Page 23 of Flipping the Script
"What did Iris want?"
"Everything." Quinn flipped through her notes. "Apparently we're the hot topic this morning, and everyone wants follow-up content. Carmen has an idea for a 'morning after' photo series—supposedly candid shots of us having breakfast together, very domestic and intimate."
"In your apartment?"
"That's what she suggested. Iris thinks it would reinforce the narrative that we're comfortable enough for sleepovers." Quinn's cheeks reddened again. "I told them we'd discuss it."
Solen looked around Quinn's pristine kitchen, imagining how it would look through Carmen's lens—the warm morning light, Quinn's careful domestic touches, the two of them sharing coffee in borrowed pajamas. It would be intimate in a way that felt almost too real.
"There's just one problem," Solen said slowly.
"Which is?"
"When I looked out your bedroom window this morning, there were photographers across the street. Three of them, with very large cameras."
Quinn's mug hit the table harder than intended. "What?"
"They're probably hoping to catch me leaving in last night's dress, or maybe get shots of us through the windows." Solen couldn't help grinning at Quinn's horrified expression. "I'messentially trapped here until they get bored or Iris figures out how to manage them."
"Trapped." Quinn repeated the word like she was testing its weight.
"Is that a problem? I can call a car service, try to sneak out through your building's back entrance?—"
"No." The response came faster than Quinn seemed to expect. "I mean, it's not a problem. We should probably strategize our next moves anyway, and it's safer to do that here."
Solen studied Quinn's face, looking for signs of panic or annoyance, but found neither. If anything, Quinn looked almost relieved at the prospect of extended proximity.
"Besides," Quinn continued, "we should probably practice being comfortable with casual physical contact. Last night was... easier than I expected, but we'll need to maintain that chemistry for future appearances."
The suggestion created instant tension. Both women became hyper-aware of the space between them, the way Solen's fingers curved around her mug, how Quinn's t-shirt had slipped slightly off one shoulder.
"Practice," Solen repeated.
"Professional development."
"Right. Very methodical."
But neither of them moved, and the air between them felt charged with something that had nothing to do with career advancement.
Quinn's phone buzzed with a text. She glanced at it and frowned. "Diego Rivera wants to schedule a follow-up interview. He says our red carpet appearance 'raised interesting questions about authenticity in public relationships' and he'd like to explore that theme."
"Shit." Solen set down her mug. "He's smart. If anyone's going to figure out we're performing, it's him."
"Maybe that's not entirely bad." Quinn was looking at her notebook again, but her pen wasn't moving. "I've been thinking about what you said last night. About authenticity being more convincing than perfect performance."
"What about it?"
"I wrote something in my notebook after we got home. Something that's been bothering me." Quinn flipped back a few pages, her handwriting neat even in the dark. "I wrote that I might have 'fundamentally misunderstood the assignment.'"
Solen leaned forward. "What assignment?"
"Love. Relationships. All of it." Quinn's laugh held no humor. "I've always approached dating like screenwriting. Character motivation, clear plot progression, predictable emotional beats. But last night felt improvisational in ways that terrified me."
"Improvisation isn't scary if you trust your scene partner."
"That's the problem. I don't know how to trust something I can't control or predict." Quinn met Solen's eyes directly. "But when you touched my face during that interview, when you looked at me like I was someone worth protecting... I forgot we were performing."
The confession hung between them, more intimate than any of their public displays. Solen felt her heart rate accelerate, recognizing the courage it took for Quinn to admit uncertainty.
