Pretending He's Mine

by Mia Sosa

  I dismiss her apology with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just finishing up.”

  Carter rises while she holds out her hand and introduces herself. “Carter Stone, it’s great to meet you. Sooyin Liú. I’m an agent in the Film Group.”

  “Hey, Sooyin. Good to meet you, too.”

  “Sanderson is sending the script over,” I tell her.

  It’s not a fact I’d publicize to any other agent here, but Sooyin’s my friend, and she’s walked me through the potential pitfalls of a deal with the studio, so she’s fully aware of the stakes.

  “Hey, that’s great news,” Sooyin says. “I’ve worked with him before. An upstanding guy in a sea of assholes.” She lowers her voice. “Just so you know, Sanderson is very protective of his ideas, and he’s a bit . . . well, let’s just say he’s eccentric.”

  “We’ve heard,” Carter and I say in unison.

  A rat-a-tat knock causes all of us to spin our heads toward the door. Without waiting for me to answer, Quinn sticks his head in. “Heard one of our favorite clients was in the hizzouse.”

  Sooyin and I glance at each other, our version of a mental eye roll.

  Carter reaches over and shakes Quinn’s hand. “Hey, how you doin’, Quinn?”

  “Great, great.” He points at me. “This guy taking care of you? Because if he isn’t, I’ll throw him out on his butt in a heartbeat.” Then he roars with laughter. But he and I both know he’s not joking.

  Carter’s bland expression matches his monotone. “Julian always takes good care of me. You have nothing to worry about there.”

  I’m relieved he kept it professional and didn’t refer to our friendship in some way. That would have irked me, and he knows it.

  Quinn’s smile slides off his face when he realizes Carter isn’t amused. “Well, glad to hear everything’s going well.” He peers at me. “We’ll talk later.” Then he rushes out the door.

  Sooyin slaps the tops of her thighs before she pushes her butt off the edge of my desk. “I need to get back to work. It was great meeting you, Carter.”

  Before she disappears down the hall, I poke my head out of my office. “Psst, why’d you stop by?”

  She spins, shuffles back to me, and drops her voice to a whisper. “More gossip. As expected, Quinn canned Manning late last night. The scuttlebutt is that they’re looking to fire three more in your group by the end of the quarter. Just wanted to give you a heads-up, but with a Sanderson deal in play, I’d say you have nothing to worry about.”

  Damn. Poor Manning’s fate was sealed the minute he embarrassed Quinn. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Now go celebrate. We’ll talk next week.”

  “Thanks.”

  After I sit back down in my chair, Carter pulls out his phone. “Pictures of the honeymoon.” He hands it to me. “Check ’em out.”

  I bet he can’t fathom that I don’t have any interest in looking at them. He gets this bad habit from his father. Reminds me of my sister, Nicole, who shares photos of my niece with me while Sophia is sitting on my lap. Thankfully, the gods take pity on me and Marie rings to let me know the courier’s here with the Sanderson scripts. Soon I’ll be able to send Carter away and finish my work in time to get over to Muddy’s.

  Less than a minute later, Sanderson himself is at my office door.

  Well, shit. This changes everything.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Julian

  BARRY SANDERSON DIRECTS Hollywood blockbusters and consistently makes any list of mega power brokers. Why the hell is he in my office with a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder? Never mind. The fact is, he’s here, and I need to make the most of his appearance.

  Carter and I both jump up to greet him.

  “Sanderson, this is a surprise,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

  He gives me a knowing look, his face ruddy from too much sun exposure. “You’re smooth, Mr. Hart. You didn’t blink when I showed up, but really you’re wondering why I’m wearing sunglasses indoors and delivering the script myself, aren’t you?”

  Hell yes, I am. “I’ll be honest. The shades are throwing me off.”

  Carter turns his head in my direction and tilts his head.

  What? Is it a crime for me to joke around? I ignore Carter’s questioning gaze.

  “Heh.” Sanderson removes the sunglasses and lets them hang on a gold chain around his neck. The inner fashion police in me wants to give him a ticket for that infraction. “This script is my baby, and I’ve been burned before, so I’m not taking any chances with this one.”

  “Fair enough,” I say.

  Carter reaches out, and Sanderson shakes his hand.

  “I’m honored that you’re interested in me for the role,” Carter says. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  Sanderson taps his stomach with his hands. “You’re perfect for the role. I’ve seen your work, and you’ve got the acting chops I need to make this franchise a hit. Let me ask you this. About what percentage of your action scenes have involved stunt doubles?”

  I motion for Sanderson to take a seat, and both he and Carter lower themselves into the chairs facing my desk as they chat. A beep from my speakerphone pulls me away from the conversation. “Yes, Marie?”

  “Your mother’s on line two, Mr. Hart.”

  My Spidey senses are on full alert because she rarely calls me at work. “Keep chatting, gentlemen. I’m going to take this quick call.”

  I stand and face the window looking out to the Avenue of the Stars. “Mom, everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine, Julian. Is this . . . is this a bad time?”

  The hesitation in her voice chills me. “Hang on. I need to find a quiet spot. I’ll call you back in two minutes.” Carter and Sanderson are deep in conversation, and I don’t want to interrupt them. “I need to step out for a minute.”

  Carter looks up and peers at me. “Everything okay?”

  I don’t know, but there’s no sense in setting off any unnecessary alarms. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back in a few.” I stride down the hall and slip into one of the agency’s small conference rooms. I’m back on the phone with my mother within seconds. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She sighs. “There’s no emergency, okay, but you said you weren’t coming home soon and I wanted you to know.”

  Now my heart feels like an invisible fist is squeezing it. “Know what?”

  “Julian, your father’s showing signs of early dementia. Short-term memory loss. Disorientation. Trouble finding words.”

  The invisible hand won’t let go. My father doesn’t just remind me of Superman. No, he is Superman. A humble man with a modest background who climbed his way to the top and took others with him when he got there. He did it despite the naysayers, despite the people who put up roadblocks in his path, in large part because he used his sharp intellect to build his company from the ground up. I can’t reconcile the image of him that’s always been in my head with the person my mother’s describing.

  “It might be exhaustion,” I offer. “You know what happens when you start looking up symptoms on the internet.”

  She tsks at that suggestion. “Sweetheart, we’ve seen a doctor about this. A neurologist. We’ll be visiting a second one next week.”

  I can’t disregard a doctor’s diagnosis no matter how much I want to. “What does Nicole say?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Nicole is in risk-management mode. To her, it’s all about putting people in place to protect the future of the business. That’s what she feels she can do for him.”

  “That’s what I could have been doing for him, too. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  There’s no hesitation in her response. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. His life is not yours, and your life is not his.”

  I run a hand down my face. I wish it were that easy to disregard his disappointment in my choices. “Try telling him that.”

  “I have.”

  She doesn’t need to s
ay more. I know her telling him so made no difference. This explains the tenor of my recent conversations with him. His preoccupation with the state of my career stemmed from his concerns about his. “When was he going to tell me?”

  A few beats of silence follow my question. Then she says, “Never, is my guess.”

  “I should talk to him.”

  “Give him some time, Julian. I don’t think he’s accepted it himself. And it’s not like he’s going to forget who you are tomorrow. The doctor told us his decline could take years. It happens gradually, but now we can prepare for it.”

  I drop my forehead onto the smooth mahogany table and squeeze my eyes shut. “This is . . . a lot to take in. I don’t know what to say. So that’s why he’s been hounding me about building something of my own, telling me I need to focus on nurturing my legacy.”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to tell you at Carter’s wedding, but you mentioned that you wouldn’t be making it to Atlanta anytime soon, and when he told me that you two had words when he saw you in LA, I realized you didn’t have the right context to understand his frustration.” She pauses for a moment. “It’s coming from a place of love, sweetie. The doctor says the diagnosis will make your father think about his own mortality, and although he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suspect he’s trying to assure himself that everyone will be okay when he’s gone. Just continue what you’re doing. Go out there and be the best damn agent you can be. Show your father you chose correctly.”

  My head might explode from the disparate thoughts crashing into it. Will my father be okay? How much time before we notice a difference in his behavior? When he couldn’t remember names or places recently, were those early signs of dementia or merely a consequence of his exhaustion? I’ll need to go home to see him, but will Quinn think I’m slacking if I take yet another day off for personal reasons, especially after taking a mini-vacation for Carter’s wedding? Jesus. What a fucking day it’s been. A laugh gets stuck at the base of my throat. And on top of all this, Barry Sanderson’s in my office.

  My mother’s voice permeates the mental fog. “Sweetheart, breathe. Dementia is an unfortunate sign of aging, but it’s not even close to being the worst thing that could happen to your father. I just wanted you to know.”

  I take a fortifying breath and sit up. “Okay, okay. I’m fine now. I’ll be home soon. In the meantime, if you need anything from me—anything at all—you call me, all right?”

  “Of course, Son.”

  Her voice is soft and warm, full of the affection she’s always given me. It’s the balm I need right now. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too, baby.”

  In a daze, I plod back to the office, where Carter and Sanderson are still conversing animatedly. They both stop talking the moment I reappear.

  “Everything okay?” Carter asks, wrinkling his brow as he studies me.

  I’m reminded of one of the few mantras that’s never let me down: The workplace is for business, and your personal life has no place there. Lock that shit away and get it together. I relax my features and enter autopilot mode. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s cool.”

  Carter’s face clears. “Great. Barry and I were just talking about grabbing some dinner. Says he’d be happy to talk big picture and walk us through his concept. What do you say?”

  That pulls my hazy head out of my ass. I can’t very well tell him I’d rather meet Ash at Muddy’s, not in front of Sanderson at least.

  Sanderson watches us and rises to his feet. “Do you think you could point me to the restroom? My bladder isn’t as reliable as it used to be.”

  I walk him to the door and ask Marie to show him the way.

  When there’s sufficient distance between Sanderson and us, I turn to Carter. “I thought you wanted to go to your sister’s open mic night?”

  Carter does a double take. “Well, yeah, but Ashley will understand. It’s an open mic night, one of many probably. We can catch the next one. This”—he points to the hall—“is a chance we can’t pass up. I already texted Tori and told her we’ll need to postpone our celebration.” He squishes his brows together and tilts his head. “What’s going on, J? Why aren’t you as excited about this as I am?”

  I don’t know what to say, and that rarely happens to me. He doesn’t know how much courage it took for Ashley to sign up for open mic night, but I do. He doesn’t know that she’s my lover and that I want to be there to support her. Still, after years of carving out separate spaces for my work and personal lives, I’d be a dick agent if I backed out on him tonight, in the midst of talks to secure him a career-defining role, simply because I’m dating his sister. He’d be well within his rights to discard me in favor of an agent who’d make his career the highest priority. Quinn would love that development. No, as much as I’d like to go, I can’t risk my career over an open mic night. I blow out a breath and slap him on the back. “I’m excited, man. It’s just so much happening at lightning speed. Let me send your sister a text to let her know.”

  Carter nods. “Cool. I’m going to use the restroom.” He strolls out the door. A few seconds later, he pokes his head back into my office. “This isn’t a dream, right?”

  “It’s very real, my friend.”

  Shit. I want to be happy about Carter’s news, but I’m torn up about Ashley. And I won’t even be able to adequately explain why I bailed on her without running afoul of the NDA. Dammit. So this is what happens when you let your personal and professional lives collide. I make a mental note as I pick up my phone: Don’t ever do this shit again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ashley

  OH GOD. WHY did I think this was a good idea? If my palms get any sweatier, I won’t be able to play my guitar tonight. I take several large gulps of water as I scan Muddy’s main room. The view of the stage from this dark, secluded corner isn’t helping the situation, either. It’s a small stage, yes, but this vantage point emphasizes the vastness of the room—and the size of my potential audience.

  People. There are so many people. My chest aches at the thought of performing in front of them. I try to remember the typical advice for stage fright.

  Picture everyone taking a shit.

  Oh, that’s gross. No.

  Picture everyone naked.

  How the hell does that help? My mind would imagine an orgy, bodies writhing and twisting in the room while my music sets the mood. Too distracting. Um, double no.

  A giant of a man with more hair on his face than on my head lumbers toward me. Of course, I picture him naked, and there’s so much hair—everywhere.

  “You’re Ashley?” he asks in a deep, booming voice.

  I swallow and wipe the droplets of water that splash onto my skin. “Yeah.”

  “You’re up in five.”

  My heart rate increases, and the fine hairs on my arms rise. I’m in the first car of a roller coaster making the steep climb before its highest, most terrifying descent. Where’s Julian? He’d know what to say to calm my nerves. I pull out my phone to text him and manage a smile when I see that he’s beaten me to it.

  Hey, Ash. Sorry to bail on you, but something important came up. I know you’ll be great. See you at home later.

  Oof. Something important came up. My stomach plummets now that I know there won’t be a friendly face in the audience. I regret not inviting Tori. She would have come through for me, but I didn’t want to harass her the day she returned from her honeymoon. Focusing on my nervousness makes it easier to contain my disappointment. So much for dedicating my performance to Julian. Maybe I shouldn’t do an original song. A cover would go over better with this group.

  The emcee, a pretty redhead with boobs as nice as mine, jumps up on the stage, the spotlight following her as she sashays like a runway model. “All right, folks. Next up is Ashley. She’ll be doing an original song, so give her some love and be kind.”

  The audience greets me with enthusiastic applause. Buoyed by their cheers, I swing my guitar behind me and fake a shit
load of confidence as I climb the stairs. When I get to center stage, I take a deep breath, shake out my hands, and perform to a crowd of strangers, not a friendly face in sight.

  I RETURN TO an empty condo. How fitting. Maybe my mood will improve if I pout, stomp around, and slam a few doors. Eh. What’s the point of being overly dramatic if no one’s around to witness it? Potato chips will help. They always do.

  After ripping open a fresh bag, I chomp down on a handful of salt and vinegar chips as I pinpoint the source of my sullen frame of mind. I should be riding the high of my performance, reveling in the memory of the people who walked up to me after I was done and raved about my song. Instead, I’m focused on one detail: Julian wasn’t there because something important came up.

  No, this is not okay, Ashley. I need to be mature about this. He’s a busy man, and he wouldn’t have stood me up for a superficial reason. Tonight won’t be my last moment on a stage, and next time, Julian will be there to rub my back and talk me through my jitters. Hearing the jingle of his keys outside, I wipe my face of crumbs and roll the bag closed, securing it with a bag clip before I stuff it back in the pantry.

  His glassy eyes brighten when he sees me in the kitchen. He doesn’t waste a second and strides to me, folding me in his arms as though touching me is his only agenda. “Hey, baby. How’d it go?”

  I dip my face into the crook of his neck and breathe in his warm, earthy scent. A hint of strong liquor—bourbon, maybe—floats in the air around his mouth. “It went really well. If you’d been there, it would have been perfect.”

  He stiffens against me, the fingers stroking my hair slowing almost to a halt. I want to snatch back the words. I don’t mean them as criticism. It’s just a fact that his presence would have made the evening more special.

  “I’m sorry I missed it. There was a major development at work that I hadn’t anticipated, and I couldn’t get away.”

  I kiss the spot behind his ear and tighten my hands on his waist. “Good development?”

  “Yeah,” he says as he runs his hands down my back. “Can’t say much about it now, but yes, a great development.”