Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“I’m still processing what happened, so let’s talk about you first.”
She’s dusting off her shirt when she replies, “The audition was terrible. I had absolutely no chemistry with the guy they cast as the lead, though I had sex with him three years ago in the pool house after an after-after Oscar party.”
We met at a Hollywood party and instantly clicked. Birds of a feather and all that jazz. We lead two entirely different lives, but we found common ground in the things that matter—friendship, loyalty, having each other’s backs, and dating mishaps.
But four years into this friendship, she still manages to blindside me with some of her wilder stories. “Yikes. That bad, huh?”
“Yes, he was horrible in bed. How am I supposed to overcome that tragedy?”
“Well,” I start, my head bobbing side to side. “That’s kind of the purpose of your job. Pretending.”
She can level me with a look, but she can never hold it and starts laughing. “True.
I didn’t really want the part anyway. I just went because my dad pulled some strings to get me in the door.”
“But you made it past the first three rounds all on your own. It’s a hard business.”
Anchoring her head to the side, she grins, but it’s lacking the joy she usually carries with her. “They were doing my dad a favor.” She takes another sip and then shrugs. “I have a feeling that nepotism has struck again.”
Her dad is one of the biggest producers in Hollywood. He adores two things: his job and his daughter. After floundering around a few careers, she said she wanted to try acting at twenty-five. He cast her as a lead in a major motion picture that immediately panned her skills as “self-indulgent acting.”
Self-indulgent? Maybe a little, but they missed the spark she brought to the part. I quite enjoyed her performance.
Luna Daize is hard to deter. She scrapped her team and started acting classes. Years later, she still can’t land a role unless her dad is behind it. She loves the lifestyle he affords her but wants to earn the roles she gets.
She picks up her drink. “Enough about me. Tell me what happened with the house. Give me the long version.”
I’ve debated how to tell her or anyone else. It’s not a secret since it’s only a mistake, but should I keep this on the down-low until after it’s fixed? I need to vent, and who better to listen to my woes than someone who has heard and seen it all in LA?
Waggling my ringless fingers, I say, “I’m married.” Margarita spews from her lips. “Luna!” I jump up, but my arm has already received the bulk of the liquid.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rushes around to rub me down with her napkin.
Batting her away, I say, “I have it. I have it.” This is hardly the first time she’s spewed her drink on me. We’ve made some great memories. “Can you turn away from me next time?” I tease, patting my skin dry.
She turns her attention to wiping the booth but still cackles under her breath. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that.”
Already giggling, I reply, “Apparently.”
“I thought we were opposed to marriage.”
“You are opposed to marriage. I’ve always been open to the idea. What I’m opposed to are the toads I’ve had to date to find my Prince Charming.” Settling back into the booth, I reach over and pull her drink closer to me while I finish the story. For my safety because if that got her going, the rock star detail will finish her off, and drench me in the process. “As I was saying—”
“You’re married?”
I nod, acting like any part of this is normal. The mental gymnastics of wrapping my head around what happened has worn me out. “According to the state of California, I am.”
“I’m so confused. I feel like I’ve missed the start of the story.” Swirling her finger in the air, she adds, “Rewind.”
So I dive into the story, not leaving out any details. “. . . And then Ross says, Shane Faris is my husband.”
“Shane Faris?” Her head drops lower, along with her jaw. “The drummer of Faris Wheel, Shane Faris?”
Grinning like a fool, I reply, “The very one.” All I can do is laugh about this situation now.
She works hard to rid herself of the lines between her brows, but right now, they are out in full force despite her best efforts. “The same Shane Faris who made the sexiest man alive edition?”
As if this is my burden to bear, I try for solemn, but I’m not the actress and can’t keep a poker face for anything. I end up smiling like a jackpot winner. Why not embrace this technicality while it exists? “I’m married to a rock star.”
“Oh my God, Cate. That means—”