Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“I just think this is my role,” Preston said for what must have been the thousandth time.
I tipped my own martini back impatiently. I wasn’t normally a day drinker, but I needed to take the edge off before I punched Preston in the face or told him what the director really thought of him. The list of adjectives that came back when I put his name forward had been long and unflattering. Pompous, obnoxious, overblown, arrogant. And worst of all, untalented.
“I’m telling you, it’s not,” I said, putting a note of finality in my voice. “Baz wants an unknown. I can’t change his mind. Julian can’t change his mind. And you sure as fuck can’t change his mind. And if you keep making an ass of yourself, you’re going to miss out on the next great role that really is yours.”
It had occurred to me more than once during this late lunch that I should just drop Preston and save myself some trouble. It was hard to drop someone whose ask was twenty million and rising though.
While Preston circled back to why he was actually the right person for the role for the hundredth time, I pushed my empty martini glass across the bar and checked my phone. To my surprise, I’d missed three calls in a row from Halley.
“Hold on a second,” I said, cutting Preston off mid-stream. I got off the barstool and walked to an empty corner of the bar to call her back. I was relieved when she answered immediately, sounding fine.
“Hey, is something wrong?” I asked anyway. It wasn’t like her to call multiple times.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” she said like she couldn’t fathom why I’d worry. She didn’t understand it was a habit I’d developed when I was younger than she was now, trying to raise a two-year-old on my own. “I was just calling because no one picked up Lily at the airport.”
I frowned and checked my messages. I’d missed a call from Maureen, too, and a text that told me she’d had to go to the hospital. Contractions. Another text telling me not to worry, false alarm. Fucking Preston, distracting me. “Tell her to take a cab,” I said to Halley. “The company will reimburse her.”
Across the bar, Preston was ordering another martini. The fucker. I wasn’t going to watch him marinate in gin all afternoon. I made a throat slashing motion to the bartender when his back was turned and missed what Halley was saying. Something about making Lily feel welcome.
“I’m making her feel welcome,” I countered. “With a job most new college graduates would kill for and a free place to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world.”
“Dad,” Halley huffed. “Don’t throw our privilege in her face. I told her you were glad she was coming. Making her take a cab doesn’t exactly say welcome to LA.
“Well the job and condo don’t exactly say get the fuck out,” I replied, ignoring the bit about privilege. But I already knew it was a lost cause. My daughter could harangue me like no pompous, obnoxious, arrogant, over-blown actor ever could. Besides, it was a reason to get out of this interminable lunch. I spoke over whatever indignant diatribe Halley was delivering. “I’m on my way.”
Luckily my office was only a few blocks from lunch. I went straight to the valet stand and was on the road within minutes. Not that it mattered. Rush hour traffic in LA was practically an all-day affair. It took me a while to get to the Westchester area. I used the time to make a few follow up calls. Somehow, soothing neurotic actors and telling them I was sure their audition had blown the fucking socks off whoever they were auditioning for made the drive go by relatively quickly. Before I knew it, I was standing in the terminal.
I glanced around impatiently for someone standing alone. All I saw were a few families, a student group, some couples, and what had to have been a model or an aspiring actress. A tall, sunny, gorgeous blonde in tight jeans and a short, loose shirt that didn’t hide the generous curves of her breasts. There were so many skinny, flat-chested models in LA that a woman with curves was a refreshing sight. I eyed her speculatively as I called Halley. When she picked up, I asked, “Where the hell is Lily? If she took a cab after all…”
“She said she’d be by the coffee shop.”
“Well she isn’t.”
The model/actress pushed back long, wheat-colored hair. Her short-sleeved shirt rose up, revealing a slice of flat, tan stomach. An actress, I decided. She had too much shape to be a model. An hour-glass figure, like one of the fifties starlets. Landon had told me to keep my nose clean, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to a woman, did it?