Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“I’m not a kid,” I said automatically. There were a few years after I stopped being Magical Melody that I found myself saying that nearly every day. To studio executives, to directors, to my own agent. Being immortalized in the public’s mind as my awkward fifteen-year-old self was a hard mold to break out of.
“Lucky for Geoff.” Garrett looked me over, but not in the creepy way most men did. There was something almost clinical about it. He winced at my hair. “That’s bright.”
“Thank you.” I bared my teeth in a smile. I hadn’t meant for my hair to turn out so bright, but I did like how it instantly made people see me differently. I got a film role the next week. I played the mean girl who ultimately loses her boyfriend to the quirky protagonist. I played that role a few times, actually, before I started turning them down.
“I agree,” Noemi said to Garrett.
I blinked, wondering if I’d missed a chunk of the conversation. What were they agreeing on?
Garrett gave her a look I couldn’t decipher. She rolled her green eyes upward and held her hands up, palms out. I was completely baffled. Were they telepathic? I played a telepath once in a Disney movie and became obsessed with it. Sadly, years of trying led me to believe it was bullshit.
“You agree on what?” I asked when neither of them said anything else.
“Very little. That’s why we’re divorced,” Garrett said smoothly, avoiding my question. He angled his chair toward me and leaned forward, elbow on his knees. “Listen, I think I can help you.”
“Mm, I don’t think I need it.” I crossed my legs and reached for my water glass, wishing I could telepathically yell at Noemi for tricking me into this meeting. Was I actually going to have to say that I couldn’t afford him? Here? Where someone might overhear and the next headline would be about how I didn’t charge the Saudi prince enough?
“Mm, I think you do,” Noemi disagreed. “This story is a snowball. If you don’t stop the momentum, it’s going to get bigger and bigger. You’ll get buried alive.”
“Thank you for that metaphor,” I said politely. “I think I’ll have the Chicken Caesar Salad.” I looked around for the waiter and waved him over. I had to get this lunch over with as quickly as possible.
I saw amusement flicker across Garrett’s face as I forced us into ordering. He and I went first while Noemi dithered. She was a woman who always knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it—until it came to a menu.
“She’ll take the chicken salad, too,” I finally said after Noemi got stuck between two salads. “Dressing on the side.”
“No croutons,” Garrett added before Noemi could.
We looked at each other, amused, and I felt a frisson run through me. A strange recognition. An energy.
The smile fell from my face, and I clamped down on the feeling. Nope. No way was I getting tangled up with Garrett Thompson. Not as a crisis manager.
Not as anything.
I couldn’t afford it in more ways than one.
5
GARRETT
I knew the kid had grown up, but my online perusal hadn’t prepared me for the visual punch of her beauty. You’d think I’d be immune to it, having Noemi as an ex-wife, but Destiny was something else. Noemi’s beauty was ethereal, golden, soft candlelight. Destiny was fireworks and flames. Her eyes were wide and slightly tilted at the corners, the blue-green irises expressive even when she was trying to hide her emotions. Her hair was absurdly red, but it made her creamy skin glow like there were fireflies in her veins instead of blood.
In person, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that looked like something Noemi had probably given her, she looked even better than she had in those tight dresses and heels. She wasn’t the nightclub vixen with the glassy eyes, but there also wasn’t a trace of the plucky Magical Melody character she’d embodied for so long.
“Look,” I said after the waiter walked away. “Noemi is right. You need help managing this. I want to help. I’m very affordable.”
Destiny snorted. “No, you’re not. You’re Garrett Thompson. I read your book. I know how much you charge.”
I was mildly surprised she’d read it, but then, it had been on the bestseller list for six months. “The book only talks about what the studio pays me. My personal rate isn’t that high.” I told her my quote, half off what I usually charged.
Destiny looked surprised, then immediately looked over at Noemi and shook her head. “No.”
“What?” Noemi asked, the picture of innocence. She really was a good actress, but she wasn’t fooling Destiny.
“You’re not helping me pay for a crisis manager.”
Noemi started to truthfully declare that she was not helping her pay, but Destiny cut her off.