“His dad owns Viggle, honey. You know how it goes.”
Another nepo baby gets a part in a film. But this isn’t a minor role. “The sheriff is supposed to appear villainous andantagonistic, not be portrayed by someone with a reputation and an eight-pack.”
I might need to write a strongly worded letter to casting.
“Did he take off his shirt so you could count all eight?”
“Not the point,” I sigh. “Can’t you see how this is a disaster waiting to happen? I mean, he punched someone at one of his matches. He obviously has a temper and no interest in obeying the rules.”
But as I list his faults, my traitorous brain keeps throwing out unhelpful observations. Like how his tattoos on all that muscle basically suck the oxygen out of the room. He’s like some unfairly attractive vacuum cleaner.
I hate it. I hate him!
“You seem to know an awful lot about someone you claim not to care about. Isn’t this how all your movies start?”
“I pay attention to everyone I work with,” I say primly, ignoring how my cheeks heat up.
“Don’t resist too much, or you’ll star in your very own romantic comedy.”
“There will be no romance.” The last time I mixed work and romance, it exploded in my face.
“I never said anything about getting romantic. It could be erotica. Late nights sneaking into each other’s cabins—”
“Hush,” I say too sharply. “Remember Ricky?”
Cleo’s tone softens. “That was different. You were just a kid.”
My fingers curl into fists. Ricky Tribbiani and I were costars in a teen summer blockbuster. He was twenty-three, and I was seventeen. My first and only real Hollywood relationship.
When the movie blew up and I got nominated for a Teen Choice Award, I thought it would be my moment to shine. Instead, it became a nightmare I’ll never forget.
The night I won my award, he drunkenly climbed onto the stage during my acceptance speech for Choice Summer MovieActress and kissed me without consent. Instead of focusing on my achievement, the media turned it into a spectacle about him. My voice was silenced while his actions dominated the narrative.
“A man who’d prey on a teenager, then try to capitalize off her growing career? That’s on him, not you.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to welcome another man into my life and risk having him define my career.” I want Reese Sinclair to be known for her abilities. No matter how many awards I’ve won, without an Oscar I’ll always be a popcorn actress, loved by audiences but not edgy enough for critics. “But thank you for looking out for me, Cleo.”
“You’re welcome, sugar. Now, back to this totally-not-distracting stunt coordinator who we aren’t going to invite into your life but can still admire from afar…”
I groan. “Can we not?”
“Have you seen those yacht photos from this summer? Because, girl—”
“I am NOT looking at salacious photos of my colleague! That would be completely unprofessional and—”
“Sending them now!”
“Don’t bother, I won’t look—”
“Too late.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I announce.
“Actually, before you let me go, I probably won’t have service for a few weeks, but if you need me, send a carrier pigeon or something. Love you!”
“Love you,” I say.
After the call ends, the unread message blinks temptingly. One peek wouldn’t hurt.
