"Ma'am, that gentleman over there sent you a drink."
Joey turned around. This was that famous West Hollywood comedy club where you couldn't swing a cat without hitting someone famous. She'd just come in alone to kill some nerves with a quick drink.
Two days until the Source Code premiere. Critics, press, the whole circus would be there.
She had no clue if they were going to love it or bury it.
She walked over to say thanks and realized the big corner booth was packed with British actors (someone's birthday party).
She put on her polite smile. "Thanks for the drink. Who's the birthday boy?"
"That would be me."
Even in the dim bar light she clocked him instantly: Jude Law.
Oh yeah. She remembered the first time she'd run into him after being reborn (right outside this same club). His smug attitude had been unforgettable.
Jude had been on a decent run the last couple years. The Talented Mr. Ripley and Cold Mountain had finally cracked Hollywood wide open for him. So tonight a whole posse of UK talent showed up to toast him. Made sense—he was the hottest Brit in town right now.
His tone still carried that same clipped arrogance. "We're celebrating my birthday. Someone spotted you and figured since we're all in the industry, we'd send a drink your way."
Joey smiled, thanked him, and started to leave. No point lingering; they clearly weren't interested in small talk, and the feeling was mutual.
Except she took a wrong turn looking for the exit and had to loop back past their booth.
That's when she overheard them.
Some woman, voice dripping with condescension: "That Joey Grant looked like she wanted to kiss your ass earlier, but you shut her down so she slunk off."
Jude, totally unbothered: "Not interested. Her reputation's trash."
Another voice (male this time): "Yeah, she got lucky with that little indie Juno last year, but now she's got some sci-fi thing coming out? Everyone says it's gonna bomb hard. Back to obscurity for her."
Joey strained to see who was talking, but the booth was too dark. If she ever figured out who it was, she'd remember the face forever.
Jude again, smug as ever: "Even if she begged me to be in one of her movies, I'd pass. She doesn't meet my standards."
Translation: she was miles beneath him.
Joey rolled her eyes and kept walking. She was officially done with Jude Law.
A man's character always catches up with his career. And from the way that hairline was retreating, plus everything she knew was coming (affairs, baby-mama drama, cheating on Sienna with the nanny, getting cheated on in return), the guy was about to implode spectacularly. In her past life he'd gone from "next big thing" to punchline in record time.
She wasn't the forgiving type. Blacklist: activated.
She'd barely made it ten steps outside when someone called after her.
"Ms. Grant!"
She turned. Another Brit from the booth, young, built like a superhero already.
Henry Cavill.
Future Man of Steel. Right now just a polite, slightly nervous rookie trying to break in.
Joey raised an eyebrow, not exactly smiling.
Henry rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "I, uh… saw you walk past again. What they said in there—don't take it to heart. If it upset you, I'm sorry on their behalf."
For a second everything went quiet. The neon signs kept flashing across her face, the night wind ruffled her hair, and the whole street seemed to pause.
Then Joey gave him a breezy, lopsided grin and tilted her head. "Apology accepted. Night."
She shoved one hand in her coat pocket and strode off like she owned the sidewalk.
Henry probably had no idea that one tiny, decent moment had just changed his entire future.
Sometimes all it takes is basic human kindness to get remembered. Butterfly effect in action.
Source Code premiere night – fifteen days before wide release.
Joey and the main cast sat on stage doing the press Q&A before the lights went down.
Hughes wasn't up there with them. He hated cameras, hated being gawked at. It made his skin crawl (some weird mismatch between his extroverted looks and introverted soul).
He watched from the wings instead, eyes locked on Joey.
She was handling the reporters like a pro, until the questions started getting pointy.
He noticed her hands first (resting on her knees, slowly curling into fists). At first he thought she was just annoyed at the same old skepticism.
Then he realized: she was nervous. Like, actually scared.
The unflappable Joey Grant was sitting there terrified of what people were about to think of her movie.
He couldn't take his eyes off her.
During the break she finally escaped the stage, looking like she could breathe again.
Hughes walked straight up to her.
She saw him coming, that half-smirk he always wore when he knew something she didn't.
He didn't say hi. Just reached down, covered her clenched fist with his hand, and gently pried her fingers open one by one until both hands lay flat.
Then he gave her that familiar arrogant little smile. "You're promoting your movie. That stage belongs to you. How are you up there looking like a drowned rat? Those reporters can smell fear—they'll rip you apart."
It was his weird, backwards way of comforting her.
She knew it, because she knew him.
Joey pulled her hands free and rolled her shoulders. "I'm good. Just… this one matters more than Juno. If Juno had flopped I could've come back. If this tanks? I might be done."
He handed her a cup of hot cider. "I know you're freaking out. But that's between us. Nobody else needs to see it."
She laughed softly. "Guess there's still a lot only you and I know about each other."
"We were always on the same side," he said, voice low and way too warm.
He stepped closer (silent, predatory, the way he used to right before he'd kiss her out of nowhere, no warning, just because he felt like it).
For one second it felt exactly like old times. He leaned in, she leaned back until the wall stopped her.
They were half an inch from kissing.
Joey planted a hand on his chest and shoved. Calm, firm. "We're not on the same side anymore."
She wasn't that girl he could do whatever he wanted with.
Not anymore.