Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Almost giddy with satisfaction, I called my mother when I got home. She knew exactly what I was doing, and she didn’t approve, but she knew that her disapproval wouldn’t stop me.
“I got it,” I told her when she picked up. “It’s not official, but I’m sure of it.” I told her about Miller and how much he reminded me of her various ex-lovers.
“Well, if anyone can handle him, it’s you, baby girl.” I heard the distracted pride in her voice, the sound of a zipper being pulled closed. She must still be packing. I pictured her leaning her weight on it, dragging her hand around the perimeter, the small silver key between her thumb and forefinger. Sounding slightly out of breath, she asked, “And you’re sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure,” I said determinedly. Seeing Julian Lewis’s smug, golden boy face had erased any niggling moral hangups I had about taking this job under false pretenses. This stupid town was built on false pretenses. It wasn’t like he’d earned his position either. It had been served to him on a golden platter instead of slipped under the table, but it amounted to the same thing.
“-very handsome,” my mother was saying.
I dragged my attention back to her. “Who? Miller?” I didn’t see it, but my mom had a soft spot for creatives. She was as attracted to the spare, elegant composer with the soft voice and black turtlenecks as she was to the grungy artist with years of paint staining his nail beds and the hair that hadn’t been washed in so long it was turning into dreads.
“No, well, him too, but I was talking about Julian Lewis.” I heard her exhale and pictured her falling across her bed beside her suitcase, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. “He looks just like his father used to.”
“His father? You didn’t–” I wrinkled my nose, unable to finish the question.
“No, no. He was already married, and you know me. Fool me once.” My mom paused, “I would have otherwise though. Those eyes alone…”
“Okay, I have to go.” I walked into my kitchen. It was early for dinner, but I hadn’t eaten lunch. I’d been too nervous.
My mom laughed. “My girl, the prude. There’s nothing wrong with admiring a handsome man, baby. Just keep your hands off the married ones. Julian isn’t married, is he?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I opened my refrigerator and frowned at the contents. A full shelf of Cherry Pepsi because I couldn’t function without it. A half-empty jar of pickles. Yogurt. I pulled open my freezer and found pizza rolls and vodka. None of it appealed. “Do you want to go to dinner?”
“At three pm?”
“It’s six in New York.”
“Compelling argument, but I’m leaving for the airport in an hour.”
I was surprised at the zap of loneliness that went through me. I was used to my mother flying off on her adventures. She’d kept herself landlocked until I graduated high school, but she’d been making up for lost time ever since. Usually, I thought it was great, but just now, I wanted someone to celebrate with.
I let her go and texted a few girlfriends to see who might be free. While I was waiting, my mom sent me a screenshot. A young Sheldon Lewis, the spitting image of his son. The same magnetic blue eyes, golden hair that was just long enough to tousle, same square jaw that looked like he should be in front of the camera instead of pulling the strings behind it. The difference was, this man had a hard-nosed determination, whereas Julian Lewis had a smug, contented glow about him that I found borderline infuriating.
Then, suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by an incoming call. A number I didn’t recognize. I answered it anyway.
“Willow, yeah? Willow Laurier?”
The man on the other end pronounced my mother’s last name wrong, rolling hard into both Rs. I stifled a laugh, recognizing the voice. “Hi, Miller.”
His voice came in a furtive rush. “Willow, you’re hired, okay? Don’t worry about that asshole Lewis. Be on set at eight on Thursday, okay?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Miller. I have to go through HR. SAG has rules.”
“Fuck SAG. I’ll see you at eight.”
“You won’t–”
He hung up before I could finish my sentence. I laughed again anyway. It might not be official, but if Miller wanted me, Julian was going to have a hard time convincing him to accept anyone else. I recognized a power struggle when I saw one, and I didn’t care much who won as long as I got a job out of it.
The next morning, I was back at Julian’s office. HR had reached out and arranged another interview shortly after I got off the phone with Miller. Bemused, I’d agreed. I expected to see Miller there, too, but to my surprise, it was just Julian when Chad, his EA, led me in.