I Knew You Were Trouble

Chapter One

London, England

October, seven months later

‘Vaughn Herrera,’ the man says in an American accent. ‘We met on Oscar night.’

‘We met backstage.’ I smile, reminded of the substantial force of his grip as he now pumps my arm in a fervent handshake. He’s as tall as he is wide, with a voice that sounds ravaged by cigarette smoke. His buttons still strain the cotton material of his shirt. Our meeting is at Silverpix HQ in London’s Soho. Also present in the futuristic conference room is a young, curvaceous female with rosy apple cheeks.

‘This is Meredith,’ Vaughn says. ‘She’s over from our California office.’

Meredith gives me a beaming smile. She’s shorter than me, with a round face and strawberry blonde curls. ‘Nice to meet you, Meredith,’ I say.

‘Please, have a seat,’ Vaughn says when the introductions are over.

There’s a sense of unease in my stomach. This meeting has been scheduled for some time, a formality before I’m due to get on a plane to commence filming for my next project.

‘You’re probably wondering exactly what’s going on here,’ Vaughn says on the other side of the glass-topped table, as Meredith pours glasses of water for everyone.

I give a slow nod. ‘You’re not exactly who I thought I would be meeting.’

‘Of course not,’ he booms in a larger-than-life tone. ‘Because the news hasn’t been released yet. I should tell you, as of tomorrow, I’ll be the new Chief Content Officer for Silverpix.’

‘Oh,’ I blurt, because my agent, Simone, hasn’t mentioned a thing regarding his new position. Chief Content Officer means no project receives the green light without his say-so. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ he responds. ‘I’m sure there’ll be an announcement of sorts in the press very soon. The thing is, I’ve known about this job for a long time. Even before I met you back in March. Feels good to finally be in the driver’s seat.’

I wonder where this is going. ‘I’m… exceedingly thrilled for you.’

He’s wagging his finger at me. ‘You’ve got talent, Lexi. I knew you were gonna win that award. I would have bet my life on it. But then I see who your parents are and it doesn’t surprise me one bit. Patrick Hart is one of our all-time great directors. Your mother was a very talented actress.’

I blink, keeping my eyes forward, trying not to reveal any emotion. He wouldn’t know that I no longer speak to my father. ‘Thank you,’ I murmur, because it seems like the right thing to say.

Vaughn leans forward in his chair. I can see a layer of perspiration glistening on his forehead. ‘Here’s the thing. As a company, I want Silverpix to think big.’

He raises his hand and brushes the air, as though about to perform a magic trick. Think big . That was his message in the moments after I’d won my award. The two words make me nervous.

‘Lately, I’ve been working on some deals, before anybody knew about my new role. You might have seen that a couple of months ago, Silverpix signed a deal with Rebel Heart for an all-access, behind-the-scenes documentary of their world tour.’

I’d read something about it. Not that it interested me. Rebel Heart aren’t exactly my cup of tea. ‘I saw that, yes.’

‘You see? That’s what I’m talking about! Rebel Heart! Biggest band in pop music right now! It’s gonna be huge . Viewing figures are expected to be off the charts! New account sign-ups trebled on the day of the press release alone.’

Around six years ago, I would have classed them as a boy band. Now they’re more of a ‘man band’, who’ve sold a bajillion albums yet still manage to boast hordes of screaming, obsessed fans. Personally, I prefer my music with a grungier vibe. Rebel Heart is the embodiment of an artificial, manufactured pop group.

‘The thing is,’ Vaughn continues, ‘two days ago, I personally fired the project’s director.’

A horrible feeling squelches in my stomach. ‘Oh? Why?’

Vaughn lounges back in his chair, which seems altogether too small for him. ‘Band weren’t keen on him. Two weeks into the tour and the footage he’d captured so far… let’s just say it didn’t meet the threshold. It was pedestrian. Zero creativity. So, he’s gone.’

Vaughn slices an invisible line across his throat. I swallow, glancing at Meredith, who appears to avoid eye contact with me. I hear my voice tremor when I speak. ‘And what does all this have to do with me?’

He looks serious. ‘We’ve sponsored your last two projects.’

Now seems like the time to start sucking up. ‘For which I am eternally grateful,’ I say.

Vaughn nods. ‘Passion projects. Brilliant work; and I applaud you for that. Migrant Channel crossings, people trafficking, your work is hard-hitting and incredibly impressive. The lengths you go to. You won us an Oscar, for god’s sake. Can’t ask for any more than that.’

‘Thank you,’ I repeat, only this time, my throat fully constricts.

‘Tell me about your latest project. The one you’re due to start shooting.’

I straighten my back. ‘I’m calling it “Plight of the Red T-Shirt”. It’s about the West’s obsession with fast fashion. It charts the life cycle of a simple red T-shirt, beginning with its manufacture in the sweatshops of Bangladesh, to its ending up on the vast discarded piles of clothing in the Atacama Desert, and all who come within touching distance of it. My cameraman – Duncan – and I are due to fly out to Bangladesh next week to begin filming.’

Vaughn sticks out his bottom lip. He circles one hand in the air, looking sacrosanct, before he shifts his gaze to Meredith, who is beaming. ‘It sounds… incredible.’

I look from Vaughn to Meredith, Meredith to Vaughn.

‘Here’s the thing, Lexi,’ Vaughn continues. ‘I’m happy for you to do the red T-shirt documentary. But, first, I’m gonna need you to do something for me. I need you to go and film Rebel Heart on their world tour.’

For a moment, his words sink in. Once I’ve fully digested them, something explodes in my gut. ‘Mr Herrera, I really—’

He holds up one hand to silence me. My lips move up and down, yet no sounds emerge.

‘I know what you’re gonna say. Vaughn, I don’t do boy bands . I don’t do pop stars . I do social injustice , but… I care about two things. Viewing figures. And more households signing up to Silverpix accounts across the globe. Give me five of the hottest young singers and dancers on the planet with their shirts off, or some raggedy T-shirt floating in the Pacific Ocean; I know which demographic is gonna be streaming hours of which show. And the numbers for Rebel Heart… they’re gonna be stratospheric. They’re gonna take this company to the next level. So… do this one thing for me. Go film Rebel Heart. Then I’ll fund your T-shirt project. I give you my word.’

My chest rising and falling, I can’t formulate a response. Judging by the look on his face, Vaughn seems to take this as my taciturn agreement.

‘So, the tour is currently… where is the tour now, Meredith?’

Meredith speaks for the first time, her voice coming out in a squeak. ‘They’re about to arrive in Japan.’

‘Japan, right. You’ll need to leave soon; Meredith can get you booked on flights departing for Tokyo in the next couple days.’

‘In the next couple of… days?’ I choke out.

Vaughn gives me a rat-like smirk. ‘No time like the present.’

‘C–can I take Duncan with me?’

‘Sure,’ Vaughn grins. ‘Take whoever you want. But you’ll also have Meredith.’

‘I will?’

‘Meredith will act as your assistant for the duration, and she’ll be able to keep me updated with your progress. She was working with the previous director.’

I try not to look desperate. ‘I’ve never needed an assistant. I assure you, I’m very self-sufficient.’

‘Then consider Meredith’s presence a luxury. Get her to fetch you coffee in the mornings, anything you please. She’ll do it.’

Meredith forces a smile. The conversation feels like it’s spiralling.

‘I… I usually have a little more time to prepare.’

‘Meredith can assist you with all the preparation you need. Just be sure to commence filming as soon as you arrive in Tokyo. We’ve already lost a chunk of time.’

Meredith attempts a serious look, but I’m not sure what to make of her being here. Is she being sent to spy on me? ‘I can talk you through the members of the band,’ she says. ‘The tour is called Reunification , after the band re-formed following their break-up. Maybe we could go for coffee and talk about it?’

‘So, we’re good here?’ Vaughn says, banging his hands on the table before I can respond, and huffing to his feet. I feel my hand being pumped again. ‘I’ve got another meeting to go to. Lexi, it’s been a pleasure to see you again. We’ll be checking in with your progress. Best of luck on the tour. See, didn’t I tell you? Bigger is better!’

With that, Vaughn departs, leaving me alone with Meredith.

My eyes slip shut. When I open them again, Meredith is squeezing her fingers together, wincing.

‘Did you wanna go for that coffee now?’ she asks.

I wobble to my feet, feeling nauseous. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind a little fresh air.’

It’s dark when I enter my two-bedroom flat, not far from the banks of the south side of the Thames River. After the meeting, I’d marched out of Silverpix HQ, bending over double when I reached the nearest street corner.

The first person I’d called was my agent, Simone Clair.

‘Do I get a choice in the matter?’ I blathered over the phone, marching up and down Shaftesbury Avenue in a pair of very uncomfortable high heels, the handset glued to my ear. ‘As in, can I pull out?’

‘You can, but remember you’re under contract with Silverpix,’ Simone explained. ‘You’re lucky you’ve had full creative control up to this precise moment. I don’t know much about Vaughn Herrera, but I’ve heard he can be pretty formidable to deal with. And you most definitely do not want to make an enemy of him.’

‘But Rebel Heart ? Really? A documentary about a boy band ? How am I supposed to look my peers in the face ever again?’

‘You make it your own. Give it a female slant. Show them why you’re considered the current mistress of the fly-on-the-wall documentary. If anyone can make it good, Lexi, you can.’

In my flat, I’m angry. And not just irritated, but consumed with fury. I toss my keys on the table, my gaze settling on the photograph of my mother.

Astrid Lowell was an actress. Not a particularly successful one, in part because of an unplanned pregnancy, giving birth to me at the tender age of twenty-three. I know I haven’t inherited my mother’s striking looks, her vivid blue eyes, or her giraffe limbs, instead inheriting my chocolate brown hair, hazel eyes and average stature from my American father’s side of the family.

I stalk to the fridge, reaching for a bottle of wine that’s already open. I pop the cork and hold it between my teeth as I fill myself a generous glass. My mother’s mantra was, ‘ Work hard. Always be professional. Never complain. ’ I’ve always tried to abide by those rules. Replacing the bottle back in the fridge, I raise a toast to my mother’s photograph, letting out a slow, unsteady breath.

‘I promise I’ll do a good job, Mum. I promise I will be professional. I’ll work hard. But given that it’s Rebel Heart I’ll be working with, I can’t promise that I won’t complain.’

I down the entire contents of the glass. I need to call Duncan.

Passing the shelf that holds my award, I pause. Apparently winning an accolade like an Oscar earns you nothing. No respect. No choices. Just a pair of so-called golden handcuffs and a handful of shaky promises.

I am trapped.

In a decision I know I might later regret, I hurl my Oscar at the wall.