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Raphael had barely stepped out of the office when he heard Jerry Bruckheimer grab the phone.
"Tell the crew they've got three days off—starting the day after tomorrow."
The whole set erupted in cheers.
Johnny Depp was the first to sprint over and throw an arm around him.
"Little blacksmith! You heading back to L.A.?"
Raphael nodded.
"Want a ride? I've got the jet."
Depp flashed that trademark pirate smirk.
Raphael studied him for a second.
"What are you going back for?"
Depp blinked innocently.
"Miss my daughter."
Raphael didn't answer.
After weeks of working together, Force perception had shown him everything he needed to know about Depp—more than Depp probably knew about himself. The guy's kids and Vanessa Paradis were in France. Nowhere near L.A. This trip was one hundred percent about the bottle calling his name… and probably a little green to go with it.
Everybody in Hollywood knew Depp liked his grass. Years later he'd even admit in court to making sure his thirteen-year-old daughter had a "safe, reliable" supply.
Raphael wasn't about to lecture him. Depp was a great hang—funny, generous, zero ego on set—but that was as deep as it went. You couldn't talk a guy out of habits he'd had since he was a teenager, and Depp sure as hell wasn't going to listen.
The only reason he'd ever kicked the really nasty stuff was River Phoenix dying back in the nineties. Same reason Keanu cleaned up.
"No thanks," Raphael said. "My brother's picking me up—he's my full-time manager now."
Depp shrugged, still grinning.
"Cool. See you in L.A., then."
Next morning Raphael was on the flight home.
It was two in the afternoon when they touched down in Los Angeles.
He walked out of the gate and spotted Philip waiting right at the exit.
They climbed into the car. Philip fired up the engine.
"Straight to Ari's?"
Raphael nodded.
"He there?"
"Been waiting on you all day."
Ninety minutes later Raphael pushed open the door to Ari's office.
Ari was on the phone. The second he saw Raphael he wrapped it up fast.
"Rafe! You're back!"
Raphael dropped onto the sofa.
"Skip the reunion. Tell me about Underworld."
Ari slid behind his desk and grabbed a file.
"Lake Shore Pictures is pumped. Tom Rosenberg's in Europe but already green-lit interest. Gary Lucchesi called yesterday asking when you'd be stateside."
Raphael nodded.
"Writers?"
"Found four female screenwriters with solid romance credits, like you asked." Ari slid the folder across. "Take a look."
Raphael flipped through the résumés. They were fine. Just not what he needed.
He wanted Stephanie Meyer—the woman who hadn't even written Twilight yet. It was January 2003; she was still a stay-at-home mom somewhere in Arizona.
Yeah. He was about to magic-mod the hell out of Underworld.
The original was a B-movie at best. But if his hunch about Kate was right, he needed to do this one with her.
He closed the folder.
"None of these work."
Ari blinked.
"None? What exactly are you looking for?"
Raphael leaned back.
"I need someone who can write the kind of story that makes teenage girls scream."
Ari's eyebrows shot up.
"Scream?"
"Exactly." Raphael locked eyes with him. "It's gotta be soap-opera levels of drama. Forbidden love, crazy chemistry, can't-be-together-but-have-to-be, every obstacle in the book, and non-stop heartbreak that leaves the audience wrecked."
Ari stared like Raphael had lost his mind.
"You want a movie… or a bad romance novel?"
Raphael grinned.
"Same difference. Both make people open their wallets."
He stood and walked to the window.
"I already wrote a rough outline on Saint Vincent. Needs a pro to polish it. If we can't find the right writer yet, grab a script doctor for now."
Ari nodded.
"Easy. Script doctors are everywhere."
Raphael turned.
"One more thing. Tell Lake Shore I'm not pitching one movie. I want three. Shoot the whole trilogy back-to-back."
Ari's mouth actually fell open.
"Three? At once?"
"Yep." Raphael crossed his arms. "Split the story across three films, film them together—saves money, keeps the style consistent."
Ari rubbed his temples.
"Budget?"
"First one thirty-five million. Second and third forty each. Total one-fifteen. I'll take ten million upfront plus twenty percent of the backend."
Ari looked like he might faint.
"You sure this thing can even break even?"
Raphael smiled.
"Trust me. It's gonna burn."
Ari studied him for a long beat, then sighed.
"Okay. I'll make the call."
An hour later Ari's phone rang.
He answered, listened, then looked at Raphael.
"Lake Shore's here. Gary Lucchesi came himself… and—"
He paused.
"Kate Beckinsale's with him."
Raphael felt that little spark in his chest.
"What's she doing here?"
Ari shrugged.
"Said she wants to hear the pitch in person. It's her character, after all."
Raphael nodded.
"Send them up."
Five minutes later the conference-room door opened.
Gary Lucchesi was a bald, fifty-something guy in a sharp suit and gold-rim glasses—pure businessman.
He strode in, shook Raphael's hand with a huge smile.
"Raphael, I watched Step Up three times. Phenomenal!"
Raphael gave the polite Hollywood thank-you. Nobody watches anything three times unless they're getting paid, but whatever.
Then his eyes landed on the woman behind Gary.
Kate Beckinsale.
Thirty years old and in full bloom—the English rose at her absolute peak.
Golden-brown hair twisted into a simple updo, long neck on display. Tailored gray suit hugging every curve, black heels clicking softly. Porcelain skin, sculpted cheekbones, those piercing blue eyes carrying an ocean of emotion.
One look and Raphael felt it.
That exact gaze he'd seen only once before.
Selene—the Moon Goddess.
His pupils tightened.
Force perception flared wide open, scanning her.
No dark-side energy.
No vampire chill.
No supernatural signature at all.
But the woman inside…
He pulled the perception back.
Kate met his eyes and gave the tiniest, knowing smile.
Raphael nodded once.
Kate nodded back.
They understood each other perfectly.
Gary didn't notice a thing. He was already launching into Lake Shore's excitement about the project.
Raphael half-listened, answering when needed, but most of his attention stayed on Kate.
The meeting kicked off for real.
Ari handled introductions, then looked at Raphael.
He pulled a thick, bound outline from his bag and slid copies to Gary, Kate, her agent, and Ari.
"This is what I wrote on Saint Vincent. Just the high-level story arc."
Gary started flipping pages.
Kate lowered her head and read too.
The room went quiet except for the rustle of paper.
Half an hour later Gary looked up, expression somewhere between intrigued and confused.
"Raphael… this story is…"
He searched for the word.
"Very… unique."
Raphael smiled.
"Unique is the point."
Kate lifted her head. There was definite heat in her eyes now.
"Raphael, vampires and werewolves… falling in love? Having a child?"
Raphael nodded calmly.
"Yep."
Kate's brow furrowed.
"This is…"
She didn't finish, but her face said everything.
Too cheesy.
Too on-the-nose.
Too embarrassing.
A Romeo-and-Juliet knockoff with fangs and fur—who the hell would watch that?
Gary's agent nodded along.
"Mr. Lee, the dramatic conflict is strong, but isn't it a little… overly…"
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
"Overly what?"
The agent gave an awkward laugh.
"Overly… commercial?"
Raphael leaned back in his chair.
"What's wrong with commercial?"
He scanned the room.
"You all think it's cheesy? Trashy? Embarrassing?"
Nobody spoke, but their faces answered for them.
Raphael kept going.
"Let me ask you something. Was Step Up cheesy?"
Ari blinked.
"Well… yeah. Poor kid falls for rich girl, dancing changes everything."
Raphael nodded.
"And how much did it make?"
Ari shut up.
Raphael continued.
"Here's who this story is for.
"One—teenage girls. Sixteen to twenty-five. They live for forbidden love, hot guys, hot girls, can't-be-together-but-must-be, and crying their eyes out.
"Two—housewives. Thirty-five to forty-five. Bored with real life. This kind of melodrama gives them the escape they crave.
"Three—anyone who fantasizes about impossible love. Natural enemies who fall anyway. Just thinking about it gets the blood pumping. Honestly, if the budget weren't tight I'd have pitched angels and demons instead."
He dropped his hands.
"Step Up already proved female audiences have money. By the end of this year Hollywood will green-light at least twenty copycat teen romances. I basically invented the lane. You think my opinion carries weight?"
Gary nodded slowly.
"You make a fair point."
Raphael looked straight at him.
"Gary, one question."
"Fire away."