked.

"Obsessive Planning Tendencies. I do nothing without extensive plotting and planning."

She bit her lip as if she were wondering if she should say something more, then clearly decided against it by sitting up straight and looking at him directly. "What I meant," she said, getting back to her original question, "was what do you think about what you saw on the walkabout?

"I saw a lot of things, so you'll need to be a little more specific."

She shrugged. "I don't know." A soft sigh came through her lips, and she began rolling a pencil back and forth on the table, focusing all her attention on it. "Between that and the mess of a script I handed you, it seemed like the perfect setup for an opening salvo. I figured I would meet that head-on."

He studied her suddenly downtrodden expression. He was puzzled. "You're expecting me to take shots at you?"

This woman is an emotional whirlwind. Keeping up with her is definitely going to require me to pay extra attention.

"Well, yes, to be honest." Her eyes turned to the window that was to her left. As she peered through the slats of the half-closed blinds, he heard a wistfulness in her voice that he'd not heard from her before. Like she was resigned. "It's been a theme for today. I'm never very high on my producer's list, never good enough for his expectations. I'm unclear as to why he hired me if he hates me so much. But today, he was being extra dickish. It's getting tiresome fighting him for each and every budget line item. Next thing I know, I'll be forced to count every single paperclip I use." She snorted. "It took everything in me today not to beat him to death with a stapler. Ironic since the man is such a tool himself."

He tilted his head a little as he studied her.

Curious. Another juxtaposition. Confident in her abilities but vulnerable when under the microscope.

"No love lost between the two of you."

A sardonic bark of laughter came forward from her.

"That bad, huh?"

She shrugged, then blew air out of her lips and up toward her forehead while turning her gaze back to the pencil in her fingertips. "You're a former Navy SEAL. If I paid you extra, could you tie him up to a chair with some zip ties, put a black hood over his head, and leave him in a deserted shack until May sometime?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I guess that means helping me with doing away with him and hiding the body is definitely off the table."

Both eyebrows raised this time.

"Well, fuck. There goes doing this the easy way."

This woman was ridiculous in an amazing way. "I realize you're not serious with those questions, but are you always so open with what you want?"

"Pretty much. I find that playing games takes too long and too much effort. Most women seem to excel at that kind of thing. I've never been able to master that particular XX chromosome characteristic."

Thank fuck for that.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes again to gauge his reactions, but he knew his face would be blank. There was a slight grimace on her face as she continued. "I have patience problems, I guess. But, honestly, being direct gets me where I want to be faster, and there are fewer communication disasters. It's something I'm known for around here," she admitted.

"Noted—accuracy, no bullshit, and no filter."

She nodded. "For the most part, it gets me results. But there are always those who don't appreciate my tactics."

"Stapleton."

"Stapleton," she confirmed with a head tilt to the left.

"Is he a problem for you? Other than the obvious."

Laughing lightly, Kubrick shook her head. "The last few weeks, he's been King of the Assnozzles. No idea what's crawled up his butt further than usual."

"Is he like that with everyone, or just you?"

"Oh, it's everyone. But I've been keeping watch over my crew, especially the women, so that any problems are dealt with immediately."

"What about you directly?"

"When I first took this job, he was annoying, like a mosquito. Handsy. Smarmy." She held up her hand when she noticed his jaw clench. "I told you, I took care of that bullshit real quick. Unfortunately, since he's the lead moneyman, all that jacked-up behavior often goes with the job. I kept putting him in his place, and he eventually stopped. Now, I just have the desire to throat-punch him on a nearly constant basis. But, if this film is a success, I won't need people like him anymore. I plan to finance my own projects with my residuals from this one." Her face lit up with excitement and anticipation at her last comment.

Confidence returns. That's hot.

"An action movie about Navy SEALs will be that much in demand?"

"If done right, I think this could be the biggest action film of the year. I have a friend who writes historical paranormal romance novels. She says that contemporary protector romances, especially those featuring former military men, are the hottest thing in the book market these days, so I'm going to capture a corner of the market that action films haven't taken full advantage of. Definitely better than any comic book draw starring an Australian-accented male playing a Norwegian god," she grumbled. The look in her eyes went fierce. "I even hired some of Hollywood's allegedly most handsome eye candy and highest box office draws, so maybe it will even be the highest box office take of all time." She grinned sheepishly. "Cocky, huh?"

Challenges herself but is self-aware. Double damn, why does she have to be all the things I love in a woman?

"My co-workers would call it ‘determined.' I can certainly respect that. It's probably part of why God agreed to do this."

"Because I was a bitch to him?" she asked incredulously.

"No. You were firm. You knew what you wanted, and you had a clear vision. You didn't come in wanting us to solve all the problems, just the ones we're the experts at. And you obviously care. You clearly want to do this right. He can see honesty a mile away, even if he's not in the room."

And you've got some potentially serious shit going on that you don't even know about.

"I expect everyone's best, and in return, they know they get mine."

"So I noticed."

Frowning, she asked, "What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, his forearms on the table with hands clasped. He watched her hungry eyes travel from the string bracelet on his tanned wrist, up his muscled arm, to his face.

Yeah, guess God is right. She's not immune to me.

"I watched how you handled people all afternoon. You do it so well, they never know they're being handled. You pay attention to them, you look them in the eye, you know personal things about them, and ask about their lives. Hell, you even knew that the two-days-on-the-job makeup girl's dog had surgery and asked how it was doing. You do those kinds of things, and later, I bet that when you ask these people to do things you want or need, they break down doors to make them happen. They probably work twice as hard as they want to, or intend to, just to earn your praise."

She bristled. "It's not my intention to incur favors or make people feel like they owe me something. I try to treat people with respect and reward them for good work. Help people when they need it."

"I don't think of it as being manipulative." He tried to correct her misunderstanding. "They genuinely like you and work harder because you see them. They're not just paid employees. You include them."

"Hmmm. You saw all of that from two hours around the lot?"

It was his turn to shrug. "It's what I do." She tilted her head with a look of disbelief on her face. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I may have also spent some time on the internet last night researching you."

"Former Navy SEAL, burgeoning psychologist, and internet stalker. Killer combination. Tell me, do you sleep?"

"Come again?"

"If only," she muttered, not realizing she was speaking aloud.

Comments like that may make our time working together either super awkward or very interesting.

"You just got this script late yesterday, so you've reviewed the script, made notes, discussed with God, analyzed, and researched me all in a very short time. I'm wondering how that all gets done if you sleep."

No way in hell am I going to tell her that Midas did the bulk of the research as soon as Ka-Bar called in his favor.

"Again. It's what I do, Kubrick."

"Kubrick?"

His mouth quirked up at the corner. It wasn't a smile, but it wasn't a non-smile either. "It's what God nicknamed you." He shrugged. "You're stuck with it, I'm afraid."

"Ugh. Great. I don't suppose you could call me Kai? Or at least just Serrano?"

"Nope." He popped the p when he said it. "Once you've been named, it stays. Military regulations."

"What bullshit. That is not written in any military manual. And even if it was, I'm not military."

"However, I was, and at Tribe, we use nicknames for safety when on a job. You hired us. Our rules trump yours. Besides, if you want an in-sync team, using their character names, not real names, will help create that effect on set. They'll start to become those people instead of being themselves."

Kubrick began grumbling to herself. Somewhere in the quiet ranting and raving, he heard "assclown," which he hoped was directed at God and not him. Then he heard "G.I. Joe," which truth be told, he was starting not to hate as long as she was the one saying it.

Waters took pity on her and changed the subject to safer topics. "I suggest we start by going over what your proposed schedule is. Then we can start going over the largest alterations I'm suggesting and work our way through to the smallest."

"We? You're going to be directly involved with this?"

"God assigned me to your job, yes. Problem?"

He watched her swallow. "N-no. I just thought you were the middleman, so to speak. Isn't it a bit below your pay grade?"

"I'm on medical leave. I won't be cleared for a few more weeks. So, I'm your man."