Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I don’t push though, since, well, I don’t want to appear too interested in his life. That might make him think I’m up to something.
But I’m not up to anything he needs to know about. Right? I’m twenty-one. I’m an adult. I don’t need to tell him about my evenings out.
It’s none of his business.
But as I search through the shelves, my gut churns viciously.
Here I am, on the set of their show. Interning at their company. What I’m doing is their business.
Too much of it.
I need to fix this problem I’ve made. I need to do it stat. But first, I have to deal with Dad’s request to find some book.
I read more names to him, and when I’m at the end of the last shelf, hardly any books left, I flick a fingernail against a book of poems. “Pablo Neruda?”
“That’s it!”
Finally.
I run my hand along the slim volume. “Do you want a photo of it?”
“No.” There’s a pause over the phone line. “Take it,” he whispers, even though he knows I’m the only one on the set. “They’ll never miss it.”
“What?”
“Poppet, no one will even notice you nicked it.”
Great, I’m a liar and a soon-to-be thief. “Dad,” I chide softly.
“I promise it’ll be fine.”
Irritated, I roll my eyes. But he’s right. I know he’s right. Still, I glance around at the empty set. If Ollie, the stage manager, sees me walking out with this book, he might be pissed one of his props has gone missing. After all, Ollie let me in because I said it was a favor for my dad. “Dad, Ollie will be annoyed.”
“Only if he sees you,” Dad says, so clever, so devilish.
I quickly assess my options for cat burglary. I’m wearing a pencil skirt. I’m not going to stuff it into the waistband. Briefly, I wish I carried a purse. But I don’t. Gritting my teeth, I grab the book, tuck it under my arm. Best to just look innocent.
Shoes muffled by the maroon Turkish rug, I head out, book in hand, phone plastered to my face. Then, I’ve escaped into the hall.
“Okay, now what?” I ask.
“I’ll text you the address where I’m staying. Pop it into FedEx overnight please. I need it tomorrow morning before we leave.”
“Where are you going to?” I ask.
Dad laughs. A chuckle that says he’s charmed himself. “I’m taking the rest of the week off. Viv and I are having too much fun, and we’re going to tool around New England.”
Ah, that makes sense. An extended vacation. “Well, you deserve it. I’ll take care of this.” I say goodbye, head to the office supplies room, and pack up the book in an envelope. Then I drop it at the studio’s mailing room to go in the overnight shipping.
I return to my messages, ready to check in with Jules when my attention snags on a handsome man heading down the corridor. Empirically handsome that is, with tanned skin, a chiseled jaw, and a lopsided grin fans adore. It’s Dominic, the award-winning actor who plays Cruz. He’s chatting on the phone, but when he spots me, his eyes light up. He covers the phone. “How is the art world coming along, Harlow? Have you taken over MoMA yet?”
I’m impressed Dominic remembers anything about me from our brief chat at MoMA at the silver and gold party. “Not yet, but maybe soon,” I say with a smile, one that I hope covers up any betrayal that reveals I stole a book from your character’s library for my father.
He waves goodbye and heads on his way, and I return to my phone.
Oh!
There’s a text from my brother, asking if I’m free on Saturday morning for breakfast at our favorite diner on Third Avenue.
I stop in my tracks and clasp my mouth. Oh my god. He’s going to extend his San Francisco trip to visit me!
Harlow: Are you serious? Does this mean you’re coming to New York? For real? Don’t tease me!
Hunter: Well, someone made it clear I needed to see her. I’m off to Chicago tonight for a meeting tomorrow morning, so I figured I could extend my trip by spending one night in New York. BUT…any chance I can stay at your flat tomorrow night? I’m leaving on the last flight out of New York on Saturday.
Harlow: As if I’d let you stay anywhere else! I love you madly!!!! Can’t wait to see you! And you picked wisely—Dad won’t be here!
Hunter: I’m pretty much brilliant. Can’t wait to see you, Lo. Will email you the flight info.
Harlow: I can’t wait to see you either.
But as I turn back down the echoey corridor, returning to the set to work, it’s as if a small stone is wedged in my shoe. An annoyance, a trifling thing. But it starts to dig into me.
I’ll have to lie to my brother when I see him tomorrow night since I can’t breathe a word about Bridger.