Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 104820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
But Jay wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, I heard. They want you back in six weeks to film the final scenes. And, probably so you don’t do something stupid before filming resumes, they’re hiring you a full-time caretaker. Sorry—caregiver.”
Arch sat up, alarmed—then winced, still not used to his body’s new vulnerabilities. “You’re kidding, right? I’m not having either one living with me. I’m fine.”
Jay didn’t even blink. “Great. If you’re so fine, then get me a glass of water.”
Clearly, his agent and friend had come prepared for some pushback. Well, Arch could push back as well. He started to lever himself out of the chair, wincing even as he tried to hide the pain, but Jay immediately placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him down.
“Don’t be a fool, Arch,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t have anything to prove. And you need the help. Otherwise, how are you going to manage doing even the simplest things, like getting a glass of water?”
“My family will help.” Obviously. His mom and dad were close enough to come over every day if it was really necessary. And his siblings too. That was what family were for, right? He said as much to Jay, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Jay was adamant that they should follow the studio’s instructions.
“I don’t want to risk another setback,” Jay said, taking a seat on the sofa. “It’s not just about you, Arch. This movie is too big, too important, for your ego to get in the way.”
“My ego?” Arch echoed. “This isn’t about my ego. This is about the studio wasting money on something I don’t need.”
Jay scoffed. “Since when do you care about the studio’s budget?” His voice was low and rough.
Arch swallowed. He had a point. The studio was spending millions on this highly anticipated Western remake; what was a caregiver’s wage for a few weeks? He changed tack. “Okay, then, it’s about my privacy. Carmel is my home. I’m pretty much left alone when I’m here. I like it that way. I want to protect this space.”
Jay fell quiet. Their relationship was such that he knew Arch was earnest about protecting his privacy. It was something all his clients wanted, but usually couldn’t manage.
Arch watched him thinking things through and thought he’d won the argument until Jay finally said, “I understand. You know I do. But too much is riding on this. Filming is already behind schedule—the crew have to move on to other projects. It’s in your best interest to comply.”
Jay would always protect his best interests. But a huge part of his job was negotiation. He was a pro at keeping relations between film studios and movie stars mutually beneficial and knew all the right things to say to both—even if they were the opposite things at the same time.
Arch scratched at his cast distractedly. He wasn’t used to being immobile. If he was honest with himself, he also wasn’t used to not getting his own way. “I don’t care what the studio and the producers think,” he said. “It’s not their life we’re talking about. They can’t control everything.”
Jay sighed. “It’s not about control.”
“Sure sounds like it from where I’m standing.” He looked down. “Sitting.”
Jay lowered his voice to a dangerously even tone. “Arch, this is a question of good faith. They need to know you’re going to be able to finish their film on time.”
Arch stayed silent. He was good at that. When he was younger, it seemed like all his siblings got their way by shouting the loudest. Not Arch. When he needed to make a point, he fell silent. And stayed that way. For as long as it took. In that sense, he had infinite patience. Or stubbornness, depending on how you looked at it.
The silence stretched between the two men. Arch watched the ocean, the foam of the waves as they crested and then fell away. There were a few surfers bobbing around like seals, waiting for the next ride. He took a few deep breaths, in and out, and tried to ignore the impulse to stick something inside the cast and scratch his leg.
But Jay was wise to all of Arch’s moves. They’d known each other too long, been through too much. No amount of the silent treatment could shake him.
“To be honest,” Jay said, leaning even farther forward and forcing Arch to meet his eyes, “I can’t believe you went for the stunt on that horse in the first place. Doesn’t he have a reputation for being nervous? What were you thinking?”
Arch felt heat rise within him. His agent knew that it was in his contract for Arch to do all his own stunts. He’d negotiated it, for heaven’s sake. And Arch could have performed that stunt. Why was he the only one who could see this? How many times did he have to explain it? “It would have been fine if the horse hadn’t been spooked by faulty props. I almost cleared the river.”