Page 28 of Velvet and Valor
“I really fucked up, Axel.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Oh, we’ve got a project that’s due to enter pre-production YESTERDAY and the only copy of the script is in PDF format on a memory stick that only I have access to.”
“The only copy? How come there’s just one?”
“Because the internet is the king of leaks, and the writer is super paranoid about story details getting out before the movie starts filming,” she says with a groan. “We had to jump through some hoops for this guy in order to work with him.”
“Is he a big deal?” I ask.
“Sort of. Think lots of scarves and a super-hot girlfriend whose main claim to fame is wearing blue body paint.”
“Oh, that guy? I heard he was a pain in the ass.”
She laughs, but there's more nervousness to it than humor.
“You think? He’s the reason we can’t have a simple google doc file like a normal human being.”
June gives me a sheepish look.
“I hate to tell you this, but I’m going to HAVE to go to my place and get that file.”
“Hell no,” I say, shaking my head. “Out of the question.”
She puts her hands on her hips, eyes becoming feral slits of brewing anger.
“Axel,” she says carefully, calmly despite the look of mayhem in her eyes, “I NEED that file. If I don’t get that file, Mr. Big Shot Hollywood Director is going to drop out of our project and we’re going to lose a lot of money.”
I hold a hand up.
“It’s too dangerous for you to go?—”
June unloads on me in a well-worded but ultimately furious tirade. I keep trying to interrupt but eventually I give up and let her run her course.
“Are you finished?” I ask.
“Maybe,” she says. “Are you convinced?”
“You’re NOT going,” I say.
“What are you going to do? Tie me up?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we should start with a light spanking and see where it goes.”
Her bottom lip quivers with anger.
“Axel, you’re not funny right now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I do have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. Listen, I can’t let you go back to your place because it’s just too dangerous, but I can go for you.”
Her mouth closes, then opens, then closes again.
“That might work,” she says. “The memory stick is in the bottom RIGHT drawer of my dresser. Bottom RIGHT. Say it with me.”
“Bottom Right,” I say in unison with her. “Got it.”
“You don’t need to open any other drawers,” she says. “At all. Just the bottom right.”
