Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle #15) - Kristen Proby Page 0,1

finest moment.”

“No.” I glance down at the elbow he’s still holding hostage. He lets go. “It wasn’t. Have a good evening, Mr. O’Callaghan. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Lexi—”

But I don’t turn back. I know I’ll have cooled down by the time I see Shawn again. I won’t be embarrassed. My feet won’t be killing me.

For now, I want to hide.

I’m so far out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t find it with a map.

Chapter 1

~Lexi~

I’m not a people person. I don’t mind people watching, but I’m much more comfortable alone in my home office.

Hanging out with the characters in my head is significantly more enjoyable than being around other humans, particularly strangers.

The engagement party Saturday night drained me completely. I spent all day yesterday in my Air BNB, watching television. Too many energies in one space drain me.

I’m better off alone.

I won’t be alone for weeks.

Every time that thought occurs to me, my stomach tightens, and I feel a panic attack rising, pacing just on the edge of my peripheral vision.

My agent—and Luke Williams himself, the owner of Williams Films—talked me into this. I didn’t want to agree to the film rights being sold to the production company at all. The thought of someone else, a stranger no less, writing the script didn’t sit well with me. The alternative, the scenario I’m currently living in, doesn’t appeal either. But Luke is a convincing man, and the money he paid for the rights was too good to pass up.

I’d suggested that the screenwriter and I work together virtually, but Luke balked at the idea and insisted that working together in person would produce the best product.

So, here I am, caution thrown to the proverbial wind, ready to make a beeline for the airport.

“Ms. Perry?” a security guard asks as I walk into the building in downtown Seattle where Williams Films is based.

“Yes.”

“Good morning, ma’am, I’m Reggie. I just need your driver’s license, and I can issue you a badge for the duration of your stay.”

“Oh.” I fumble in my bag for my wallet. “Of course. I guess I didn’t expect security to be so tight. Not that it’s a bad thing, or that I would do anything you’d need to worry about—”

I feel my face flush as the nice man towering over me at at least six-foot-five, smiles and accepts my license.

“No problem, Lexi. It’s just a formality so we know who’s supposed to be here and who isn’t.” He taps some keys and then passes the plastic card back to me. “There we go. Just clip this to your shirt whenever you’re here, and you’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, fumbling to affix the visitor ID to my top. “I think I’m on the tenth floor?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Mr. Williams asked me to escort you. Some of the spaces upstairs are a maze, so this is just easier.”

I nod in resignation and follow the big man to the elevator. We’re both quiet in the climb to the tenth floor, but when the doors open, the noise that hits us is startling.

“Oh,” I say in surprise.

“It’s a lively bunch,” Reggie says. “Not stuffy at all.”

“I see that.”

There are no cubicles, but large desks are scattered throughout the massive, open space. Two men throw a football back and forth. A woman sits on the floor on a yoga mat, her laptop resting in front of her.

“What do I smell?”

Reggie laughs. “Well, there’s a full gourmet kitchen in the back there, open to the rest of the space. A chef will be here all day, ready to make anything you might want for a snack or lunch. Complimentary, of course.”

“I’ve never worked anywhere like this.”

“None of us have, Lexi. Luke started this production house about five years ago, I guess. In that time, he took it from his home office to what you see here.”

“I know he’s well respected in Hollywood.”

“He is. And manages it all from Seattle. We’re casual here. Luke believes that creativity comes from feeling free to express yourself.”

I see that several pairs of eyes have turned my way. They look me up and down speculatively.

I don’t like being watched.

“Please tell me I don’t have to work out here,” I murmur.

“No, ma’am. Luke assigned you and Shawn to the conference room. This way.”

Reggie leads me down a hall to a room with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the bullpen.

The noise is less severe here, but the distraction of the chaos out