Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I’m supposed to be back here tomorrow.
Please let this be it.
Ian
I’m livid with Cordelia for making this personal. Livid with life for letting Sara end up here, a lamb wandering into a lion’s den.
“You called her back to have her under your thumb. Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is,” I bark at her, knowing full well what Cordelia has planned. But Sara has no fucking clue that the show she’s got her heart set on is none other than my wife’s first full production, under the company founded with my money.
“I know exactly who she is, and I know exactly why you like her. She’s sort of sassy, Ian.”
I grit my teeth and pull my hair in frustration as I pace the living room of “our” house. “What do you want, Cordelia?”
“I’ll keep her in the show. It’s seriously all this girl wants—she’d pee in a bag if I asked her to. But I’ll only give her a part if you forget about her and come home, Ian. Clean slate.”
“I’m not in love with you anymore.”
“I know. But you have feelings for this girl—I mean come on, you drove her to the audition and kissed her like you wanted to eat her up!” She laughs, not merrily. “So if you don’t do it for me, then do it for her.” She raises her brows.
“I’ve endorsed your Broadway production company—”
“You did, but it was your gift to me, and it’s in the black now. No longer needing your contributions. I’m in full control.”
“You fucked me over before, you think I’m going to let you fuck me over again? You’re sadly mistaken.”
“Ian.” She rushes to stand before me. “She’s a young little thing. Excited. Think about it. I’ll give her the part—IF you give me another chance.”
I take a long, hard look at my almost ex-wife, wondering what I ever saw in her. There’s greed in her eyes, and very little in her heart to recommend her.
“Work may have destroyed our marriage, but my money destroyed you.” I shake my head in warning, narrowing my eyes. “She has talent. She’ll get her big break, and if she doesn’t, at least she wouldn’t have sold her soul or someone else to get it.”
“Think about it, Ian!” She calls as I storm out of our West End home. “You pretend you don’t care, but let’s see how you feel when she’s devastated she lost the part and you could have done something to help her. You’re broken, Ian. I mean, let’s be realistic. What can you offer her?”
I turn around and face her. Broken? I don’t remember what that feels like. Not now that I have Sara. “I’m not, not anymore,” I say in full honesty.
A shocked, bleak look crosses her features, as if I’ve slapped her. “You can’t care about anything but work, it’s what you know you’re good at.”
I shake my head. “All these years. And you don’t know me at all.” I fling open the front door. “I’ll see you at Wahlberg’s.”
And with that I step out.
FINALISTS
Sara
My second day auditioning, this time with the eleven finalists, and the bitch blonde was late to arrive. Now she’s been watching me dance up on stage with a pen in her lips and her eyes narrowed.
“Wonderful job, everyone. We’ll call you,” one of the directors tells us after we finish the piece.
Exhaling as I step off the platform, I grab my duffel and change my dancing shoes for my sneakers.
“Sara.”
I turn to see the blonde bitch.
“You’re our top contender for the lead. Just wanted you to know.”
I blink, completely taken aback by the nearly blinding megawatt smile on her face. “I am?”
The blonde continues giving me that winning smile. “You are. I have it on the highest authority that you’re in.”
I’m so mind-blown, I’m pretty sure my brain is about to explode as I head outside. I got the lead. I got the lead in a Broadway show. I step out onto the streets and feel like jumping, screaming, throwing myself to the ground, and kicking in glee. But of course I do none of that. I just pump my fist in the air and then try to compose myself as I head toward the train station. That’s when I spot Becka crossing the street. “Becka, what are you doing here?”
“I’m roaming the streets, getting inspiration.”
“You’re crazy. Where are you even sleeping?” I demand.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got myself the best, most unbelievably hot roommate. Some guy who missed his flight too; turns out we know each other’s families, and he’s helping me get my muse.”
“What guy?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion over the twinkle in her eye. And that’s when my gaze locks past her shoulder on to a figure behind her. A figure leaning against a black SUV. A figure in a Suit. A figure I have touched, kissed, and licked.