Chapter 10 Luke
LUKE
Being exiled to New Orleans wasn’t the punishment I expected. It was worse.
Anna had already written me off. One bad outing, and she was ready to throw in the towel on our arrangement. It stung more than I wanted to admit, even though I couldn’t blame her. So far, I’d been a walking disaster.
I dialed Topher’s number, pacing the room as I waited for him to pick up.
Topher didn’t know about Anna or the mess I’d made of our agreement. But he knew enough about the rest of my life—the exile, the studio’s doubts, the storm of pressure I was under. That’s what happened when you trusted your finance guy with more than just your bank account.
“This isn’t working,” I said the moment he answered. “New Orleans? It’s not happening. I need to get back to Hollywood.”
“Stop right there,” Topher cut in, his voice clipped.
“Given the small fortune the studio spent turning my house into Fort Knox, I’d say you’re not going anywhere, buddy.
Seriously, it’s New Orleans, not solitary confinement.
You’ve only got a few weeks left before you’re back on set. Can’t you lie low until then?”
“It’s not about lying low,” I snapped, instantly regretting it. “It’s about everything. This city doesn’t exactly scream ‘low profile.’ When I try to avoid attention, I’m not blending in—I’m standing out.”
Topher sighed, and I braced myself for what was coming.
“Luke,” he said, his tone almost apologetic, “the studio’s nervous. They’ve started looking at someone else for the role.”
The words hit me hard. “What? Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is they want someone polished enough to sell the movie but gritty enough to make it believable. Someone real. And right now, they don’t think you’re it.”
“How do you even know that?” I asked.
Topher hesitated for half a beat. “Because they contacted me about analyzing the risk if they go with someone else. They want to know how much money they’d lose if they pulled the plug on you now. They’re asking questions they don’t usually ask unless they’re worried.”
I frowned, my grip tightening on the phone. “Why would they ask you that? You’re not their employee.”
“Businesses sometimes tap me for outside assessments. I told them I couldn’t work with them because it would create a conflict of interest. But trust me, Luke, they wouldn’t be consulting with anyone unless they were seriously considering a shift.”
I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, trying to process what he was saying. Topher wasn’t just my financial consultant. He was the one person in my life who didn’t sugarcoat anything. That’s why I called him when everything went sideways—because he told me the truth, even when it hurt.
“I can handle the role.” My words felt hollow.
“Then prove it,” Topher replied. “You’ve got to audition for this movie within the next three weeks. It’s their insurance policy. After what happened, they want to make sure you’re worth the investment.”
My stomach churned. Of course. The audition. I had to earn the role after the PR nightmare I’d caused.
“They’re protecting their investment,” Topher continued. “If you flub this, they’ve got other people lined up. People who don’t need a crash course in how to act like a normal human being.”
“I get it.” My chest squeezed. I couldn’t let someone else step into that movie role. It was supposed to be mine.
“Do you?” Topher pressed. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re more interested in complaining than doing the work. You’re not just playing a part here, Luke. You’ve got to be the guy. You want a real connection? Start by being real yourself.”
I was quiet as the words sank in.
Topher continued, “You’ve got three weeks to prove to them—and to yourself—that you can pull this off. So, stop making excuses and figure it out. Because if you quit now, you’re handing the role that you deserve to someone else.”
Three weeks. That was all the time I had to salvage my career.
Topher was silent for a beat, but then he went into problem-solving mode.
“Okay, go see my mom at Muses. She’s not going to fix your life or anything, but she’s a friendly face.
And honestly, you could use one right now.
This time, make sure she’ll be there. Text her and let her know what disguise you’ll be wearing. ”
After we said goodbye, I tossed the phone onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. Another guy. They were already looking at another guy for my role.
But Topher was right. Complaining wouldn’t fix this.
I looked out the window again and imagined the chaos of New Orleans. The music, the laughter, the life. It wasn’t Hollywood. But maybe, just maybe, it could be precisely what I needed.
If I didn’t screw it up again.