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 smiled and took her empty cup. I would fill it while I was up getting some fruit.
The flight was uneventful, and a car and driver were waiting for us. The hotel was luxurious, and my room was actually a small suite with a living area and a great workspace. My bedroom had a king-sized bed, and a deep, Jacuzzi-type tub was in the bathroom. Andi’s room was down the hall. A large arrangement of flowers was waiting for me from the studio, as well as a big fruit basket, filled with all sorts of goodies.
I unpacked, hanging my new clothes neatly and putting my far more familiar leggings and tees in one of the many drawers the walk-in closet held. I was glad I had listened to Cami. It was warm here, and if I had brought my hoodies, I’d probably melt. I had snuck one into the suitcase in case, but I was sure I wouldn’t need it. The fuzzy socks were a must, though. My feet were always cold.
Andi knocked and came in, laughing at the fact that I already had my laptop open. “Got some words?”
“I just did a thousand. I had a scene in my mind. I wanted to sketch it out.”
“How many did you do on the plane?”
“About five thousand.”
“So prolific.”
I grinned at her. “I gotta do something with all the voices in my head.”
She smirked. “Those voices are fueling my retirement, kiddo. Let them talk.”
She sat down, her ever-present tablet in hand. “Tonight, I’m having dinner and drinks with some colleagues. Over the next couple of days, we’re meeting with some studio execs, dinner with the producer, breakfast with the director. We’ll go visit the set, then some more meetings. Finally, we’ll meet the crew and actors, and we’ll start the process. I know John, the producer, says Nicholas and Lacey have lots of questions. So do the supporting cast.”
I worried my lip, and she shook her head. “It’ll be fine, Mila. They want to do the characters justice. The buzz is already happening.” She frowned. “As long as everyone behaves.”
“You mean Nicholas?”
She poured herself a glass of water, sipping it, tapping her long nails on the wooden tabletop. “I know you campaigned for him, but I am a little worried. He has quite a reputation. Ladies’ man, difficult on set, far too fond of alcohol and illegal substances.”
“His work is astounding,” I argued. “He pours himself into his roles. And his costars dispute the rumors. They say he is unfailingly polite and wonderful to work with. He is going to be a brilliant Duncan. He has the right look, the perfect intensity. He was my muse when I wrote it.”
He was more than my muse. At thirty-six, he was the perfect age for the role. Well-built, with broad shoulders and a slightly dangerous edge to his features, he even looked like the character I had written. He had dark curls that fell over his forehead in a sexy wave. His chocolate-colored eyes were expressive, smoldered on and off the screen, and his smile killer. But I wondered if anyone else ever noticed the difference when the camera caught him unexpectedly and he wasn’t “on.” I did.
She held up her hand. “I know. And I’ve never seen you so determined. I just don’t want you to build him up in your mind. He’s an actor. A chameleon. He can shed his persona as easily as you change a scene. Many of them play a part twenty-four seven. Don’t confuse the tortured, intense, deep, soulful character you created with the alcoholic playboy he is in real life. He’ll show you what he wants you to see.”
I felt an odd sense of anger toward Andi. Toward everyone. I saw something in his eyes that it appeared no one else could see. A hidden, lingering sadness. Fear. Anxiety. Maybe only I could see it because I could relate. Sympathize. My early childhood had left a mark on me that no amount of time or love would ever erase. I’d moved past it and built a life, but the stain lingered.
“I don’t expect anything of him, except to play the part with the intensity and layers I wrote it,” I assured her, keeping my anger in check. “I highly doubt we’ll have much interaction other than the meetings about the characters. But I stand firm in my gut instinct that he’ll own this part.”
She chuckled. “Okay, Miss Tiger. I hear you. Now, do you want to come with me for dinner, or are you going to stay here and relax? The pool is wonderful, and room service is top-notch.”
I loved to swim. My dad had taught me when I was little, saying I was a natural. His little fish, he would call me. I spent as much time in the water as I could when I was younger. Even now, I swam every day. Uncle Aiden had installed a resistance spa pool in the Hub, and I was in it daily. Uncle Bentley and I were the ones who used it the most, often crossing paths early in the morning as we entered the Hub to swim. If he was done first, he usually made a pot of coffee, and we would sit and talk once I was finished. He was the most serious of my uncles, his reputation as a stern, cold businessman well deserved.