Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
When Hersch failed to respond, Jay suggested that Archer Davenport would be a perfect fit to play him in the biopic of his life.
“Oh, so this was your grand plan all along,” Mila said. “You’re always scheming to find the next big movie for your clients, so you figured you’d just create one yourself.”
“I know a good story when I see one,” Jay argued. “And, Hersch, you could come on board to make sure you’re happy with the way it’s told. With Arch attached and you as executive producer, we could make a nice little feature film. In fact, Arch is just over there.” He indicated a tall man with his arm around a dark-haired woman. They were talking to each other in the way those deeply in love communicated—as if no one else existed, even though they were in the middle of a very busy art fair. But Jay took no notice. He called, “Arch, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Hersch groaned inwardly. How had he allowed this conversation to continue? But the answer was simple: It had been a monologue, not a conversation.
To Hersch’s relief, the movie star didn’t hear. This charade had gone on long enough.
“I think he’s busy,” Hersch said. “Another time.” And before Jay could say anything else, Hersch quickly added, “Nice to meet you, but I’ve got to head out.” Flashing Mila a smile, he walked away as quickly as he could.
* * *
Mila’s heart felt heavy as she watched him walk away. How had Jay not seen that he was making Herschel Greenfield super uncomfortable relaying his whole life story blow-by-blow? The poor guy was obviously mortified by the attention and had just wanted to walk around the art fair without being reminded of his traumatic accident. She turned to her brother’s agent and said with conviction, “Jay, you’re an idiot.”
Jay looked surprised at her verbal attack. “What are you talking about?”
“Does it ever occur to you that someone might not want their life made into a movie?”
He looked at her blankly. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s a genuine American hero.”
It was clear she was going to have to spell things out. “Think about it this way. If you had come to me right after I had to quit surfing and said, ‘Hey, let’s make a movie about the dramatic end of your career,’ I would have punched you. Herschel Greenfield obviously has better self-control than I do, or your nose would be dripping blood right now.”
Jay’s gray eyes opened a little wider, and she could see it dawn on him that he might have gone in all Hollywood-guns-blazing without taking a moment to read the room.
He wrinkled his nose in thought. “Maybe my timing was off and I overstepped.”
Mila crossed her arms. “No maybe about it. If you ever see him again, don’t pitch him, okay?”
Her tone was harsher than she’d intended, and Jay’s eyebrows shot up.
“Why does this matter so much to you?” he asked, curiosity entering his voice. “You don’t even know the man.”
Jay was right. Despite one conversation, she didn’t, but she wasn’t about to tell Jay, of all people, that she’d felt an instant connection when they’d met. She knew all about career-ending trauma and had picked up that she and Hersch had that in common. Instead, she said, “It just does. So drop it.” With the final word hers, she turned on her heel and marched away.
She watched Herschel Greenfield for a couple of minutes. He was gazing at paintings, but she could tell he wasn’t taking them in. Should she leave him be?
He might be an astronaut and a tad on the nerdy side, but she’d felt an incredible connection to him when she’d first set eyes on him. He wasn’t her usual type, with his short brown hair, moustache, and casual clothes that looked ironed. Now that she knew he was an astronaut, it all made sense.
She glanced at the high-end watch that she almost never took off. Time was important to Mila. She wanted to make the most of every minute, whether in her job as a Realtor or snatching a few more minutes to ride the waves on her surfboard.
She had things to do. She needed to get going. With a last glance at Herschel Greenfield, she turned away and headed to her next appointment—showing a house to people who were available only at six p.m. on a Thursday night. She tried to be philosophical. As a salesperson, she had to bend her schedule to accommodate her clients.
She’d slipped her card to Herschel Greenfield earlier. She really hoped he’d call. Even if he wasn’t in the market for a house, she still hoped he’d call.
Chapter Two
The kitchen at the Davenport family home was filled with sound. The family were known for affectionately talking at the same time, exchanging news and gossip, and sharing recipe pointers as they cooked up one of their famous breakfasts. Buster was hanging around the kitchen, hoping good things would fall on the floor, and depending on whether their mother, Betsy, was watching, a surprising number of bits of bacon or ham “accidentally” fell, where he licked them up with gusto.