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“I suppose I can find something else for you,” Dominic says, getting up from behind his desk. He hovers over me, his hand extended, and helps me from my chair. “But first, show me what you’ve got.”
He leads me out of his office and down another long hallway. We stop in front of double doors, and he flashes a crazed grin as he pushes them open, revealing a theater room. There’s a stage at the front with silky blue curtains and a movie projection screen overhead. About ten rows of movie chairs span up to the top of the room, making me feel like I’m in a playhouse.
So, he wants me to perform for him. Okay, I can do this. I had expected to audition for a role with my clothes still intact, and I will stand my ground. I’m not stripping for a part. I don’t care what it pays or if it would advance my career.
“Get on the stage,” he says, flinging his hand out.
Dominic opens a panel on the wall and music belts through the speakers suspended from the ceiling. I climb the stairs and stand on the stage, looking out at the empty room. A chill rolls down my arms, creating tiny bumps along my flesh.
“Dance for me,” he says, stopping at the edge of the stage, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Let me see what you’re working with.”
“Can I read the script first?”
His expression turns grim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want a role in my movie?”
“Of course.”
“Then, dance for me.”
“I’m not a trained dancer. I’m an actor.”
He shakes his head, disappointment scrolling across his face. “A good actor can fake it.”
For most of my life, I have wanted to become an actress. And as I stand on this stage, staring down at this disgusting man, a thought pops into my head.
I’m not supposed to be an actress.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I take the stairs. “I can’t do this.”
“You only get one shot with me,” he growls. “If you leave now, you will never work in this town.”
So, if I sleep with this idiot, I can have a career?
I’ll pass.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I say with a forced smile. “But I don’t think I’m right for the part.”
He glares at me. “See yourself out.”
Without another word, I exit the theater room, whipping through the hallways until I’m in the foyer. My chest feels heavy as I exit the house. I take in a few deep breaths to keep myself from hyperventilating.
I can’t believe I said no to Dominic Deville. He might be right. I may one day regret not having the opportunity to work for him, but at least I will still have my self-respect.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ash
Before I could speak to him, Dylan left the house, showered, and dressed in his usual shorts and a shirt that says, I Know HTML (How to Meet Ladies). I laughed and even commented on his shirt. But Dylan blew through the house like a tornado, ignoring me.
We’re still not talking for some reason. All of my texts and phone calls have gone unanswered. Even after Sloan spoke to him and supposedly smoothed things over, he still seems angry. But why? I wish he would talk to me and stop acting like the old Dylan, the person I broke up with years ago.
After Dylan left, I told Sloan about my meeting with Dominic. Of course, he threatened to kill him. Then, we drank for a few hours until we fell asleep on the chairs by the pool. Sloan was gone when I woke up, and Dylan was still fucking off somewhere. I busied myself working on my latest screenplay, and now more energized about my future career as a writer.
I fell asleep with my head on my notebook, the pen still clasped between my fingers. The sound of the front door slamming wakes me with a jolt. I lift my head from the book and wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth. The house falls silent for a moment, and then loud footsteps come toward my bedroom.
I rush to my door and pull it open. Dylan stops when he sees me, giving me a quick once over and then walks past my room.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Irritated, I jog down the hall and get in front of him, blocking the path to his bedroom.
He flexes his jaw. “Move it, Ash.”
I throw my hands out at my sides and lean back against his door. “What is your fucking problem?”
“Nothing. Get out of my way.”
“Talk to me, Dylan.”
“Not now,” he growls, leaning forward, pressing his hard chest into me. “Go back to your room.”
“I’m not a child, and you’re not my father.”
“Ash, please. I’m not in the mood.”
I shove my hand into his chest, and that seems to get his full attention. “You asked me last night if I want this, you and me. I said I didn’t know what I want. Is that why you’re shutting me out?”
