by Elle Kennedy
“I’d heard, yes.”
“We’re scouting locations and beginning to cast as we speak.”
I cross my ankles together, suddenly remembering the advice Maggie gave me in Nassau. Nobody’s going to give it to you. If you want something, you go after it.
I’m not sure where Goodrich is heading or why he mentioned his latest film, but I know I can’t allow the opportunity to slip through my fingers. Maggie was right. I can’t sit around and wait for a meaty role to fall into my lap. If I want it, I need to take it.
“About this project…” I venture quietly. “I was actually going to ask you if you’d let me read for it.”
The director chuckles. “Ben—”
I try not to bristle at his laughter and hurry on. “I’m not asking for a leading role, Alan. I’ll read for any part you want, as small as you want.”
“Ben—”
“Just give me a shot.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” he says, chuckling again. “If you had let me finish, you would have heard me offering you one of the supporting roles.”
My jaw falls open despite my attempt to keep it shut. “Are you fucking with me?”
Alan offers a faint smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve told you before how much I enjoy your performances.”
“Yeah, but I thought…” I trail off.
“You thought I was bullshitting?” he finishes. His smile widens. “I wasn’t. And the moment I finished reading this latest script, I knew I wanted you to be in the film.”
Before I can answer, a mechanical rendition of a Beethoven symphony breaks out. With an apologetic look, Goodrich reaches into the inner pocket of his navy-blue blazer and extracts a razor-thin phone. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to take this.”
As he exits the room, I rub my forehead, still a little stunned. Alan Goodrich just offered me a role in his new movie? Sure, it’s a war epic, so there’s bound to be action, the gunfire and explosions I’ve grown used to, but there’ll also be depth to it. Not to mention the respect and prestige that comes from working with a director of Alan’s caliber. Just having my name attached to a Goodrich project will certainly make the critics take notice, even if I am Bad Boy Ben Barrett.
Hell, maybe they’ll finally drop the “bad boy” and see me simply as Ben Barrett, actor.
“I’m going to have to cut this meeting short,” comes Goodrich’s rueful voice. The director stands in the doorway, still holding his cell phone.
I walk toward Alan and extend my hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got somewhere to be anyway.”
He gives a firm handshake. “We’ll start shooting at the end of the summer. My team will be in touch with your agent this week. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
I leave the Goodrich estate feeling like I’m walking on air. An enormous weight has lifted off my chest, the weight of discontent and frustration over a career that strayed off in a direction I never wanted. But it’s back on track again, and soon the other pieces of my life will fall into place.
First things first, though. I have a press conference to attend.
34
Maggie
It’s early morning when I approach the front steps of the youth center and spot a half-dozen reporters milling about. The sight makes me frown. Don’t these people have lives? Homes to go to? Kids to take care of? Don’t they have anything better to do than to stalk a nobody like me?
Fortunately, I finally showered and changed my clothes, but I’m pretty sure I still look haggard. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I haven’t been sleeping in general. It’s impossible to when I miss Ben and am swamped with regret about asking him to leave.
But yesterday, after lying in bed until two a.m., I finally decided enough was enough. I reached for the phone to call him, only to realize I don’t have his fucking phone number. We never had any need for texts or phone calls, because he was living in my damn apartment.
So I dragged Summer out of bed to help me search online, and although we spent hours looking for a contact number, all we got was a fan mail address. When we finally hit pay dirt and learned the name of Ben’s agent, it was too late to call or email the agency. Which meant another sleepless night, leading to a crappy morning when I rolled my exhausted body out of bed and heard Gloria’s voicemail asking me to come in for another meeting.
And now, seeing all these stupid reporters on the front steps only makes my bad mood a hundred times worse.
“Did you know Ben was donating a quarter of his inheritance to the Broger Center?” one of the reporters shouts as I approach.
I stop for a second. What the hell is this guy talking about?
“Maggie,” someone else calls. “Were you aware that Ben’s father was a bigamist?”
Huh?
Not bothering to respond, I walk inside and immediately head for the main office, my mind swimming. How did they find out about Ben’s father? And what on earth do they mean he donated his inheritance to the center?
“Maggie, I’m glad you came in!” Gloria chirps when I enter her office.
Her expression is so jubilant that my confusion doubles. I settle in the visitor’s chair and try to paste on a cheerful expression. “Hey, Gloria.” My attempt at a smile doesn’t last long. “I take it the reporters are still harassing everyone?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “They’ll go away eventually.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. Was I transported to a different planet during the night? A few days ago, Gloria was pissed off about the media presence. Today, she seems totally unperturbed and relaxed about the entire situation.
“One of the reporters outside mentioned Ben donated some money to the center?” I ask, feeling awkward about my ignorance on the subject.
Gloria’s dark eyes light up. “Five million dollars is not some money, sweetheart. I’m still stunned by Mr. Barrett’s generosity.”
Five million dollars?
“I must say, I’m impressed with the man. That he donated more than half of his recent inheritance to various child service agencies across the country is commendable, but giving such a substantial amount to this center? It’s unbelievably generous.”
“I can’t believe he did this,” I murmur. Then I realize something. “But…Gloria, Ben’s donation means that the reporters won’t be going away for a while.”
Her face softens, remorse reflecting in her gaze. “Maggie, I may have overreacted during our last meeting. My biggest concern at the time was what the attention would do to the center, not to mention how the parents would feel.” She shakes her head in amusement. “Turns out most of them are thrilled by the free publicity.”
“They are?”
Gloria nods whole-heartedly. “Many of them feel this will be good for the community, maybe spur the city counselors to take notice of what’s happening outside their offices. And now, thanks to Mr. Barrett’s generosity, we’ll be able to bring about a lot of changes.” She leans forward on her elbows, her expression growing excited. “This money will allow us to completely renovate the center. We’re planning on building a new playground and an on-site tutoring center for kids with learning problems.”
“What about the women who come here to escape abusive situations? How will they feel about the attention?”
“That’s the best part. We’re going to use a portion of the money to build a women’s shelter, in a separate location. More space, more counselors, it’ll be wonderful.”
I’m speechless. Considering my last meeting with Gloria, I hadn’t expected her to be so pleased about the turn of events. “So you’re okay with the media hanging around?” I ask warily.
“I don’t have much of a choice,” she replies with a dry smile. “With a donation this size, it’s expected. Besides, it really is good publicity, which is something I failed to consider when we spoke last time.”
I sigh softly. “Well, I’m glad something good came out of all this.”
“Something ter
rific, you mean,” Gloria corrects. “And I forgot to mention—we’re going to offer after-school workshops for the kids. Drama, music, art. In fact, we just hired someone. He’ll be working with the kids all summer.”
“That’s wonderful.”
She rises from her chair. “I’d like you to meet him.”
“You would?”
Catching my mystified expression, she offers a slight smile. “Humor me, will you?”
“Sure.” I stand up and follow Gloria out of the small office toward the main corridor. Most of the rooms in the Broger Center are miniscule, but we do have a large indoor gymnasium the kids use during the winter and on rainy days. Gloria leads me in the direction of the gym, and we pause in front of the splintered double doors.
“Also, I’d like to speak to you afterward about that permanent position,” she says casually.
My heart soars. “Really?”
She smiles. “You’re going to be a fantastic addition and a huge asset to these kids, Maggie.”
I expect Gloria to enter the gym first, but the woman simply opens the door and gestures for me to go in. “You’re not coming?” I say in surprise.
“Nah.” Gloria gives a quick shrug. “I already got his autograph.”
His autograph?
“Wait—who exactly am I meeting?” I ask.
“The new drama teacher,” she chirps before strolling away.
Baffled, I walk into the gym—and stop in my tracks when I lay eyes on Ben.
“Hey, Red,” he calls, his deep voice bouncing off the gymnasium walls.
I gulp. God, he looks good. He’s clad in a pair of faded blue jeans, a snug black T-shirt, and combat boots. He’s shaved since the last time I saw him, but his chiseled face still possesses its usual bad-boy sexiness, and his perfectly shaped lips look so damn kissable I shiver.
“What are you doing here?” I squeak.
He crosses the waxed floor with lazy strides, and each step he takes quickens my pulse. When he’s finally standing in front of me, my heart is thudding against my ribs and pounding in my ears.
“I’m going to be teaching a free acting workshop here for the summer,” he replies with a charming smile.
I stare at him. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Because I have the summer off. I figured it would be fun.”
“I mean, why here?” I stammer. “I’m sure thousands of people would pay big bucks for an acting class with you.”
“Haven’t you learned by now that I don’t care about money?”
I don’t even know how to respond. A hundred questions bite at my tongue, but I force myself not to ask them. Quizzing Ben about his donation or his presence here doesn’t matter right now. Not when we have more important things to say. Not when I have something important to say.
“I’m sorry I asked you to leave,” I blurt out.
“You had every right to.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to pull me toward him, anticipating his kiss. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his features crease with remorse and his hand drops to his side.
“I made a mess of your life, babe. I don’t blame you for asking me to go.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I knew I couldn’t try to get you back until I fixed everything.”
“You didn’t mess up my life, Ben.”
“You lost your job.”
“And I got a new one, here at the center.” I step closer and press my palm to the center of his chest. “And I figured out quite a few things.”
“Like what?” He covers my hand with his and gently moves it to his left pec. I can feel the loud thump-thump of his heartbeat, and it brings a smile to my lips knowing his heart is pounding as hard as mine.
“I figured out it’s okay to allow a few complications into my life, because sometimes complicated is better than being alone. Being lonely.”
“You’re lonely?”
“Ever since you left,” I confess. “And I don’t mean lonely in the sense that just anyone’ll do. I’m lonely for you. I missed you, Ben.”
He reaches down and encircles my waist. “I missed you too, Red.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. So fucking much.”
And then he covers my mouth with a crushing kiss, one of his trademark rough and greedy kisses that leaves me absolutely breathless. I twine my arms around his neck and push my tongue into his mouth, wanting more, needing more.
It’s Ben who finally breaks the kiss, groaning softly in my ear as his obvious erection pokes against my navel. “We should stop,” he mutters, his warm breath fanning over my forehead. “Anybody could walk in right now.”
“Then let’s go somewhere private. I’m sure the Lester Hotel has a few rooms available,” I tease.
He flashes his movie-star grin. “Maybe later. First we need to get a few things straight.”
“I should’ve known you’d get all demanding on me.”
“I’m making it clear, right here and right now, that I’m not leaving you ever again,” he says in a stern voice. “If you don’t like it, tough.”
“I like it,” I assure him, fighting a smile. “I’m not going anywhere, either.”
“Even when the press gets in our faces again?” His cobalt eyes cloud over. “And I do mean when, babe. If we’re together, you’ll need to get used to the vultures.”
“If being with you means getting my picture taken every now and then, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” I quirk one eyebrow up. “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”
He tosses out another hurdle. “Even if I force you to take some time off work and join me in Prague when shooting starts for Alan Goodrich’s latest film?”
I gasp. “He gave you a role?”
“Yep. With lines and everything, not just car chases.”
“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” My eyes light up. “I’ve never been to Prague.”
“Well, you can’t stay too long,” he warns. “My mom is anxious to start all the wedding plans.”
I gape at him. “I’m sorry. Did you say wedding plans?”
“Well, yeah.” He grins sheepishly. “I forgot, we’re getting married someday. Like maybe in a year? I’ll let you pick the date.”
I snort loudly. “How kind of you.”
His hands slide down my spine to squeeze my ass. “Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”
“Is this seriously a proposal?” I demand.
Ben’s blue eyes twinkle. “Nah…it’s more of an I love you, and that I see us in this for the long haul.”
My heart skips a beat. “I see that too.”
“And?”
I meet his expectant gaze. “And what?”
“What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“I just told you I love you!” he sputters. “You’re really just gonna leave me hanging like that?”
“Oh. Right.” I glide one hand down his back and give his butt a squeeze of my own. “I love you, too.”
He chuckles before bringing his lips close to mine. “Of course you do. I’m Ben Barrett, remember?”
The End
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The Chase
Fitz
“Dance with me?”
I want to say no.
But I also want to say yes.
I call this the Summer Dilemma—the frustrating, polar reactions this green-eyed, golden-haired goddess sparks in me.
Fuck yes and hell no.
Get naked with her. Run far, far away from her.
“Thanks, but I don’t like to
dance.” I’m not lying. Dancing’s the worst.
Besides, when it comes to Summer Di Laurentis, my flight instinct always wins out.
“You’re no fun, Fitzy.” She makes a tsking noise, drawing my gaze to her lips. Full, pink, and glossy, with a tiny mole above the left side of her mouth.
It’s an extremely hot mouth.
Hell, everything about Summer is hot. She’s hands down the best-looking girl in the bar, and every dude in our vicinity is either staring enviously or glowering at me for being with her.
Not that I’m with her. We’re not together. I’m just standing next to her, with two feet of space between us. Which Summer keeps trying to bridge by leaning closer to me.
In her defense, she practically has to scream in my ear for me to hear her over the electronic dance music blasting through the room. I hate EDM, and I don’t like these kinds of bars, the ones with a dance floor and deafening music. Why the subterfuge? Just call your establishment a nightclub, if that’s what you want it to be. The owner of Gunner’s Pub should’ve called this place Gunner’s Club. Then I could’ve turned right around when I saw the sign and spared myself the shattered eardrums.
Not for the first time tonight, I curse my friends for dragging me to Brooklyn for New Year’s Eve. I’d way rather be at home, drinking a beer or two and watching the ball drop on TV. I’m low-key like that.
“You know, they warned me you were a curmudgeon, but I didn’t believe it until now.”
“Who’s they?” I ask suspiciously. “And hey, wait. I’m not a curmudgeon.”
“Hmmm, you’re right—the term is kind of dated. Let’s go with Groucho.”
“Let’s not.”
“No-Fun Police? Is that better?” Her expression is pure innocence. “Seriously, Fitz, what do you have against fun?”
An unwitting smile breaks free. “Got nothing against fun.”
“All right. Then what do you have against me?” she challenges. “Because every time I try talking to you, you run away.”