A Life in Hollywood
Chapter 18 - Emilia Clarke - Part 1
Emilia Clarke's phone wouldn't stop buzzing on the coffee table. She was sprawled across her couch in her cozy London flat, legs tucked underneath her in an oversized grey hoodie that had seen better days and soft black shorts. The flat was a comfortable mix of lived-in charm and quiet luxury — high ceilings with original crown molding, large sash windows letting in the gray London light, a big sectional couch piled with throw blankets and half-read books, and a kitchen island visible from where she lay. Scripts were scattered across the coffee table and floor around her, but she wasn't really absorbing any of them. Her eyes kept glazing over the dialogue, her mind elsewhere.
The screen lit up again. Rachel. Third time that morning. Emilia sighed, dragged a hand through her messy dark hair, and answered on speaker.
"Morning, love. You sound thrilled," her agent said with that familiar practiced cheer.
"Rachel, if this is another vitamin water gig where I have to pretend I'm glowing from electrolytes and running through fields like a lunatic, I'm hanging up right now."
Rachel laughed, warm and knowing. "No vitamins today, I promise. We've got real money on the table. PepsiCo is coming in strong for their new crisp campaign. Thick-cut, gourmet flavors, the works. They want you front and center — cheeky British humor, you in a light sundress on a sunny day, biting into a crisp with that big infectious smile, maybe a playful little wink to camera. Two days' work, six figures plus solid residuals. Clean, easy, and the brand loves you."
Emilia pulled a face even though no one could see it. She sat up a little, adjusting the hoodie. "Chips again? I literally just did the soda campaign last year. Running around parks pretending fizzy drinks fix all my problems. Now I'm the official snack queen? I feel like I'm one commercial away from doing breakfast cereal in my pajamas while telling everyone how great fiber is."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Rachel replied, still upbeat. "People love watching you enjoy food. It's approachable, it's fun, it's very you. The engagement on the last soda one was massive — shares, comments, the algorithm ate it up. This crisp spot plays to the same strength. Light, relatable, happy Emilia enjoying simple pleasures."
Emilia stood up and wandered toward the kitchen, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floors. The flat's big windows overlooked a quiet street lined with Victorian terraces. She leaned against the marble counter. "What else have they got?"
"Domino's is pushing hard," Rachel continued smoothly. "New stuffed crust pizza line. They want something fun and flirty — you in a cozy modern kitchen with one of their pizza guys, pulling those massive cheese stretches, laughing, that girl-next-door energy. Super relatable, family-friendly but with a little sparkle. Papa John's came in right behind them — similar deal, but they're picturing a warm family dinner scene around a big table. You as the cool aunt who shows up with the pies, everyone happy, big smiles, passing slices around. Both are fast shoots, good pay, easy residuals that keep coming in for years."
Emilia rubbed her temple with two fingers. "Pizza and chips. Brilliant. Am I just food now? Is there a kebab brand or a curry takeaway waiting in the wings too? I can see the headline already — 'Emilia Clarke: Britain's Favorite Takeaway Companion.'"
Rachel chuckled. "It's not that bad. These are huge brands with huge budgets. They see you as approachable and likable — the person people want to share a pizza night with. But there's one more that stands out. Dolce & Gabbana reached out about their new perfume. This one's different. High-end. Shooting in Rome — beautiful authentic trattoria setting, golden hour light pouring in, flowing dresses, that Mediterranean glow. They want you as the face of the scent. Elegant but still sexy. They specifically loved your theater background and want to lean into something a little more sophisticated — maybe a short singing moment, a touch of performance. Pay is stronger than the food stuff, and the exposure could open real doors — fashion campaigns, events, the whole thing."
Emilia leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the gray London street below. A light drizzle had started. "Rome sounds nice. Really nice, actually. But I don't know… I've been trying to be pickier lately. Every time I turn something down I worry I come off as difficult or ungrateful."
"Look, the snack brands are easy money," Rachel said, her tone supportive but practical. "Quick turnaround, residuals forever, zero stress. D&G is the one with real legs — could lead to fashion contracts, red carpet moments, bigger opportunities down the line. But it's completely your call. You've got Dragon Girl money in the bank. You don't have to say yes to everything that comes in."
Emilia laughed softly, pushing away from the counter and wandering back toward the couch. "Dragon Girl. God, that feels like forever ago. I'm just tired of being the cute one selling junk food. The D&G one at least sounds like I wouldn't be pretending to have an orgasm over melted cheese or crunching crisps like it's the highlight of my day."
"Exactly," Rachel said. "That pizza and crisp stuff is safe, but the perfume one gives you room to actually perform a little. Think about it. I can push back on the food brands if you want — tell them we're focusing on higher-end right now. But they're offering fast cash and they really want you. Call me after lunch and let me know where your head's at?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Rach. I appreciate you filtering all this."
Emilia hung up and tossed the phone onto the couch. She poured herself a fresh glass of water from the kitchen tap and stood at the big window again, watching the gray London street below as the drizzle picked up. The flat felt quieter than usual, the kind of heavy silence that made her thoughts louder. The space was a comfortable mix of modern and lived-in — high ceilings with original crown molding, large sash windows that let in the dull afternoon light, a big sectional couch piled with throw blankets and half-read scripts, and an open kitchen with white marble counters and a small herb garden on the windowsill. Commercials. It all felt like settling sometimes. She'd done theater that lit her up from the inside, massive TV that changed her life and made her a household name, proper films with real weight and challenge. Now it was crisps and pizza. She took a long sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to ease the restless knot in her chest.
Her mind kept drifting to Osiah. He had this way of cutting through the noise, of making decisions feel simpler without dismissing her concerns. She picked up her phone again, thumb hovering over his name, the screen lighting up her face in the dim afternoon light. She almost tapped call, then set it down on the windowsill. Not yet. She needed to think first, to sit with the offers a little longer without outside input.
The rest of the morning dragged on. She tried to focus on one of the scripts again, but the words blurred. Around eleven Rachel called back with extra details — exact shoot windows for each option, mood boards for the D&G wardrobe (flowing silks, soft earth tones, elegant but sensual), notes from the creative team about possibly singing a short Italian song in the perfume ad to tie in her theater roots. Emilia listened carefully, asked a few clarifying questions about timelines and location logistics, but kept her answers vague and non-committal. She didn't want to close any doors yet. By the end of the call she told Rachel she'd decide by the end of the day.
By early afternoon the restlessness had settled deep in her chest, a low hum she couldn't shake. The drizzle outside had turned steadier, streaking the windows. She paced the flat for a bit — from the living room with its comfortable sectional and scattered scripts, through the open kitchen with its marble counters and fresh herbs on the sill, past the bookshelves lined with theater playbills and old photos from drama school. Nothing helped. Finally she grabbed her phone, took a slow breath, and called Osiah.
He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, you."
His voice, calm and low, immediately made her shoulders drop. She smiled without meaning to and sank deeper into the couch, pulling a throw blanket over her legs. "Hey. Got a minute? My agent's drowning me in commercial offers and I'm overthinking everything like an idiot."
"Shoot," he said. She could hear faint background noise — distant voices, the soft clatter of equipment being moved, like he was walking somewhere on a set. "I've got a bit before the next setup."
Emilia tucked her legs underneath her more comfortably, getting settled. "First, how was the Gaga thing? I saw some clips online — you, Tony Bennett, all that jazz. Looked like a really nice run."
Osiah let out a low chuckle. "It was solid. Intimate theaters, great crowds every night. Tony's a legend — the man has stories for days. Kept the whole crew laughing between shows with old road tales from the fifties and sixties. Gaga's a force of nature. Full energy, changing outfits between numbers, hitting every note perfectly. I mostly kept the production side smooth — quick changes, lighting cues, making sure the transitions didn't kill the vibe. Good change of pace after the big Marvel chaos. Learned a lot about live music flow."
"Sounds perfect for you," she said, genuinely pleased. "I bet you were the calm one in the middle of all that sparkle and sequins and Tony's smooth delivery."
"Someone had to be," he replied, amusement clear in his tone. "How about you? Season 5 of Game of Thrones is coming up soon, right? Near release. How was filming that one? I remember you mentioning it was intense."
Emilia groaned softly, running a hand through her hair. "Intense is an understatement. It was the longest, most draining season I've done so far. We were shooting in these brutal locations — freezing cold nights in Northern Ireland and Iceland, wind cutting right through you even in layers. There were days where we'd be out in the snow or on these exposed sets for fourteen, fifteen hours straight, and the emotional stuff… Daenerys has a lot going on this season. Lots of big, heavy moments — the kind that stay with you even after the cameras stop rolling. I'm excited for people to see it, but also nervous. You know how it is — once it's out there, it's out there. You can't take it back. Filming felt like we were all running on adrenaline and coffee for months. There were nights I'd get back to my trailer and just sit there staring at the wall, trying to shake off whatever scene we'd just done. The dragons got even more impressive, though. The effects team outdid themselves — the way they integrated them with the practical sets, the scale of everything. It was wild watching it come together in post. But the whole thing was this constant push and pull between the spectacle and the personal stuff. I think that's what made it so tiring… and so worth it."
"Bet they did," Osiah said. "You always bring it. I've seen the earlier seasons. Your scenes hit different. People are gonna lose their minds when it drops."
"Thanks," she said softly, the warmth in her chest spreading. "It means a lot coming from you. Anyway… back to my current headache." She launched into the details, walking him through everything her agent had thrown at her that morning. "PepsiCo wants me for this new crisp campaign. Sundress, big smile, cheeky British humor while I crunch away. Six figures for two days. Then Domino's is pushing stuffed crust pizza — me in a kitchen flirting over massive cheese pulls, girl-next-door energy. Papa John's similar, but they want a cozy family dinner scene where I'm the cool aunt bringing the pies. Easy money, all of it. But I keep thinking… am I just the snack queen now? I did the soda thing last year. Feels like I'm stuck in junk food land."
Osiah listened without interrupting, the faint set sounds still in the background. When she finally paused he gave a small hum of understanding. "The food ones sound like they'll pay the bills but won't do much else. You've done enough of those. Quick shoots, decent check, but it's the same vibe every time."
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