Writing prompt: What about a celebrity/Hollywood/actors AU?
Clarke cursed the traffic and anxiously glanced at her phone. She still had a mile until the exit, and there was a lot riding on her being able to pull this off before the end of business today.
Things like her pride, a project with a $100 million budget, and oh yeah, her ability to work as a producer in Hollywood ever again.
Her car inched forward and she drummed her thumbs against the steering wheel, cutting over to the exit as quickly as she could. Her destination was way up in the hills, about as inaccessible as humanly possible. Granted, her target was a notorious recluse, but this was ludicrous. All that was missing was the moat.
Surprisingly, the gate opened and let her up the driveway, and no armed security swarmed her when she stepped out of her car. She knocked, half expecting the door to creak open on its own like a haunted house.
Instead, Bellamy Blake himself answered. “Who are you?” he said gruffly, none of the famed Blake charm on display. He hadn’t shaved in several days, it appeared and he looked far more disheveled than his most legendary character, the Casanova-esque Hunter Rogue. But the handsomeness was undeniable.
“Clarke Griffin, producer,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake.
He ignored it. “You’re Abby Griffin’s daughter, aren’t you?” But before she could answer, he shook his head. “Whatever it is, don’t bother. I’m retired.”
But Clarke didn’t claw her way up the ladder to be put off so easily. “You haven’t heard how much money we’ll pay you,” she said.
Bellamy waved his hand vaguely at the mid-century modern house he was standing in that probably cost north of $10 million. “I’ve got plenty.”
“Just hear me out,” she countered. “Five minutes, and if you still don’t want to do it, I’ll make sure the studio leaves you alone. Forever.”
He crossed his impressively muscled arms and looked her up and down. “Fine. Five minutes.” He disappeared into the cavernous foyer and left the door open, apparently for her to follow.
Clarke rolled her eyes and plunged on in. The house was silent as a tomb, her footsteps echoing strangely on the tile, and when she reached the kitchen she drew up short.
Clarke had been in her fair share of Hollywood celebrity homes, and she knew what to expect. Hell, she’d grown up in one herself. But instead of severe blacks and cold, industrial greys, his kitchen was...cheerful. Buttercup yellow walls set off the white cabinets, and a pot of something that smelled absolutely wonderful was bubbling on the stove.
He’d already put on a navy apron and was picking up a wooden spoon. “What are you making?” she asked.
“Tick tock, princess,” he replied, his back to her.
“Right, okay. We’ve optioned a script and we want you to be the lead.”
“No offense, but so does everyone.”
Clarke made a face at his back. “It’s a fantasy script. Think Lord of the Rings, but in a world inspired by Southeast Asia instead of Europe.”
He walked to the fridge, pulled out a pepper, and started slicing. “I’m not interested in some white dude’s attempt at diversity,” he replied.
“It’s not, I swear. The screenwriter is a Vietnamese woman, and I’ve convinced the studio to hire an Asian director if we get the greenlight on this.”
He looked up, a curl falling across his forehead. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is, you have to play the lead.”
“It’s the only way I could get them to agree. Bellamy Blake, out of retirement to star in this— it’d be huge news; generate a lot of needed buzz for it.”
“It’s a pretty standard chosen one narrative. Forgotten heir to a kingdom, that sort of thing. It’s good writing, Bellamy, I swear. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t.” She pulled the script from her bag and set it on the counter. Bellamy eyed it like it would jump up and bite him.
“I haven’t worked in five years,” he said.
“Which is why it would be such a big deal for you to do this one. And why we’d pay you pretty much whatever you want.”
He pulled out two bowls from a cabinet and started filling them with a ladle, sprinkling the pepper on top. “I’m a notorious pain in the ass on set.”
“We’ll make sure the director is warned.”
“I’ll expect on-set consultants to ensure every cultural element is treated appropriately. Any changes suggested by the studio will have to be vetted. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“My contract is going to be ridiculous. However ridiculous you’re thinking, double it. Clauses about every goddamn thing under the sun.” He leaned forward, elbows resting against the island.
Clarke looked down at the bowl he set in front of her. “So we’re doing this?”
Bellamy handed her a spoon and flashed her that award-winning, heart-stopping grin. “Eat. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”