Page 46 of The Reunion

I’m in the middle of telling them about it when our server stops by to take our order—Attica is the only one who doesn’t know what she wants, no surprise there. I order a spicy tuna roll and truffle fries, my usual.

“So, let’s get to it,” Mars says, once Attica has finally settled on a baby spinach salad topped with avocado, mango, shrimp, and a drizzleof sesame oil. “Lots of ground to cover today. First things first, Liv: I spoke to Vienna Lawson’s agent this morning, and you’ll be pleased to know she is indeed breaking a new project and wants to set up a meeting with you as soon as possible.”

“Oh!” I say, surprised mostly at the formality of it all, pleased that she’s going through my agent for a new project instead of just texting me at two in the morning. “That’s wonderful news. I’d love to meet up with her, just say when.”

Bre jots a quick note in her planner—it’ll be her job to work that out.

“The fact that she wants to meet with you, and so early in the process, bodes well,” Mars goes on. “The sooner we can get a meeting on the books the better, especially since it looks like there’s a good chance Fanline will give the reboot a green light.”

“On that note,” Attica cuts in, even though she knows full well Mars likes to finish giving the rundown before going off on tangents, “I heard some things from Caroline Crenshaw that we should really discuss.”

Bre looks up from her planner. “Sasha-Kate’s publicist,” she fills in before I can even ask.

Attica scrolls through her phone, then holds up a screenshot of a text exchange for all of us to see. “So Caro says they’re talking about shifting focus for the reboot, equal screen time for Mills and SK and Liv instead of it just being mostly Liv’s story. Any of you heard about this yet?”

“I—I’m sorry, what?” I can’t help it, I laugh. Giving Sasha-Kate more screen time is one thing, but after Millie’s work at the table read, I cannot imagine a world where they’d want to give hermorescenes. “When did you hear that?”

Attica checks the time stamp, takes a sip of her grapefruit cosmo. “Two hours ago.”

“No way,” I say. “That’s not happening.” It comes out a touch more defensively than I mean it to. Not that I don’t want good things for Millie—or Sasha-Kate, even—but this has never been an official idea floated my way before. Apparently I havefeelingsabout it.

“I haven’t heard a word about that,” Mars says evenly as she tries to gauge my reaction. “But if it’s true, it implies certain complications.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and my mind is reeling. I never thought I was the type to crave the spotlight—to crave itat the exclusion of others—but she’s right, the idea does imply some significant things to consider. The money, for example: I don’t know exact figures, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the studio would most likely split their original budget for a lead—what they would have paid only to me—into three easily digestible pieces, rather than give Sasha-Kate and Millie massive payouts to match mine.

It’s about more than just money, though. Between my inheritance, original salary, and the residuals from all the years we’ve been syndicated, I’m set for life—a privilege I don’t take for granted. But money is symbolic in the film world: it’s an expression of how much you’re valued on any given project.

Or how much you’re not.

“Before you start stressing over this, Liv,” Mars says, and it’s only now that I realize they’re all staring at me, “let me reach out to Shine and find out the facts. Even if they’re not what we want to hear, rest assured, at the end of the day I will make sure you’re in a place where your talent isappreciated.”

Her emphasis onappreciatedtells me everything I need to know—we’re on the same page on all fronts, financial and otherwise. She has a stake in this, too; we all do. I’m the bank that pays their bills. Another reason why, if we’re given the green light, I would struggle to say no.

I think I’ve been hoping, just a little, that maybe our green light won’t happen at all. I haven’t missed the intense attention I experienced at the height of the show’s popularity, the constant scrutiny. More than that, I crave the challenge of learning how to bring new characters to life, how to give them subtlety and depth.

I loveGirl—I do. But I could also love something new.

Still, I’m torn: I don’t want to think aboutGirlhappening without me.

“Thanks, Mars,” I say, slipping on a smile that says,Easy, breezy, nothing to worry about. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”

She knows me well enough to know I’ve got an iceberg of concerns beneath that smile, but in typical Mars fashion, she simply gives a deep nod. “In better news, there’s been some progress on the Emily Quinn project—they’ve got Elina Atravaya attached to adapt the screenplay, and I think she’s a smart choice. She worked on the first two seasons ofLunar Eclipse, as well as that spy thriller set in Alaska—”

“The one with the sled dogs?” Attica cuts in. She’s obsessed with dogs.

“Yes, the one with the sled dogs,” Mars says. “But yes, Elina is a solid choice for that script, so things will probably start moving quickly from here—which means we’ll have some decisions to make. You’re still their first choice for the lead, so they’re willing to give us time as we nail down next steps with Vienna and Fanline, but the more people they attach, the harder it will be to make sure we have a say in the shooting schedule. So. If you’re on board, I can give them a tentative yes—but I understand if you need a little time to weigh your options.”

“A little time would be great, thanks,” I say, an understatement. The commitments I make in the coming weeks will affect the next fewyears. A thousand actresses would kill for the chance to star in any one of these projects, let alone have their pick; even for me, this is an unusual deluge of high-quality opportunity. All the more reason I need to stay focused on set—a deluge can turn to drought in a heartbeat. Hollywood’s brutal like that.

Bre’s engrossed in her planner, making quick notes. Sensing that Mars is finally done with the bulk of what she wanted to cover, Attica pounces on the silence.

“So, Liv, I’ve already been thinking about this for a little while, but if what Caroline says is true, I think it’s even more important we make the most of all our opportunities here—do you think you could post some more content of you and Ransom together on your feed?”

I cough a little as my chardonnay goes down the wrong way. Bre glances up from her notes, a look on her face I can’t quite read.

“People are still talking about your last photo together,” Attica goes on. “If we’re concerned about Fanline minimizing your role on the show, what better way to remind them the fandom wants Honorand Duke front and center than to have the entire internet losing their minds at the sight of the two of you together?”

Bre shakes her head. “I don’t know if a publicity stunt like that is the way to go right now, Attica,” she says, glancing my way. “Especially so soon after Ransom’s breakup with Gemma.”

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