“If you’re done ogling me, I actually have somewhere I need to be.” I’m praying Liz is in her room, because that’s where I plan on stalking off to. As soon as I can make my feet move.
“Sure thing.” He strides down the hallway, brushing past me, just close enough so the heat of him burns my cheeks. He pauses at the top of the steps. “I’m really looking forward to working with you again, Emmy.” He tosses a wink—an actual wink—over his shoulder before bounding gracefully down the stairs.
Leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway like the idiot I must be.
Chapter Three
I find my name at the large oak dining room table the following morning. A script is waiting at my place setting, with a small plate sitting off to the side. Pastries, a fruit platter, and a tray of bagels sit in the middle of the table. I’m too nervous to eat, but that doesn’t stop me from grabbing a cinnamon roll and stashing it for later before they all disappear.
I slide into my chair, scooting in and sitting up straight, trying to maintain a look of professionalism. Which is unnecessary, as I am currently the only one in the room. Probably because I’m a half hour early. Wrapping my hands around the giant mug of coffee I snagged from the kitchen earlier this morning, I breathe in its familiar scent. My foot taps under the table, belying the nerves coursing through me. But from the waist up, I’m the picture of cool, calm confidence.
No one would ever know it’s been more than a decade since I sat down to participate in an actual table read.
Of course, at my last table read, I fell head over heels into full-on teenage-girl crushdom. Grayson West walkedinto the room, flashed me a brilliant smile that lit up his aqua-blue eyes, and I completely melted. We flirted relentlessly during the first two weeks of rehearsal, my fifteen-year-old mind already seeing the movie of us as it would play out in the future: flirting would turn to showmance, showmance would turn to committed relationship, committed relationship would lead to engagement and marriage and the two of us running a moviemaking empire while also raising our gorgeous and perfectly behaved children. I didn’t need to work too hard to picture the details—I assumed the story of Grayson and me would mirror that of my parents.
Ha.
All it took was one day of actual filming, one tiny little scene, one disastrous first kiss, and one nasty rumor to blow it all up. No showmance, no committed relationship, and sure as fuck no engagement or marriage or children. After that single day on set, Grayson and I didn’t even speak to each other if the cameras weren’t rolling.
And now here we are again. In another time and place at another table read. Something tells me this one will not be full of flirtatious banter and longing looks. Today’s table read will be full of only one thing: judgment.
Today, I’m mentally preparing myself to be judged on my acting, not just my writing. Not only will the rest of the cast and production crew be taking stock of my performance but there’s the added layer of knowing I wrote the words on the page. Normally, as a screenwriter, I don’t have to attend these things. I usually don’t hear my words read out loud by the cast until I’m watching the premiere. Sometimes what ends up on the screen sounds nothinglike what I typed on the page, which is a reality I’ve learned to live with. But now, if an actor changes a line or Liz makes a correction, I’ll be in the room when it happens, listening to them take liberties with my work while I attempt to stay in character. An extra dose of torture.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Why am I not surprised to see you here early?” Liz blows into the room looking the picture of director chic, dressed in all black, pixie cut artfully tousled in the effortless way that takes most people an hour but really only takes her a few minutes.
I, on the other hand, spent an actual hour carefully applying my makeup so it looks like I’m not wearing any, followed by another hour curling my hair to achieve a naturally wavy look. And my skinny jeans and cable-knit sweater look casual and cozy, but in reality, the button of my pants digs into my stomach when I sit and the sweater is itchy. But comfort is not high on the list of priorities today.
Liz fills a coffee cup from the carafe set up on the large credenza in the corner of the dining room. “You ready for this?”
“No.” I let my fake smile slip as I take another long sip of coffee.
She nabs a croissant and takes down half of it in one bite. “Well, you better get ready.”
“I see I exhausted my supportive pep talk quota yesterday.”
“I know how to get the best out of you, Harper.” She flips through the huge binder sitting at the head of the table, not bothering to sit.
“Good morning!” A stunning Korean American woman breezes into the room, striding confidently up to Liz and wrapping her in a hug. “So good to see you again. I’m so excited for this!”
When I see her heading my way next, I push back my chair and stand, holding out my hand. “Hi, I’m—”
“Emmy!” She wraps me in a warm hug. “Thrilled to meet you in person! I’m Jenna. I’m playing your best friend Ashley, and I am a huge fan of your work.”
Normally I would assume the compliment is a formality, but Jenna’s voice is nothing but sincere. “Thank you so much.”
She fills a coffee cup before sliding into the seat next to mine and leaning over to whisper to me. “And seriously, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you have any questions during filming. I remember how nervous I was during my first movie shoot. I mean, of course, I’m sure you’ve been on set plenty—is it unprofessional to say how much I love your parents?—but it can feel different when you’re performing.”
“Oh, actually, this isn’t my first time acting.” I pick up my pen, clicking the top in rapid succession.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Jenna fills her plate with fruit and pops a grape in her mouth. “I only know your work as a screenwriter.”
That’s more than a bit of a relief. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time, and I’m sure a lot has changed, so I’ll definitely take you up on your offer.” I quickly change the subject before she has the chance to ask me about that first movie.
The rest of the supporting cast—six other actors of various ages and genders—strolls in during the next fewminutes. Everyone grabs coffee and breakfast, making introductions, finding their seats, and greeting me like I have every right to be there, even though I’m still not so sure myself. Liz opens her laptop to pull up a Zoom with the actor playing my father. He and I only interact over FaceTime in the movie, so he’s back home in LA, shooting his scenes in the warmth and comfort of a studio.
Liz remains standing, lips pursed, eyes constantly darting to her phone to check the time. Only one seat sits empty. And it’s the one directly across from mine, belonging to Grayson fucking West, of course.
