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Gabriel mutes him again.
I answer first this time. “No.” When I was younger, I wanted to be like my mother. Glamorous, with everyone rushing to make me happy. Blissfully unemployed, spending other people’s money. Causing drama because I could.
“Yes,” Gabriel answers immediately, glancing at me again.
His puzzled expression irritates the hell out of me. “What?” I demand.
“Serious? You didn’t want the fame?”
I shrug. I moved to LA because Nic was there. I tried to break into the industry because he was in it and it was something we’d have in common, something that could help bring us together.
It turns out that looking like a thousand other twenty-something blondes with fake tits doesn’t make it easy to get roles. BeforeLove on the Line, my career had peaked at Murder Victim Number Two and Angry Stripper.
I’m nearly thirty. The odds of a career breakthrough are infinitesimal, but here I am, grabbing for what I can get. I will make it happen, whatever I have to do.
Gabe frowns. “So, what are you doing?”
“Oh.” I wave it off. “I’m here for the death threats.”
His face darkens.
I unmute David before Gabe can say anything, punching my finger at the phone in a way that clearly grates him. “Next.”
“Okay…I’m setting my timer for five minutes.” David pauses. “Tell each other your life story, in as much detail as you can. Ready?”
Okay, easy.
My parents, when they’re together, forget I exist and that’s been true since I was a baby. When they’re fighting, they use me like a weapon against each other. I don’t know which is worse.
On top of that, everyone in America hates me, the man I love just married my cousin, and now I have to fake date someone I can’t stand.
Oh, and I can’t get a job, and believe it or not, I’m not a trust fund baby. The money I get from my parents—Iearnthat shit.
Not that I’ll tell him. I don’t want Gabriel Sinclair’s sympathy. I don’t want his sad eyes on me or his big hand on my leg.
He doesn’t look at me. He’s gripping the steering wheel like he wants to strangle it, his brown eyes locked on the road. His jaw is clenched again, and his words about not having a perfect childhood come back to me.
“I think we’re done for today,” he says to David.
“But we’ve—”
“Just get some cameras outside our hotel. I’ll do better.”
He’lldo better. Something tells me I’m about to get chaste kissed again.
“Can’t wait,” I say flatly.
He ends the call and upbeat music, at a low volume, fills the car. It doesn’t touch the silence between us. I’m raw after those questions, so I retreat into my phone, scrolling fast enough to turn every uninteresting opinion on the internet into a soothing blur.
After a few minutes, Gabriel clears his throat. “What roles are you looking for after this?”
Maybe he’s trying to distract himself from the memories that the last question dredged up, but it feels like an interview. Are my goals worth his time? Will I pass his judgment?
Can anyone? I’m done playing this game.
“Did your dad fuck his assistant?” I ask as I scroll, putting more boredom in my voice than I probably need. “Or maybe your mom blew the pool boy?”
His silence makes me sit up. Shit, I must be close. And the closer I am to him, the farther away he is to me.
