Page 14 of Cast to be Mine

I parked my car in the garage next to Mom’s white Range Rover and practically flew out of the driver’s seat. I couldn’t wait to see their faces when I told them. My father would be proud. He had to be proud. I’d done it without using his name, without any help, exactly the way he’d always told me things should be earned.

I burst through the front door without knocking—years of habit—and called out, “Mom? Dad?”

No answer from inside, which meant they were probably in the back. I made my way through the familiar halls, past the formal living room that nobody ever used, through the kitchen where their housekeeper was prepping something that smelled amazing.

“Hi, Gloria.” I waved. “Are they out back?”

“Yes they are.”

I pushed out the French doors to the backyard. And there they were.

Dad was on the putting green he’d had installed last year, lining up a shot with the kind of intense focus he brought to everything. Mom sat in the shade of the covered patio, looking like she’d stepped out of a resort catalog. It was after seven and the sun wasn’t all that bright, but Mom had her giant Chanel sunglasses on. A cocktail sat on the table in front of her, condensation beading on the glass. She scrolled through her phone.

“I have big news!” I announced, unable to keep the grin off my face.

My father looked up from his putt, and something in his expression made my stomach drop. It wasn’t the excitement I’d expected. It wasn’t pride or curiosity.

It was resignation.

“You got the part,” he said flatly.

My smile faltered. “How did you know?”

“Gordon Sterling still has connections in this town, Grace. I heard about it two hours ago. That’s the kind of news that spreads fast.” He straightened up, leaving his putter on the green. “And I’m not happy about it.”

The words hit me like a slap. “What? Dad, this is huge. This is everything I’ve been working toward. You knew I wanted this.”

“What did I tell you when you first told me you wanted to act?” he snapped, his voice taking on that edge that meant he was working himself up to a lecture.

I blinked, thrown by the question. “Um, stay away from Harvey Weinstein?”

“After that.”

And then I remembered. The promise he’d extracted from me when I was eighteen and starry-eyed about my future. “You made me promise I would never work for Blackwell Studios.”

“Exactly.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And yet here we are.”

“But I’m not,” I protested, confusion mixing with the beginnings of anger. “This movie is with Limitless Pictures. It has nothing to do with Blackwell Studios.”

“It’s directed by Micah Blackwell,” Dad said, and there was something almost vicious in the way he said the name. I waited for him to spit like the name tasted bad. Just a little dramatic.

I stared at him, trying to process this information. “So? He’s not—I mean, just because his last name is Blackwell doesn’t mean I’m working for his father. It’s a different studio.”

“It means everything,” Dad cut me off. “Max Blackwell’s son. You’re working for Max Blackwell’s son! That’s the same damn thing!”

My stomach dropped. He couldn’t actually make me choose, could he? I was a grown woman.

I loved my parents. Like most children, I wanted to make them proud of me. I wanted my parents there on opening night.

Or did I? If they showed up, my identity was exposed. I wouldn’t be Grace Stone. I’d officially be a Sterling.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

“What is this all about?” I looked between my parents, desperate for someone to make this make sense. “Why does it matter?”

Obviously there was competition. That was the nature of the business. He was acting like there was some kind of blood feud. Again, I wondered if Hollywood had gone to my father’s head.

Mom set down her phone and pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “It’s an old feud of his. Silly, really.”