Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I scanned it fast. “Really? An NDA? I can’t reveal the gender or true identity of the author?”
“Nope. That was the only way they agreed to come here and meet with you and Lacey. Privacy is their number one priority.” She leaned close. “I heard one of the studio heads slip up and say him. I think it’s some big-time businessman who doesn’t want the world to know he dabbles in mommy porn.” She pretended to shudder. “How embarrassing.”
I frowned. “Did you even read this book? It’s not mommy porn. It’s deep and emotional. Gripping.”
“And some intense sex scenes.”
“Those are secondary to the writing. I read a few other of his or her books. The writing is incredible.”
She waved her hand. “Whatever, Nick. It’s a role and a chance to redeem yourself.”
I signed the document and handed it back to her. I really had no choice in the matter, and I was too tired to argue with her.
The file went into her crowded briefcase. “Good, we’re all set. I have to go.”
She headed to the door, pausing before she left. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
MILA
I gazed around the movie set in wonder, trying to take it all in. The lights, the cameras, all the various equipment. The cavernous building echoed with the sounds of people talking, yelling, bellowing out directions. And there was only a skeleton crew. I could only imagine how the building would hum once they started filming and the entire crew plus the cast was here. Andi was busy talking to someone, and I wandered, peering at the main set of the film. It was as if the garage had come alive from the descriptions in my book. Even the sign was correct. I felt a flutter of excitement as I investigated, trying to stay out of the way. I pushed my hands into the pockets of the cotton hoodie I had bought at the hotel. It was light but offered me the comfort I needed today. Since my encounter with Nicholas, I had been on edge. I had avoided the adult pool last night, instead swimming before dinner in the other pool. I stuck to one side and did my laps while Andi was on the phone, sipping a drink at a table beside the pool.
When she asked if I wanted to come with her this morning, I said yes, but I planned to stay away from everyone. I had a pass around my neck, so no one questioned my being there, but they had no idea who I was and I wanted to keep it that way.
Someone yelled out something, startling me, and I backed into the shadows of one corner that seemed emptier. I bumped into something, and I turned, seeing a couple of empty director’s chairs. I scrambled into one, sitting safely out of the way and watching the bustling going on around me. I pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. It was all fascinating. I had studied the terms and hierarchy of a movie set, and it blew my mind how many people it took to create a movie. The vast number of departments with the various positions that fell within the scope of each area never seemed to end. Some of the terms I found amusing. The grip, key grip, dolly grip, best boy grip, best boy electric, set decorator, the shopper, the prop master, PAs. The list went on and on. Everyone had their own role to play aside from the actors.
“Hey.” A rough voice startled me.
I looked up, my breath catching as I realized, once again, I had run into Nicholas Scott in the shadows. Today, he looked angry, an annoyed frown crossing his face. His eyes were cold, with purple thumbprints under them.
“If you’re going to take a break, make sure you look to see whose chair you’re sitting in,” he snapped.
I jumped out of the chair, my heart racing. He reached over, spinning the chair, and I saw his name printed out on the back.
“Gofers have their own places to rest. This is mine.” He sat down, crossing his legs and opening the script he carried. I couldn’t help but look at it—notice all the notes jotted in the columns of the pages. The sticky notes attached to the edges. The question marks I could spy. I longed to take it from his hand and look it over, and if I were anyone else, I probably would. Laugh and introduce myself. But instead, I managed to mumble an apology and begin to back away.
“Wait,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“No,” I pushed out between tight lips.
He scratched his chin, the gesture making me stare at his long fingers as he ran them over the scruff that highlighted his angular jaw. “Maybe we’ve been on the same set.”