Thank you to aprms for the idea and NewGirl78 for the edits. I give you: Pepperwood.

June 22

Nick Miller hated Schmidt's office more than any other place in the world.

For one, the entire wall behind Schmidt's desk was pure glass, so you couldn't look at him without being blinded and if the sun was at the right angle he would have a ridiculously out of place halo. On top of that, it had this black tiled floor that was polished to the point where someone could see their reflection. That sure as hell wasn't an accident. The two guest chairs were uncomfortable, with the backs sticking forward at an odd angle. His desk was stupid-big and too ornately carved ("Ash, baby, cash ash yeaaah," Schmidt had told him about the wood without being asked). And the worst part was a huge signed picture of Schmidt hanging on the wall in this ridiculous winking pose. Sometimes when they'd meet Nick would catch real-Schmidt staring at poster-Schmidt.

Nick Miller wasn't very fond of Schmidt, either, like the way his hair was always slicked back and he always wore sunglasses indoors and at night. When prompted, Schmidt told him that the sun never goes down on a badass, and that made Nick dislike him even more. The thing that kept him from really hating Schmidt was that he was damn good at his job, and his job was making movies. On top of that, Schmidt was a huge Julius Pepperwood fan, so finally, Pepperwood would be a movie.

The only thing that interrupted Nick from thinking about how much he disliked Schmidt was the man himself, striding in five minutes fashionably late and shouting, "Nick Milla Nick Milla!" in just far too loud of a voice for the office. "Sorry I'm late my fly author friend, the Starbucks baris-tard got my order wrong like four times. Venti caramel macchiato, skim, extra shot, extra-hot, extra-whip, sugar-free. How hard is that?"

"I forgot the first words you said by the time you finished what you were saying," Nick answered honestly with a shrug while Schmidt got settled across the desk from him.

Schmidt, though, hadn't heard that at all. He was busy getting papers out of his briefcase with exaggerated motions and flipping his sunglasses off. "So Mister Milla, I've got some very good news for you," he began with a wide grin.

"And what would that be?" Nick asked, knowing that Schmidt wouldn't say until he did.

"Glad you asked! I found a guy for our villain. Got the contract signed last night," he boasted, giving his skinny tie a proud little adjustment.

Nick was a little worried. He thought that Thresh, the villain "zombie", would be particularly hard to cast. "Soo… who do we have?"

"Two words: Winston. Bishop."

Nick was sure he had heard the name before. But, it just wasn't coming to him. "Who?"

Schmidt rolled his eyes and sighed. "The former Los Angeles Laker. Point guard."

"Oh! Wait. Why?" Nick asked, concerned. An athlete?

Schmidt held up three fingers and ticked the reasons off as he said them: "Thresh is intimidating, Winston can be intimidating. We need people to watch our movie, people like watching Winston. Winston wants to do it, and we want Winston to do it for reasons one and two." Nick was eyeing him skeptically, so he pushed on. "Look, I know he's not an actor, exactly, but I think this is a good direction for us!"

"Giving out movie roles to people who aren't actors?" Nick shot back, fuming. Every time Schmidt had touched something in this movie, he changed it in a way Nick hadn't liked. First, he tried convincing Nick to change the story to Portland, because "Portland is sexy right now." Nick was not having that. And now, he was casting some washed-up former basketball player with chronic knee injuries as a complex and intricate villain.

"You're just gonna have to trust me on this one, Nick," Schmidt insisted with a shrug.

Nick shifted uncomfortably. "I already don't like who you casted for Julius."

"Krummy? He's my boy!" Schmidt defended.

"He looks too nerdy!" Nick hollered, throwing his hands up in frustration. Nick was slightly biased by David Krumholtz's five year stint as a television crime-solving mathematician, but the man did look nowhere near as gritty as Nick had intended for Pepperwood to be.

Schmidt rubbed his face in his hands and pressed his eyes. This author was getting to be a handful. People had warned him about how tricky adaptations can be, but Pepperwood looked like a sure thing on paper. Now, he was less sure. "Look, Nick. I'll tell ya what. I'll let you pick our Jessica Knight. The three finalists come in for their last readings today and I'll let you sit in and pick the one. And lemme tell ya, we have some heavy hitters lined up for this one, some real star power."

"Like who?" Nick asked, placated but skeptical.
"Well, first off is Emily Deschanel. Her show Bones is ending so she has tons of experience working with crime stuff."

"Isn't she a little old?"

Schmidt waved off his concern. "We'd make it work. Secondly, we have- I'm glad you're sitting because this is big news- the Katy Perry."

"The pop singer?" These options were looking worse as he went along.

"I know, I know, another non-traditional one, but her documentary reviews were wonderful! Plus, she'd get people into seats. And she's very enthusiastic. She's a bona-fide triple threat."
Nick sat back and thought for a minute before asking, "She can dance?"
"Oh, that's the third thing? Fine, she's a double threat." Schmidt paused a moment and got a mischievous look in his eye before winking at Nick and pointing to his own chest. "If you know what I mean."

Nick rolled his eyes at Schmidt's crudity. "Yeah, yeah. Anybody else?"
Schmidt shuffled through some papers before picking one out. "Well, one more. Kind of. She's a pretty big long shot. I brought her in because she matches the physical description, and she had really good readings, but she's not really the potential breakout star or established talent I'm looking for."
Nick gave Schmidt a glare and deadpanned, "You hired Winston Bishop. His established talent is shooting free throws — poorly. Who is it?"
"Her name is Jessica Day."

"Who?" Nick asked after a few seconds pause.
Schmidt pointed as if to say that's what I meant before following up with, "Exactly. She was in, uhh, A Year and a Half of Autumn, Gnome, some shitty horror movie…"

"Yeah, I think I've heard of her. "

"Good. So, we start the readings a little after one. Come by my office quarter to and we'll head out together, and you can pick your Jessica Knight. Sound good?"

Nick nodded. "Alright. I'll see this afternoon." He stood and started to leave, before calling, "Until then," over his shoulder and walking out.

And frankly, he was just as happy to be out of there as Schmidt was to have him out.

Writers, man.

Nick was wholly underwhelmed by the selection of actresses so far. Emily Deschanel was too much of a serious know-it-all without the lighthearted spunk he was looking for. He felt like she was just missing the point. On the other hand, Perry had plenty of the super-annoying flightiness down, but he felt like it would be a constant uphill struggle trying to get her to look like a know-it-all.

It was all down to Jessica Day.

She came into the room in a navy dress that went down to mid-thigh and these show-stopping big blue eyes. She looked like a woman made decades ago and preserved, sent from heavenly host to walk delicate steps on the same earth that housed Nick Miller for reasons he would never fathom nor stop appreciating. It was refreshing to see her come in without fanfare, simply shaking Schmidt's hand instead of some complicated cheek kissing ritual that the others did. The clarity of her voice surprised him, strong and deep and true and piercing to the part of him that was still a small boy, prone to being captured by awe. And even more awe-struck was he by her smile, equal parts nervous and warm, more genuine than he had seen from anyone since he had stepped off the plane at LAX. There was so much happening now, movement and sitting, and the reading began with Nick hardly noticing.

"Julius, we need to help her! I'm not saying that because she's a zombie. And not because she's a woman. But because she needs help and there's nowhere else for her to turn in this damn town."

"Damnit Knight, you're right." Krumholtz's voice sounded distant, like it was coming from beneath layers of ice.

But Day's rang true, splitting him to his core, when she chimed, "And you know how much I love to hear it!" But what sold Nick on her – beyond the eyes and the skin and the voice and the way his heart felt still around her, like a bowl of water left out in the sun – what really sold Nick on her was her smile. Her genuine smile. How he knew that this was the girl who did love to hear Pepperwood say she was right. How this was his Jessica Knight.

Schmidt might grumble and grouse about it when he told him. He would show him potential sales numbers, talk about how Perry was moldable or some such bull. But Schmidt backed himself into this hole. Jessica Day would be his Jessica Knight.

Jessica Day was all that was on his mind as he made his way back to the apartment. She was gonna save this movie, he knew it. He could already see her stealing the show. Schmidt would see. She was perfect.

Perfect for the role, he reasoned to himself. Perfect to be Jessica Knight. And yet, his mind was already running away, taking him places like a writer's mind was apt to do, thinking of her smooth paleness more than strictly in terms of a character. But he shook that off- it wasn't going to be like that.

He got back to the apartment just in time for dinner, smelling take-out Italian as he made his way into the small kitchenette. Waiting for him was a note from his live-in gal: Got you Villa Cavadelli's – I'm going out drinking with the girls, be home late. Hope today went well! –Caroline.

He read it twice and sighed. Guess it would just be him, the typewriter, and the cat tonight. And maybe some unfortunate musings about one Jessica Day.

He threw his hat on the desk, looking surly first thing in the morning. Knight was typing away as always and gave him a cheery, "Morning Chief!" before resuming her work.

Julius grumbled his good morning back and asked if there was any business to be taken care of.

"There's a woman who dropped by a little earlier looking for you, I told her you'd be in around ten so she said she'd come back."

"A woman? Human, or…"

"Nope, she's turned," she replied cheerily. She might've been a know-it-all at times, but she never lost her good mood and she never judged anybody. In a way, she was the perfect person to have working in the detective business- a sweet milk that refused to sour.