Page 134 of Tempting Wyatt
I take the tablet and scroll through the legalese. Most of it is ridiculous demands about relinquishing complete control of casting, final script changes, and the production timeline. The fine print has some confusing language about ratings and renewal.
But upon further inspection, I realize Malcolm hasmodified the original agreement for a thirteen-episode streaming series into a full-length feature film. That’s a mistake. There’s too much backstory in the beginning and too many multiple perspectives for a movie. I wrote it intentionally to be a series, and they’re set up differently.
There’s also a caveat about me not being present on set.
Everything in this contract is about me signing over the rights to the series completely—with the exception of the original payment, which I already received when the network purchased the screenplay. I wouldn’t receive any further compensation. Nor would I have any input on casting, directing, or script changes.
Expecting this to anger me, I’m pleasantly surprised that it feels more like a weight has been lifted from my chest. If I sign this, I’m free of this project. And subsequently free of Malcolm.
I’ve worked with him enough to know that he’ll twist and manipulate my work until it’s unrecognizable. He’ll remove the emotional components, amp up the sex scenes, degrade the female lead, and lower the language to a second grade reading level.
Just like he did with Elena, he’ll overlook the qualified and valuable possibilities for actors and production staff and hire only yes people who bow to him. He can’t stand not to be the smartest person in the room, and that lowers the selection pool considerably.
When he’s done,Captivewon’t even resemble the screenplay I wrote. The final product will be a gross distortion of what I created.
“I’ll sign,” I tell him.
He breathes a sigh of relief.
I continue quickly, “On one condition.”
He scrunches his face like he smells something sour. “You’re not getting any more money.”
“I don’t want more money,” I assure him. “I want my name removed completely. As in nowhere on anything related to this project. Ever. Not even in conversation.”
He frowns. “Why would you want that?”
I choose my words carefully. This is not the time to be petty.
It’s time to be professional.
As much as it stings—remembering the research, the long nights working, the migraines, and the lost sleep from pouring everything I had into writingCaptive—I know that holding on to any part of this project will give Malcolm strings to control me.
“I think a clean break is best for everyone involved. Update this agreement with that stipulation and email it to me. Do not come back here if you know what’s good for you.”
Malcolm narrows his beady eyes, thinking it over. Then he huffs out a heavy breath. “Just fucking sign this one, Ivy. I came all this way. I’ll take your name off the shit when I get back to LA.”
Shit is exactly what it will be when he’s done grinding it down to what he wants. Just like he tried to do to me.
A week ago, I would’ve fought to the death for this and held on to this project for dear life, clawing and clinging until my fingernails were bloody. But if I’ve learned anything from Wyatt, from my time at Triple Creek Ranch, I’ve learned that, sometimes, letting go is necessary.
It makes room for new growth.
And sometimes, you can’t just prune the shrubs back a little; you have to burn the entire field to ash.
Mentally, I imagine myself conducting a controlled burnof all the time and energy I put intoCaptive,into my relationship with Malcolm, and into my friendship with Heidi.
My mother always says, “Leave the past where it belongs,” and she’s right.
I’m realizing, that as much pain as both she and Malcolm have caused me, no relationship is ever a waste because you learn valuable lessons you get to take with you.
I’ve learned more in almost two weeks on this ranch than in a year with Malcolm—more about life, love, loss, family, and myself.
I’ve learned that home isn’t a place, it’s a person. And my person is standing a few feet away with his brother trying to keep him from coming unhinged.
My agent’s advice rings in my ears. Devyn is always telling me that one project isn’t the be-all and end-all any more than Malcolm was. The capacity to create, to write, and to love lives in me. This project wasn’t even my best work because I wasn’t the best version of myself when I wrote it.
I shove the iPad back at him. “Update it. Then I’ll sign.”
