Page 80 of Hot Nights in Morocco
Brad just smirks again and says nothing.
“Do you have any idea how much money this shoot is hemorrhaging? The budget’s shot to shit, half your crew want to quit, and your leading lady has just blown her entire costume allowance on a single outfit. Don’t even get me started on Ramirez’s expenses.”
“I don’t answer to you, Dalton. It’s my father’s budget, not yours.”
“Not anymore,” says Jake grimly. “I took back full control of Global Studios exactly two hours ago when your father’s ridiculous lawsuit was thrown out of court.”
“Bullshit!” Brad jumps to his feet in protest. He takes a threatening step toward Jake who rises to meet him, his eyes glinting dangerously.
“Calm down, you stupid idiot.” One of Jake’s associates drags Brad back to his chair.
“Call your father if you like,” say Jake mildly. “He’ll only confirm it.”
“It will never beyourstudio, Dalton.” Every muscle in Brad’s face is strained with tension.
Jake’s eyes flicker back to me. “It already is. I’m not prepared to let you and Wilson run my father’s legacyandhis memory into the ground.”
There’s something deeper at play here. There’s a hidden meaning behind that jibe.
“You dare to sit there and say that to me?” Brad chuckles darkly. “My father has lived and breathed Global Studios for years.”
“Of which I’m very grateful,” says Jake, sounding anything but. “Unfortunately, I’ve come to realize that his judgment is lacking in one key area.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
The word is like a thunderbolt. The ensuing silence around the room is agonizing.
“The way I see it, you have two choices.” Jake picks up his tumbler and examines the crystal cut pattern. “You can either fall into line, or get the fuck out of my studio.”
He’s so emotionless. He’s every inch the masterful billionaire studio boss today. “So, here’s what we’re going to do.” He puts his drink back down on the table. “I’m firing you from your role, effective immediately.” With that, he shoots a stack of paper across the table in Brad’s direction. “Here’s your termination letter.”
Brad doesn’t move a muscle. The contempt sizzling between the two men is mesmeric.
“I’m willing to keep you on as a freelance producer for the time being, as a conciliatory measure. We need to get this shoot wrapped as soon as possible, and then you’re going back to L.A. I’m setting up a new art house division, whether the board approves it or not. You’re going to work in development there. If you do a good job, I’ll move you back into movie production within two years.”
It’s more than Brad deserves, but he clearly doesn’t see it that way.
“You can stick your offer,” he snarls, rising to his feet again. “Don’t come in here and patronize me with this crap. This is nothing to do with how good or how bad I may be at my job. This is about you and your enduring quest to fuck me over.”
“I’d accept the offer if I were you,” says Jake coldly. “There won’t be another after today; you can be sure of it. I’ll run you straight out of Hollywood, if I have to. Not even your father will be able to bail you out.”
The fight seems to leave Brad then. He sits back down and prods at the termination contract like it’s poison ivy. “So, what do you propose?” he asks dully.
“First off, I’m firing Ramirez—”
“Thank God,” I mutter.
The whole room swivels in my direction. Jake glowers at me and I blush scarlet.
“I’ll be bringing Max in to finish filming, and my assistant to clean up the set,” Jake continues. “We need Rachel’s brisk efficiency now more than ever.”
“Fine,” says Brad through gritted teeth. “Are we done?”
Jake nods once. “We’re done.”
Brad stalks out of the room without so much as a backward glance at me. One by one Jake’s associates file out after him, until there’s no one left but us. I sit there staring at my hands.
