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 walked away from Noemi and her group to find Dominic again. He was still at the same table I’d left him at, smiling charmingly at a famous model from the 80s.
“You’re too good for him,” I said to her as I took my seat.
“Hey, don’t blow my shot just because you blew yours,” Dominic said mildly.
I stared at him. Had he seen me with Destiny and known, like Noemi had, that it wasn’t just a friendly hug? Did he know that I had an inexplicable urge to land a punch in Andrew Quinn’s handsome, affable face? Did everyone fucking know?
“Oh shit,” Dominic said, misinterpreting the look on my face. “Are you really still in love with her?”
In love? What the hell was–oh. Dominic was talking about Noemi. My shoulders relaxed, and I gave a passable imitation of a laugh.
“No,” I said. “Not even close.”
10
DESTINY
I was having an out-of-body experience. Floating above my head, looking around my life, and wondering how on earth I’d gotten here. It wasn’t a bad feeling exactly. I’d had similar moments like this ever since Rowena and I first drove into town. Sometimes it was mixed with overwhelming joy and gratitude, sometimes despair. Right now, it was wrapped up in a cocktail of bemused bewilderment.
How had I become exactly what everyone expected me to be after Magical Melody ended, despite having assiduously avoided so many pitfalls that other former teen stars had fallen into? It hadn’t been an accident. I’d studied those fallen stars. Learned from them. I’d thought that if I was careful enough, smart enough, I wouldn’t become them.
No, more than that. I’d thought I would become better than them. I thought I’d be able to scale the slippery ladder to the next level with ease. I’d pictured myself turning around, reaching a hand down to the next girl the way Noemi had always kept her hand reaching toward mine. “It’s easy,” I’d tell her. “Just keep your focus. Don’t let a guy or a good time derail you.”
But here I was, former teen star, current mini-scandal, pulling the oldest trick in the Hollywood book after alleged prostitution–faking a relationship for attention.
Andrew’s arm was wrapped around my waist, and from my out-of-body perspective, I could see how it looked. Exactly like it was supposed to. I was leaning into him, gazing up at him, a small, soft smile on my lips. Every so often, he glanced back down at me, squeezed, and gave me a private smile in return. Ironically, the smile was for public consumption. Only I could see the twinkling amusement in his eyes and hear that his brotherly ‘you look great, Dez’ was spoken without a hint of heat.
And hopefully only I noticed how often I looked back at Garrett.
He was standing with a striking man with white hair and a Mediterranean tan. Julian Lewis–head of one of the biggest studios in town–had been standing with them. I’d rarely seen him without a big, friendly smile on his golden boy face, but after a few moments with Garrett, his face dropped into a scowl.
I know how you feel, I thought, surprised to have anything in common at all with one of the major power players in Hollywood.
When Julian spotted Andrew, he slapped the white-haired man on the back, gave Garrett the finger, and started toward us. In that space of one-sided camaraderie, I smiled at him. A wry, genuine smile rather than my Hollywood hire-me smile.
When he reached us, Andrew was still deep in conversation with his director.
“You’re Destiny Pollock,” Julian said.
“You’re Julian Lewis.” I should have been nervous. Here was a man who had the power to make or break my career. But likely because I still didn’t feel like this moment was real, I felt as comfortable as if he were Noemi.
“I like the hair.” Julian gave it a judicious once over. “It’s good.”
“Thanks.” I nodded past him at Garrett. “What did he do?”
Julian looked over his shoulder, his smile turned back to a scowl. “He isn’t staying for the movie. He doesn’t like them.”
I laughed in surprise. “Any of them?”
“That’s what he says.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know!” Julian looked back at me incredulously. “If he told me doesn’t like science fiction or romantic comedies or a specific genre, fine. But you can’t hate the entire art form.”
While we talked and laughed, I noticed another swell of interest. I could almost hear what they were thinking: is Julian Lewis really talking to Destiny Pollock? Being on Andrew Quinn’s arm was one thing–they thought that was sweet. It helped offset the perception that, as Garrett so charmingly put it, I was blowing old billionaires below deck. Having Julian Lewis show interest in me was something else. It was tinged with tentative respect. A sense of wait, maybe we should be interested in her, too.