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Jodie Foster slid into the town car.
Anna, her assistant, immediately handed her a cup of black tea.
"Heading to Vinales Valley today?" Jodie asked.
"Yeah," Anna said.
"It's just outside L.A. The crew for Wrong Turn is shooting there."
Jodie took a slow sip. "That's the film we invested in, right?"
Anna nodded. "You promised Mr. Westwood you'd stop by. They're halfway through filming. He wants you to assess if it's worth putting more money in."
"Additional investment," Jodie muttered, her smile tightening.
"I remember old Martin introduced this film. What's the director's name, Alan McElroy?"
Anna shook her head. "Not anymore. McElroy disappeared—nobody's saying why. Some guy named Christian Booth took over."
Jodie raised an eyebrow. "Booth?"
"It's not clear if he's related to that Booth," Anna said carefully.
(T/N:- John Wilkes Booth- Assassinated Abraham Lincoln)
She knew Jodie's history with political violence wasn't something to dig into.
Jodie said nothing. Her mind worked the angles—new director, mid-shoot, no guarantees—risks she didn't like.
"What's Booth's background?" she asked.
Anna hesitated. "He's...different. Used to work behind the scenes. Writer, stunt coordinator sometimes. Reputation for being sharp but... intense."
"Intense," Jodie repeated, her voice flat.
The car wound its way through the valley roads.
Outside, the landscape blurred into green and brown streaks. Inside, the tension hummed.
When they finally arrived, Jodie stepped out expecting chaos or crisis but found a strange picnic instead.
Long folding tables stretched under the trees, stacked with burgers, fries, and cheap beer.
Crew members lounged around, laughing and eating like they were at a backyard barbecue, not a film set.
Jodie frowned. "Are we sure this is the right place?"
Anna double-checked the map.
"Definitely."
Before Jodie could say more, a man in his late twenties, blonde hair tousled by the wind, approached them.
His clothes were plain—jeans, boots, a scuffed jacket—but something in his stance, a coiled energy, made people give him space without thinking.
"Miss Foster?" he asked.
His voice was calm but carried an edge, like someone used to dealing with trouble—and not always winning.
Jodie met his gaze. "That's me."
The man smiled, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Welcome to the set," he said.
"I'm Christian Booth."
"Director of Wrong Turn. Anthony said you'd be stopping by."
"Anthony Westwood?" Jodie asked.
"Yeah. Our producer."
Jodie glanced around, unimpressed by the laid-back scene.
"Where is he? What's going on here?"
Christian's expression didn't change. "Anthony was supposed to get here first, but New Line called. He's sick—won't make it today."
Jodie folded her arms. "And this?"
Christian half-smiled. "Wrap party."
Jodie blinked. "You're finished? Already?"
"Wrapped early," he said.
"I figured you expected chaos, delays, panic... Sorry to disappoint."
His voice had a dry note, almost daring her to argue.
Jodie didn't. Early completion was rare, but not impossible.
Still, something about how casually he said it made her wary.
"I know you probably came here to review footage," Christian said, motioning toward the crowd, "but today's not the best time. Why don't you have something to eat? Take a breath, and then we'll talk."
Anna shot her a pleading look behind Christian's back—Come on, go with it.
Jodie sighed. "Alright. It's nice not having to count calories for once."
Christian chuckled under his breath but didn't comment.
The truth was, he hadn't planned for things to go this smooth.
He figured there'd be retakes, tantrums, maybe a shutdown.
Instead, the cast hit their marks like pros, the last shot was in the can by mid-afternoon, and the impromptu celebration kicked off without a hitch.
No fancy tables, no catered meals—just beer, burgers, and half the crew sitting cross-legged in the grass.
He'd known Foster would still show even if Westwood bailed.
Orders were orders.
And he'd recognized her instantly—no disguise could hide someone who once stared down Hannibal Lecter on screen without flinching.
Now she stood a few yards away, chatting with Charlize Theron like they were old friends.
Christian watched them for a moment, then smiled to himself, muttering just loud enough for no one in particular:
"In any case... you're finally here."