Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
T hey thumped the sides of their fists into their palms in rhythmic unison.
Mallory threw out paper. Paper was her go-to because she was a writer. Also, most men threw out the masculine rock.
There, on that chilly balcony in Paris, paper was brilliant. Her reasons fused to make a solid, symbolically meaningful, and odds-favoring choice.
Dylan threw scissors.
Scissors. Mallory blinked. Scissors?
What the ever-loving French twist?
Seeing her palm hanging there in the form of paper, a quick grin flashed on Dylan’s face. He extended his finger scissors and snipped at her palm while making a cutting sound. “ Snip .” He repeated the indignity with a rock star’s perfect vocals. “ Snip .”
While Mallory blinked again in confusion, Dylan rotated his scissors up to his cheek, taunting her with the v-for-victory that he flicked forward in a later gesture. Then with a wink, he was gone.
Even as late as it was, by the time Mallory made it to bed, she had an email from Texk with Dylan’s schedule. Holy harmony, they kept him busy.
Tomorrow, he was shooting advertisement material with the world-famous director Gabriel Benoit for a new signature cologne.
Scent of the Seine? Cologne by Crescendo? Perfume from Paris? Ooh la la. For her eighteenth birthday, her grandmother had gifted her and her cousins signature perfumes. Hers was vanilla with a hint of spicy daisy. There were no worldwide fans clamoring for the scent of her, so the comparison was not quite on the same level as what Dylan had going on, but still, she could relate.
Ping.
An additional email came through from Oliver.
Oliver had added an itinerary for her for a makeover and headshots. She’d meet with a stylist before the shoot. Then, at the end of the shoot, Mallory would have new author headshots photographed under the direction of the gifted Gabriel Benoit. Nice.
Win-win. By doing a good deed, she’d landed a hidden treasure. Score.
Ping. Oliver emailed again. Keep this under your chapeau, but we are in talks with Benoit’s team to shoot the film version of your book. Bring your A-game tomorrow.
Mallory jolted upright. Wow. As if she could sleep after that. She’d have to impress the director. Or at least not screw up.
Mallory set a painful four a.m. wake-up alarm and fell back against the pillows.
While getting up at an ungodly hour combined with lingering jetlag had Mallory yawning, her makeover and the bright morning light had her smiling. Would Director Benoit really take her project? She wanted to squeal about the possibility.
Mallory sent a selfie to her cousin Juliet.
Juliet responded despite the time zone difference. French minimalist with big, dark eyes and a pink lip. Pretty .
She’d pick up makeup for Juliet at a boutique later when she was free to sightsee. Also on her list was a gardenia candle for Lena and art for Chelsea.
Today, she was the art. She was strolling along the Seine in uncomfortable but pretty high heels tied with sage ribbons at her ankles.
The green color matched the ribbon-threaded cardigan she wore over an autumn-leaf-patterned white dress. The beautician had styled her hair in shiny, long waves down her back. She was living autumn.
Mallory walked past book and art kiosks, eyeing possible souvenirs. But she kept to the schedule, only lingering briefly over a pretty painting of a couple under an umbrella. She was a sucker for romantic couples under umbrellas. Not that they fit her genre. Well, they would if the umbrella went up in flames.
She made her way through security without mentioning fiery umbrellas, which they’d likely misinterpret as a threat. What was stronger, a rainstorm or dragon flame?
Ha. Her dragon would snag a lightning bolt in his talon and…oh…
Dylan sat up ahead on a canvas folding chair near the Pont Neuf, offering Paris a view of his next-level handsomeness. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, dark jeans, and black boots. He looked like a rock star. No words fit him better.
The shooting crew surrounded him. A staff member held a utilitarian black umbrella over his head, blocking the mild sun rays and the less mild French media lining the opposite bank.
Mallory did some maneuvering to get closer and exchanged greetings and introductions with the busy crew who were split between two major stars. With both the actress Lorene Dailer and the rock star Dylan Lee in this commercial, the cologne was sure to sell out in record time.
The actress sat in a makeup chair getting adjustments. Her stylist pinned a navy-colored hat with a wavy brim on her auburn hair.
“She’s stunning in person,” Mallory told the nearby cameraman. She’d only seen the actress in films back home, not advertisements.
Perfume was always the product exception for big stars. Why was that? The luxurious nature of the product?
She understood why the beauty brands were willing to pay for star endorsements. A customer couldn’t smell the product through the ad, so they needed the most beautiful and charismatic stars to convey the allure.
Was Lorene contracted under Texk? Could she have a role in Mallory’s film? Was this one of Oliver’s plans? Hopefully, he’d drop by today and she could quiz him.
Not that anything was certain with her book becoming a movie. Film options came and went. She kept her expectations in check. The second she’d counted on her movie getting green-lit in the past, the deal had fallen through.
“Oui, though she is not French.” The slim cameraman tipped an imaginary flask to his lips, indicating the woman was a drinker, was currently drinking, was drunk, or all three. Then he gave a nonjudgmental French shrug.
The incongruity made her giggle. Her French dragon was definitely getting an expressive shrug.
The cameraman’s brown eyes twinkled at her reaction. His words grew more impassioned, and his free hand waved as he spoke at length about the benefits of a good French Bordeaux.
He somehow sensed she’d had a margarita last night and not a French wine. The urge to confess to see his appalled reaction rose in her throat.
A tug at the bow on her wrist stole her attention.