Page 10 of Good Enough

Ah, the joy of self-importance. The I’m-too-busy-and-important-to-walk-anywhere with the proletariats.

She saw his jaw tick, as if he wanted to smile but was trying to hold it back. She stopped. “What?”

He shrugged. Then it hit her.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He nodded.

With a sigh, she started walking again. “Told you I have filter issues.”

“Filters are overrated,” he said with another shrug.

“I agree. Just time-suckers. I try to filter my mouth because otherwise, I run the risk of ‘offending’ the snowflakes whose egos pass out the money and grace the big screen. I can smooth ruffled feathers and even complete angry bird moltings, but the past couple of weeks have been difficult, so my filter is for shit. In fact, I think it’s successfully one hundred percent nonexistent after the last three hours of my life that I’m not getting back.”

“I take it you were unsuccessful at unruffling Stapleton’s feathers.”

She turned her head to frown at him. “How did you know his name?”

His eyes stayed focused on scanning the surroundings. “Research. Never go into a situation without knowing the players. You mentioned a meeting with an executive producer, and that meeting’s length would depend on temper tantrums. Your paperwork lists Craig Stapleton as the executive producer, ergo, you unruffled Stapleton’s feathers.”

“Mmm,” she murmured his signature response. “And how did you know his feathers were in a bundle?”

“Isn’t that a mixed metaphor? Wouldn’t that be ruffled feathers or undies in a bundle?”

She waved her hand in front of her face. “He was between ‘ruffled’ and ‘molting,’ so it was an alternative. And I doubt the man wears underwear. It would mean he can’t get his dick out fast enough to measure it or stick it in someone’s mouth.”

It was at least three steps before she realized he was no longer next to her. Turning back to face him, she saw that his jaw was clenched, and there was just a hint of pink coloring in his cheeks.

“He didn’t try that with you, did he?” His voice sounded near strangled.

She chuckled. “I don’t exactly have a dick to measure against.”

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“You mean I wasn’t cute before?” she mocked.

Nice one, dipshit. He’s going to think I’m flirting with him. Am I? Feels a bit like flirting.

He made a guttural nonverbal noise.

She blinked. “Did you just growl at me?”

“Stop trying to redirect. It won’t work with me. No woman should have to put up with that crap from any man. So I’m asking again. Did he try that with you?”

Her grin had a touch of you-got-me in it. “No, he hasn’t done that to me, so ease down, G.I. Joe, or you’ll burst a blood vessel. He tried early on to romance me, if that’s what he wanted to call it, but I shut that down very quickly. But I appreciate your concern.”

She turned and began walking again. She wasn’t positive, but she thought she heard Waters mumble, “He better not try it, or I’ll cut it off and shove it in his own mouth.”

4

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.

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