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"Sup, Michael here," the voice on the phone echoed brightly, sounding completely relaxed and in a surprisingly good mood.
Sitting in the back of the black car, Michael was actually feeling fantastic.
The sudden, agonizing ache in his chest from watching Emma kiss Zain had finally given him the spark he needed. He finally knew exactly what his next book was going to be: The Fault in Our Stars. The raw, tragic teenage romance was practically writing itself in his head.
True, a irrational part of him still wished he could punch Zain in the face.
But he quickly brushed the thought away. It would be incredibly unfair to punch the poor guy, especially considering Emma didn't even know what Michael looked like.
On the other end of the line, the director nearly dropped the phone.
"Mr. Owen! Oh, thank God," the director gasped, his voice trembling. "Sir, I must sincerely and profoundly apologize. There was a terrible misunderstanding. The cast, they didn't know it was you, and the smoking rules, they were just-"
"Give me that!" Andrew shouted, snatching the phone. "Michael! Mr. Owen! Sir! It's Andrew from Netflix! Please do not pull the rights! I swear they are just kids, they have no idea what they are doing! I will personally stand by your trailer with a fire extinguisher if you want to smoke! Please, my mortgage-!"
Standing on the asphalt, the cast watched the high-ranking Netflix executive completely melt down.
The sight mortified them. If a powerful corporate representative was fumbling and begging like this, what hope did a group of debutant actors have? They were finished.
This production was absolutely done for.
Asha and Carla gripped each other's hands, both on the verge of crying again.
Emma was trembling so hard her teeth were practically chattering.
"Man, chill out," Michael's voice suddenly cut through the speaker, completely deadpan. "I don't understand a single thing you just said."
Total silence fell over the set.
The director quickly wrestled the phone back from Andrew's sweaty grip.
"Mr. Owen, what Andrew is trying to say is that we are so, so incredibly sorry for the disrespect you were shown today."
"To err is human; to forgive, divine," Michael quoted smoothly through the speaker. "Listen, you do not have to worry about anything. I was in the wrong. I zoned out and smoked a cigar in a prohibited area. The cast was just following safety protocols. Nobody is getting fired. Anyway, I don't have that much power."
"That's a lie," thought everyone, even Evans and Michael.
Andrew let out a massive, ugly gasp of air.
A newfound, overwhelming wave of confidence washed over him. The little genius wasn't mad! He was merciful!
"Mr. Owen, you are a saint!" Andrew yelled toward the phone, completely glazing him. "You are an absolute visionary! A paragon of professionalism! Your magnanimity is unmatched in this industry! Truly, the voice of a generation-"
"Andrew," Michael interrupted dryly. "If you glaze me any harder, I'm going to turn into a Krispy Kreme donut. Take a breath."
A few of the cast members couldn't help it.
Henry let out a loud snort, quickly covering his mouth.
Zain's shoulders shook with a silent, relieved laugh.
The unbearable tension in the air instantly shattered.
As they stood there, every single cast member's perception of Michael skyrocketed.
"He isn't a snob at all," Henry thought, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "He's actually incredibly reasonable. I respect that."
"Thank you, God," Zain thought, closing his eyes. "He's not going to fire me."
"The guy has a sense of humor. He admitted his own mistake," Asha thought, wiping her eyes.
"He's a true gentleman. He is just so cool," Carla thought, finally letting go of Asha's hand.
Then there was Emma.
Her heart was still beating wildly against her ribs. "He's... he's amazing, she thought, her stomach doing nervous backflips. He is brilliant, he is forgiving, he is funny... and I literally just screamed in his face like a crazy person."
Then, the line went quiet.
Michael didn't hang up, but he didn't say anything either. Five seconds passed. Ten seconds. Then twenty.
For a full thirty seconds, nobody on the set breathed. All seven of them just stared down at the phone in the director's hand, terrified by the heavy, sudden silence.
Then, Michael's voice came through again.
This time, the breezy, humorous tone was entirely gone. His voice was soft and quiet.
"Is Emma Myers there?"
The tension slammed back into the group like a physical blow. The cast instantly froze.
Emma's breath hitched in her throat. She was the one who had berated him the hardest. She was the one who had yelled at him. And now, he was singling her out.
The director slowly held the phone out to her, his eyes wide with panic.
Emma took the phone with shaking hands. She brought it close to her face, her knuckles completely white.
"H-hello?" she squeaked, sounding completely terrified.
"Are you on speaker?" Michael asked quietly.
Emma blinked. "Y-yes."
"Please,switch it off."
Emma's heart dropped into her stomach.
She fumbled with the screen, her thumb shaking so badly she almost dropped the device. She tapped the speaker icon, cutting the audio off from the rest of the group, and slowly brought the phone up to her ear.
"It... it is off," Emma whispered nervously into the receiver.