Page 20 of The Boss I Can't Stand
“Brenna,” I bit out, working hard to keep my tone ruthlessly controlled. I inclined my head to the door. “A word.” I stepped back out into the hall, and Brenna scurried out the door after me.
“My mother!” I hissed.
“Okay, just hear me out?—”
“Hear you out?” I snapped. “I gave you a list of potential historical consultants.” I’d done the research myself, coming up with five suitable options, including my top pick. “Did you not receive the list?”
Brenna bit her lip, nodding. “I did.”
“So why is Cathleen Lockhart standing in my studio?” I asked through clenched teeth. My immediate reaction was to walk away and pretend like my mother wasn’t actually working onmymovie. And then to obviously fire Brenna. But I couldn’t do either of those things. These kinds of situations had a trickle-down effect, and I couldn’t risk throwing off the movie’s timeline because I was caught off guard by some insane decision made by my PA.
“Your first pick wasn’t available,” Brenna explained. “But when I spoke to him, he brought up Cathleen’s name. Apparently, he’s one of the advisors on her dissertation. He said she was the perfect one for the job, since she’s originally from Boston and her dissertation is about Boston history. It just…seemed like the right fit.”
My pulse beat so hard in my temple I thought it might explode out the side of my head. I wasnotworking with my mother.
“She just finished defending her dissertation,” Brenna added. “So her knowledge is fresh. And she’s built up a list of contacts who can help her go digging if she needs to track down anything specific for us.”
I pulled at my collar; it was choking me. I wanted to read Brenna the riot act for overstepping—but what would be the point? The damage was done. And I could hear Sierra and my mother chatting up a storm inside.
Christ, the last thing I needed was the two of them bonding! Time to get back inside—but not without a word of warning first. “Next time this sort of thing happens, I want to know about it. Immediately. Is that understood?”
Brenna nodded furiously, like a bobble-head doll, and I stalked back into the room, trying to ignore the fact that my mother was now going to be hanging around the set for the foreseeable future. Just the thought of it made me shiver like someone had just walked over my grave.
I didn’t consider myself a superstitious man, but having Mom around? I didn’t see how that could lead to anything good. Not when my brothers and I spent our entire childhoods tap dancing at full speed just to keep things together when she kept falling apart.
On the other hand, I couldn’t fire mymom. I might as well take a wrecking ball to any emotional strength she’d managed to pull together for herself. It’d hurt like hell when that article came out and proved that she didn’t believe in me and my work—and I was a self-proclaimed asshole who mostly didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. For Mom to hear that I didn’t believe she could do the job? It would wreck her. And I couldn’t live with that.
So it looked like Mom would be my new historical consultant. And maybe…maybe it would be okay. Connor said she was better now. Connor said she’d really pulled her life together. But on the other hand,Connorwasn’t producing the most important movie of his career and depending on Mom to play a major role in the production.
Yeah, no. This was going to be a dumpster fire. It was just a question of when things would go up in flames. Better start preparing backup plans now. And backup plans for the backup plans. When dealing with potential fallout from Hurricane Cathleen, there was no such thing as too prepared.
“Okay, where are we on the costumes?” I said, stepping back into the conference room and interrupting the conversation. My eyes darted to the sketches taped to the whiteboard behind them.
“We’re having a little bit of a disagreement,” Sierra said, catching my eye before subtly inclining her head toward X.
I frowned, confused by the motion. But before I could ask for clarification, X cut in saying, “It’s not a disagreement! I want the background costumes to pop. The audience wants visual excitement.”
To my surprise, it wasn’t Sierra who put up an argument but my own mother.
“As I’ve tried explaining,” she said, using the voice she’d perfected through decades as a substitute teacher, “the twenties weren’t all glamour. Most people dressed simply. Wool. Cotton. Tweed. It wasn’t a walking fashion shoot forVogue.”
X scoffed, his arms folding across his chest as he leaned toward her, a scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look, I get it. But when I took home my Oscars for Best Picture and Best Director onEchoes of the Fallen—which, if you’re unfamiliar, is another period piece—we also won for Best Costume Design.”
Ah, there was that ego of his. “So I know a thing or two about how to capture the feel of a different period while still grabbing an audience’s attention. We’re not making some niche, low-budget film here, Cathleen,” he said, eyes glinting with challenge. “This is a big movie. We need to stand out.”
“But you can’t sacrifice accuracy for flair,” my mother said, talking over him as she gestured to the board. “AndEchoeswas a musical. A certain amount of theatrics was expected from its costumes.” Their gazes locked like they were the only two people in the room.
Meanwhile, I wasveryaware of the other person in the room. Sierra worried her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that was highly distracting. She nodded silently, like she was absorbing both their points.
“I’m not trying to make a documentary,” X said. “I’m trying to give us an edge for awards season.” His eyes cut to me, as if daring me to disagree, but how could I argue with that? It was what I wanted, too.
“That doesn’t mean it needs to be some sanitized, dumbed-down version of Boston that never existed. You’re misrepresenting how people really lived,” my mother insisted.
“I’m bringing a spectacle to the big screen,” he argued. “That’s what I do best.”
I caught Sierra’s eye again. She looked as lost as I felt. Cathleen Lockhart was a soft-spoken, quiet woman who hardly ever raised her voice. She wasn’t the type to get into heated debates. But apparently X flaunting his success and experience and that—not so little—ego of his had triggered something in her.
“Costumes can’t just be decoration,” my mother continued, so close to X now they were practically breathing in the same air.
