John knew what to expect from this meeting. He’d been to enough of these pitches. Tom would be surrounded by his underlings staring at their phones, trying to determine if supporting John’s project would help their career or hurt it. He would have ten minutes if he was lucky.

She gave a discreet knock and ushered John into the room.

Since he’d moved to Los Angeles, the one thing John never wanted to look like was a wide-eyed kid from central Oregon. No matter how large the house, how fast the car, or how impressive the resume, walking into this office tested his reserve.

Tom sat behind his desk, talking on the phone. An impressionist painting hung on the left wall. A Chagall print hung on the other. The man’s numerous awards stood sentry behind his desk. The most prominent position on the wall was empty.

Tom waved John into one of the chairs in front of his desk. No one else was in the room. Where are the assistants? Great, I’m going to have to sit here awkwardly until they arrive. John surveyed the room, trying to find something to focus on that wasn’t worth more than his parents’ house. A draft of his script lay on the desk in front of the other man. It had to be the one he’d given to Dan a few months ago, unearthed from the Remington Studios basement. What was the connection between Tom and the smaller studio? Frank had mentioned Tom’s interest in TopLine. Perhaps Tom was window-shopping at a number of studios.

Tom hung up the phone. He sat back in his chair, studying John with a contemplative look.

“Who else are we waiting for?”

“No one. I make the decisions.”

“Usually higher-ups are looking for someone to blame when a picture flops.”

“That’s how to become an executive producer who switches studios every two years.” Tom picked up John’s script. “You’ve written an incredibly depressing, incredibly expensive movie that will only get green-lit if one of five actors takes the lead role.”

John smiled in spite of himself. Anna had said the same thing. “So I’ve heard.”

“You disagree?”

“You’re the guy who can call those five actors and get them interested.” It wasn’t hyperbole. Tom was the guy.

Tom acknowledged John’s words with a nod. “It’s a good role, and with the right producer and enough money, it will win awards.”

John sat back in his chair. He glanced at the empty shelf on the wall surrounded by other statuettes. If Tom had read the script, it meant John was over the biggest hurdle. He might have a chance.

“Dan said you won’t change the ending and you want to direct.”

“I could have sold this script before now if I didn’t care about rewrites.”

“You don’t have the experience to direct.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”