Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
My jaw falls open despite my attempt to keep it shut. “Are you fucking with me?”
Alan offers a faint smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve told you before how much I enjoy your performances.”
“Yeah, but I thought…” I trail off.
“You thought I was bullshitting?” he finishes. His smile widens. “I wasn’t. And the moment I finished reading this latest script, I knew I wanted you to be in the film.”
Before I can answer, a mechanical rendition of a Beethoven symphony breaks out. With an apologetic look, Goodrich reaches into the inner pocket of his navy-blue blazer and extracts a razor-thin phone. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to take this.”
As he exits the room, I rub my forehead, still a little stunned. Alan Goodrich just offered me a role in his new movie? Sure, it’s a war epic, so there’s bound to be action, the gunfire and explosions I’ve grown used to, but there’ll also be depth to it. Not to mention the respect and prestige that comes from working with a director of Alan’s caliber. Just having my name attached to a Goodrich project will certainly make the critics take notice, even if I am Bad Boy Ben Barrett.
Hell, maybe they’ll finally drop the “bad boy” and see me simply as Ben Barrett, actor.
“I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” comes Goodrich’s rueful voice. The director stands in the doorway, still holding his cell phone.
I walk toward Alan and extend my hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”
He gives a firm handshake. “We’ll start shooting at the end of the summer. My team will be in touch with your agent this week. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
I leave the Goodrich estate feeling like I’m walking on air. An enormous weight has lifted off my chest, the weight of discontent and frustration over a career that strayed off in a direction I never wanted. But it’s back on track again, and soon the other pieces of my life will fall into place.
First things first, though. I have a press conference to attend.
34
Maggie
It’s early morning when I approach the front steps of the youth center and spot a half-dozen reporters milling about. The sight makes me frown. Don’t these people have lives? Homes to go to? Kids to take care of? Don’t they have anything better to do than to stalk a nobody like me?
Fortunately, I finally showered and changed my clothes, but I’m pretty sure I still look haggard. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I haven’t been sleeping in general. It’s impossible to when I miss Ben and am swamped with regret about asking him to leave.
But yesterday, after lying in bed until two a.m., I finally decided enough was enough. I reached for the phone to call him, only to realize I don’t have his fucking phone number. We never had any need for texts or phone calls, because he was living in my damn apartment.
So I dragged Summer out of bed to help me search online, and although we spent hours looking for a contact number, all we got was a fan mail address. When we finally hit pay dirt and learned the name of Ben’s agent, it was too late to call or email the agency. Which meant another sleepless night, leading to a crappy morning when I rolled my exhausted body out of bed and heard Gloria’s voicemail asking me to come in for another meeting.
And now, seeing all these stupid reporters on the front steps only makes my bad mood a hundred times worse.
“Did you know Ben was donating a quarter of his inheritance to the Broger Center?” one of the reporters shouts as I approach.
I stop for a second. What the hell is this guy talking about?
“Maggie,” someone else calls. “Were you aware that Ben’s father was a bigamist?”
Huh?
Not bothering to respond, I walk inside and immediately head for the main office, my mind swimming. How did they find out about Ben’s father? And what on earth do they mean he donated his inheritance to the center?
“Maggie, I’m glad you came in!” Gloria chirps when I enter her office.
Her expression is so jubilant that my confusion doubles. I settle in the visitor’s chair and try to paste on a cheerful expression. “Hey, Gloria.” My attempt at a smile doesn’t last long. “I take it the reporters are still harassing everyone?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “They’ll go away eventually.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. Was I transported to a different planet during the night? A few days ago, Gloria was pissed off about the media presence. Today, she seems totally unperturbed and relaxed about the entire situation.
“One of the reporters outside mentioned Ben donated some money to the center?” I ask, feeling awkward about my ignorance on the subject.
Gloria’s dark eyes light up. “Five million dollars is not some money, sweetheart. I’m still stunned by Mr. Barrett’s generosity.”