Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
That man loves her, really loves her, and I didn’t think he was capable of feeling anything much less actual romantic attachment.
“I’m wondering why you’d tell me something like that. We’re not exactly close.”
A hint of a smile. “No, we’re not, but I wanted to ask you something. Are you happy at Drake?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer.
Am I happy?
I mean, in general, no, I’m not happy, not even a little bit.
But at work?
That’s something I’ve asked myself half a dozen times over the years. I should be happy. I’m intensely aware of my privilege and everything that comes with it. But does comfort make me happy? Does a good family name and a famous father make me happy? Does money bring me joy?
I’m not sure I can honestly say yes to any of those questions.
Drake Entertainment is a good job. It’s a solid firm with good clients and a sterling reputation on the East Coast. I have room to grow and learn, and that’s important in this industry. I don’t plan on being there forever, but for now, it feels like it’s the best I’m going to get.
“Work’s fine. I have good clients. I’m making decent money. I’m independent, learning a lot—”
“But are you happy?”
I shrug. “It’s work, Baptist. Is anyone happy at work?”
“They should be. I want to be.” He doesn’t look at me and his usual smirk is completely missing. His voice is quiet, almost pensive. This is a Baptist I’ve never seen before. Gone are the jokes, the laughter, the teasing. This is his serious underside, the man beneath the mask he shows to the rest of the world, and I find it strangely alluring that he’s letting me catch a glimpse when he tries so hard to keep himself hidden away.
It’s disturbing, how honest he’s being. The idea of Baptist, of all people in the world, somehow being unhappy seems—impossible.
“Why are you asking me about this? You’ve barely done more than make fun of me ever since I came to Drake.”
“You’re an easy target.”
“Thanks, you’re such a prince.”
He laughs softly and glances at me sideways. His eyes burn, smoldering with a deep passion I don’t understand. I nearly pull away, but that look is intoxicating. It’s pure desire, like he needs something from me so badly it hurts him, and he’s not sure if getting it will truly sate his craving or if it’ll only stoke the flames that much hotter.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
“I found you tonight for a reason.” He looks at me, head tilted. “I’m starting my own production company and I want you to come with me.”
I don’t know what to say. I flounder for a response under the intense weight of that stare. Instead of speaking, I drain half my glass and turn my back on the party down below, staring out across the balcony at the far wall. I can’t look at him right now as my head swirls with possibility. “I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
“Don’t say anything yet, just listen. Ansell’s going to be my first investor, so don’t worry about any bad blood there. I want to start something here in Philadelphia and work with local artists. I think there’s a lot of untapped potential in this city, and if we’re smart and work hard, I think we can turn this into something. I have some of my own startup money, and that plus whatever Ansell gives me will be enough to get us going. I’m in talks with Antonio Cowan—”
That grabs my attention. I look at him sharply, ready to laugh in his face. “Tony Cowan? Are you kidding me?” I stare at him, truly surprised. It’s one thing for Baptist to get money from his best friend—and entirely another to have a direct line to one of the most famous and reclusive directors in the country. “How did you manage that?”
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Seriously. You want me to consider this? Then tell me.”
“I ran into him in Rittenhouse Park. He was feeding pigeons.”
“Shut the fuck up, now I know you’re lying.”
He laughs and shakes his head, turning around to face the same direction as me. He crosses his arms and his elbow brushes against mine, and a chill runs down my spine. His eyes glance along my body like he felt it too, and I’m distinctly aware of him lingering on the hint of cleavage, my exposed back, my hips, and my lips.
“I’m really doing this, Blair. Cowan’s got a script and it’s really fucking good. I want to bankroll him, produce the whole thing, and he wants to shoot it locally. It’ll be our first project, and if it works, this can make our entire careers. I want your help. Of everyone at Drake, you’re the only one I’m approaching.”
I chew on my lip, considering. If he’s not full of shit, this could be absolutely huge. Cowan’s never made a bad movie, but he’s notoriously strange and difficult to work with. He’s only ever finished three projects, and abandoned half a dozen, which isn’t a good track record—but those three projects are incredible.