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Hours later,I’m woken by the door shutting.
“Where’s the party?” Jimmy walks past the island, lifting the half-empty vodka bottle and waving it.
He probably draws lines to know how much I’ve drunk daily.
Shit. So far since staying with Jimmy, I’ve done a good job of getting rid of any evidence of what I do while he’s on set.
“I had one drink after dinner,” I lie.
He doesn’t need to know a joint was my dinner.
He surprisingly doesn’t respond and sits next to me on the couch. His new fresh-and-earthy smell mixed with soap tells me he showered in his trailer.
“How was filming today?” I ask.
“Good. It’s a great crew, so we get through everything pretty quickly. We were scheduled to film tomorrow, but it’s an outdoor shoot on the beach. Since it’s supposed to rain, they’re pushing it a day.”
“The curse of outdoor shoots,” I say. “Remember that time I had a shoot over in Morocco and the sand storm came through?”
He chuckles and squeezes my knee. “How could I forget? You looked like something from a horror movie in the picture you sent me. All covered in sand with a bandana over your face.”
I smile at the memory. It was my first overseas shoot and I was so green, but excitement overtook my nerves then.
“What’d you do all day?” Jimmy asks, picking up my baggie of weed.
I fill him in on Mina’s earlier phone call, diffusing his anger.
“Lilah, that’s amazing!” He pulls me in for a hug, baggie of pot forgotten.
“Yeah.”
He pulls back, his hands holding my shoulders. Lines scrunch on his forehead. “Aren’t you excited?”
I shrug.
“Hey…” He places his finger under my chin and forces me to face him, but I’m reluctant to meet his gaze until he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s huge and I’m probably going to screw it up.”
“You’re not going to mess it up, okay? You’re going to go to that meeting, wow them, and they’re going to sign you.”
I nod.
“I mean it. You got this.”
Jimmy used to calm me and make me believe I could do anything. His pep talk is nice, but I’m not sure it did its job.
“Should we celebrate?” I gesture to my weed and papers on the table.
For a split second, disappointment flashes in his eyes, but he recovers quickly with one of his million-dollar smiles. “Sure. This definitely needs to be celebrated.”
I smile and rise from the couch to make us some drinks while he rolls us a joint. Jimmy doesn’t partake in anything other than alcohol very often, and the truth is, I’m jealous of his ability to stop and start whenever he wants. I return with a vodka soda for me and a beer for him. He’s already lit the joint and taken a haul.
“Thanks,” he says, blowing out a stream of smoke and leaning forward to grab his beer.
I hold my hand out for the joint, the skunky scent pulling a Pavlovian response from me. “I need this. I’m so nervous about meeting with the House of Carlisle.” I inhale from the joint, and the smoke in my lungs is heaven before I slowly let it fall out my lips.
“Want to go over it?” Jimmy asks.
