Page 9 of Jason
He was panting again.He was talking and running, she realized.That was so like Jason, doing fourteen things at once.“You’ll be flying into King Harbor, Maine.Text me when you book the plane and let me know when you’re taking off.I’ll have someone to pick you up.”
“I thought you said you were going to call your guy.”
“It’s easier if I text you his name and you book it.Actually, book a ride while you’re at it.King Harbor Limos.”
“I don’t—how am I supposed to…” She shook her head.“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, Jason.”
“The worst?”He laughed.“Think of it as an adventure!Okay, so I really have to go.Text me and let me know what the plans are.”
Mallory hated him in that dark, middle-of-the-night moment.She was going to quit this stupid job and take the one at Morning Moonlight and he could find someone else to find his stupid phone.
“You can’t quit,” he said, as if he was reading her mind.
“Are you still there?”she demanded, a little surprised he hadn’t hung up.
“Remember the contract you signed?You have to give me at least two weeks’ notice.So listen, it’s a six-hour flight.You can do some work on the plane if you need to.”
“Wow, thank you,” she said.
“Or, you can sleep on the plane.Whatever, just get here.I really have to go, Mal.We’re in for a real shit storm today.See you soon.”The line went dead.
Mallory tossed the phone on the bed.She covered her face with her hands.She could hear Inez’s voice in her head.“He can’t keep anyone.”
Yeah, well, this was why.But she didn’t have the time or the energy to examine it right now.She had to get ready to fly to Maine where she couldn’t promise herself that she wouldn’t punch Jason right in the kisser.
Damn Jason Blackthorne.Damn him for being so ridiculously handsome, for being so ridiculously demanding.Damn him for lighting that fire because she was actually going to get on that plane.
But this time, she wasn’t going to let his demand just go, swept up under the rug of more demands and impossible expectations.She didn’t know how just yet, but she thought now would be a good time to tell him about that other job offer.
Darien Simmons.Really?
Chapter Three
Jason feltbad about waking Mallory up.Sometimes, he was so in his own head that he forgot things that were pretty important.Like time zones.Mallory was the one who always remembered things like time zones.Mallory remembered everything.She never made mistakes like that and she made damn sure he didn’t, either.
He looked at the ocean again.The sun was casting gold across the surface.For Jason, this was the best part of the day, before people began moving and the earth began turning and phones began pinging and emails began flooding his inbox.This was the time of day he cleared his mind and made sense of the millions of thoughts that pinged around his head.A television production was extremely hard work.He could not have guessed how hard until he’d done it.He’d imagined it, dreamed of it, but until he was actually at the helm of the trenches, he couldn’t conceive it.
Before the crisis with Darien, he’d been thinking about the first two scripts for season two ofBad Intentions.It was early yet, and the reviews were just beginning to come in for the first season, and yes, they were good, but Jason had seen a review inThe Atlanticfor the first episode, and it wasn’t good.What had it said?Something like,Bad Intentions, the creation of Executive Producer Jason Blackthorne, and highly decorated director Cass Farenthold, misses the mark.What could have been a unique idea in a crowded field of crime dramas is hampered by an execution that is leaden and contrived.The stellar cast saves it from disaster.
Jason knew better than to let reviews sink into his psyche.But the thing was, he’d had a similar reaction when he’d watched the first episode on television at a viewing party with some of the cast and crew.It had been a few months since he’d seen the final edited version, and he had to admit, with that time and distance, he noticed the heavy hand with the camera angles, the clunky transitions, the bad lighting.Neil had fired the gaffer after the first episode aired.He’d brought in a new guy who was twice as expensive.“You gotta have the right kind of lighting,” he’d assured Jason, but Jason still worried.
Cass said he didn’t see what the concern was.He’d remarked as much as he’d tucked into an enormous slab of beef.“Looks good to me,” he’d said with a dismissive shrug.
The funny thing was, Mallory had mentioned the lighting when they were filming.Jason could clearly remember it, her standing beside him with her ever-present binder and muttering, “This is not going to look right on the small screen.”
Jason had ignored her comment.He had the best in the industry, and Mallory was his assistant.She didn’t know a fraction of what those men knew.She’d said it again during editing, and again he hadn’t listened.Neither had Neil.“The gaffer knows what he is doing,” he’d assured Jason.
Funny how no one seemed to remember that now.Mallory was right.And yet, she never threw it back at him.In fact, she’d been very encouraging when he’d mentioned the review inThe Atlantic.“You’re missing the bigger picture,” she’d said.And then she’d had their publicity department pull together several reviews to demonstrate that most were good and did not mention poor lighting.“Story is the thing,” she’d said.“That’s what has to be on point.You can have the best production values in the world, but if you don’t have a good story, you lose.”
He had discovered that she could be surprisingly astute about this crazy industry sometimes, especially for an assistant with no experience.Jason knew he was being paranoid about the reviews, but no one in his industry or his company understood what a big deal this Netflix production was for him.
It was everything.
First, he’d had to borrow money from the family coffers to get his entertainment company off the ground.There had been conditions to that—his entertainment company had to be branded as part of the Blackthorne suite of businesses.And Blackthornes didn’t put their name on just anything, as he’d been reminded over and over again all his life.
The Blackthorne brand had begun more than one hundred years ago when his great grandparents emigrated from Scotland, bringing their secret to distilling good whisky with them.Over the next one hundred years, the Blackthorne brand had become synonymous with excellence.No one made better whisky than the Blackthorne distillery.No one in the world, to hear his family tell it.
Jason’s uncle Graham, his brother Brock, and his cousin, Trey, had been hard on Jason when he’d come to Blackthorne Enterprises to ask them to invest in his production company so he could get it off the ground.It wasn’t a surprise to anyone he was asking—Jason had been pursuing this avenue of life for years.And yet, he got the lecture.He would never forget that day, the way he’d stared out the window of the Blackthorne Enterprise offices in the Hancock Tower in Boston, at the sweeping views of Back Bay, the Charles River, and Boston Harbor.“The Blackthornes don’t put their name on just anything, Jason.If you see the name Blackthorne, you expect excellent quality.”
