Chapter 5
GRACE
Ipunched in the gate code, still riding the high from Becky’s impromptu celebration. We’d only had one drink. I wasn’t about to show up at my parents’ house drunk. But the adrenaline coursing through my veins was better than any alcohol.
I felt like I’d swallowed twenty Red Bulls.
The massive iron gates swung open, revealing the long driveway lined with perfectly manicured hedges.
I’d grown up in this house, but it still took my breath away sometimes.
The sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion sat on three acres in the Hollywood Hills, a testament to my father’s success in a ruthless industry.
One of the pitfalls of Hollywood included making people ridiculously rich, putting you up on a massive pedestal before knocking you down and taking it all away. My father was one of the few success stories. He still sat on top.
I parked my car in the garage next to Mom’s white Range Rover and practically flew out of the driver’s seat.
I couldn’t wait to see their faces when I told them.
My father would be proud. He had to be proud.
I’d done it without using his name, without any help, exactly the way he’d always told me things should be earned.
I burst through the front door without knocking—years of habit—and called out, “Mom? Dad?”
No answer from inside, which meant they were probably in the back. I made my way through the familiar halls, past the formal living room that nobody ever used, through the kitchen where their housekeeper was prepping something that smelled amazing.
“Hi, Gloria.” I waved. “Are they out back?”
“Yes they are.”
I pushed out the French doors to the backyard. And there they were.
Dad was on the putting green he’d had installed last year, lining up a shot with the kind of intense focus he brought to everything.
Mom sat in the shade of the covered patio, looking like she’d stepped out of a resort catalog.
It was after seven and the sun wasn’t all that bright, but Mom had her giant Chanel sunglasses on.
A cocktail sat on the table in front of her, condensation beading on the glass. She scrolled through her phone.
“I have big news!” I announced, unable to keep the grin off my face.
My father looked up from his putt, and something in his expression made my stomach drop. It wasn’t the excitement I’d expected. It wasn’t pride or curiosity.
It was resignation.
“You got the part,” he said flatly.
My smile faltered. “How did you know?”
“Gordon Sterling still has connections in this town, Grace. I heard about it two hours ago. That’s the kind of news that spreads fast.” He straightened up, leaving his putter on the green. “And I’m not happy about it.”
The words hit me like a slap. “What? Dad, this is huge. This is everything I’ve been working toward. You knew I wanted this.”
“What did I tell you when you first told me you wanted to act?” he snapped, his voice taking on that edge that meant he was working himself up to a lecture.
I blinked, thrown by the question. “Um, stay away from Harvey Weinstein?”
“After that.”
And then I remembered. The promise he’d extracted from me when I was eighteen and starry-eyed about my future. “You made me promise I would never work for Blackwell Studios.”
“Exactly.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And yet here we are.”
“But I’m not,” I protested, confusion mixing with the beginnings of anger. “This movie is with Limitless Pictures. It has nothing to do with Blackwell Studios.”
“It’s directed by Micah Blackwell,” Dad said, and there was something almost vicious in the way he said the name. I waited for him to spit like the name tasted bad. Just a little dramatic.
I stared at him, trying to process this information. “So? He’s not—I mean, just because his last name is Blackwell doesn’t mean I’m working for his father. It’s a different studio.”
“It means everything,” Dad cut me off. “Max Blackwell’s son. You’re working for Max Blackwell’s son! That’s the same damn thing!”
My stomach dropped. He couldn’t actually make me choose, could he? I was a grown woman.
I loved my parents. Like most children, I wanted to make them proud of me. I wanted my parents there on opening night.
Or did I? If they showed up, my identity was exposed. I wouldn’t be Grace Stone. I’d officially be a Sterling.
But I was getting ahead of myself.
“What is this all about?” I looked between my parents, desperate for someone to make this make sense. “Why does it matter?”
Obviously there was competition. That was the nature of the business. He was acting like there was some kind of blood feud. Again, I wondered if Hollywood had gone to my father’s head.
Mom set down her phone and pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “It’s an old feud of his. Silly, really.”
“It’s not silly,” Dad snapped. “Max Blackwell fucked me on a business deal years before you were born. Cost me millions and nearly destroyed my reputation. And no family of mine will ever work for him or anyone associated with him.”
“Well, I’m not working for him,” I said, hearing the desperation creeping into my voice. “I’m working for Limitless Pictures. Micah Blackwell is just the director. It’s not like I’m signing a contract with Blackwell Studios. Max Blackwell isn’t signing my paycheck.”
“It’s the same thing.” Dad’s jaw was set in that stubborn line I knew too well. “The Blackwells are poison, Grace. All of them. And I will not have my daughter anywhere near those vipers.”
“Your daughter?” The anger finally broke through. “I’m not Grace Sterling on this project, remember? I’m Grace Stone. I’ve been Grace Stone for three years specifically so I could make my own choices without this kind of interference.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me.”
“Gordon,” Mom said quietly, but there was steel underneath the gentle tone. “She’s twenty-four years old. She’s allowed to make her own career decisions.”
“Not when those decisions involve the Blackwells.” He turned back to me. “You need to turn it down.”
The words hung in the air between us. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“Turn it down,” I repeated slowly. “You want me to turn down the biggest role of my career. The role that could change everything for me. Because of some ancient grudge you have with a man I’ve never even met.”
“Yes.”
Just that. Yes. Like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“No.” The word came out stronger than I’d expected. “No, I’m not turning it down.”
He scowled.
“I worked my ass off for this, Dad. I auditioned against dozens of other actresses, all of whom had better resumes than me. I got this role because I was good enough. And you want me to throw that away because you and Max Blackwell had some business disagreement thirty years ago?”
“It wasn’t a disagreement,” he said coldly. “He betrayed me. Made me look like a fool in front of the entire industry.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said, and I meant it. “I really am. But that’s your fight, not mine. I won’t let your past dictate my future.”
Mom stood up, moving to stand between us like a referee at a boxing match. “Grace is right, Gordon. This is her career, her decision.”
“Naomi.”
“No.” Mom’s voice was firm. “I will not watch you sabotage our daughter’s career because you can’t let go of the past.”
Dad looked like he was about to throw a tantrum. “I’m going to get a drink.”
Mom came over and wrapped her arms around me. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to do amazing things.”
I hugged her back, letting myself sink into the comfort of her embrace for just a moment. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Don’t let him ruin this for you,” she said softly. “This is your moment. Enjoy it.”
I pulled back and wiped at my eyes. “I should go. I have a lot to prepare for.”
“Grace.” Mom caught my hand. “He does love you, you know. He’s just stubborn. And he doesn’t know how to let go of old wounds.”
“I know.”
I walked back through the house, my earlier excitement dampened but not extinguished. I’d gotten the role. If my father couldn’t be happy for me, that was his problem, not mine.
I drove home through the winding hills. I refused to be sad by my father’s reaction. Underneath the hurt and anger, something else burned.
Determination.
I was going to nail this part. I was going to make the best damn movie anyone had ever seen, and I was going to prove to my father that his grudge was stupid.
This was my shot, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from me.
I wondered if the Blackwell family felt the same about my father. If Micah Blackwell found out who I was, would he fire me? Gah. He can’t find out.
I climbed the stairs to my second-floor unit, my legs protesting after Becky’s workout. Tomorrow I’d be sore as hell, but that was a problem for future Grace.
The moment I stepped inside my apartment, I dropped my gym bag by the door and made a beeline for my laptop. Loretta had said she’d email the contract details. I opened my inbox and there it was.
Three new emails from Loretta.
The first was the contract, which I’d need to read carefully tomorrow before signing. She was my agent and the entertainment attorney she worked with would have already looked at it. There would be language in there I didn’t understand and had to trust them.
The second was a detailed breakdown of the shooting schedule, locations, and key dates. My eyes widened as I scanned through it.
Holy shit. Ambitious.
The third email made my heart skip.
“Script attached. Memorize as much as possible before table read tomorrow at 10 a.m. Address below. Don’t be late. This is your moment—own it.”
Tomorrow. The table read was tomorrow.
I clicked on the attachment and watched as the PDF loaded. 127 pages. My character appeared on nearly every one of them.
I was going to need a lot of coffee.
I changed into my most comfortable pajamas and settled in. I had to get at least six hours of sleep. That was the sweet spot. I couldn’t show up looking like death, but I was the last person added to the project. I was the one that had to work twice as hard to get caught up.
I started reading, and the world around me disappeared.
This was the role I’d been waiting for my entire career.
I read through the entire script once, just to get a feel for the arc.
Then I went back to the beginning and started breaking down Elena’s scenes.
Her motivations, her fears, her strengths.
I grabbed my highlighter and started marking my lines, making notes in the margins about delivery and emotion.
By the time I looked up, it was past midnight. My eyes burned and my neck ached from hunching over my laptop, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet.
The table read was in less than ten hours. I needed to know this character inside and out. I needed to walk into that room tomorrow and prove that Micah Blackwell’s instinct to cast me wasn’t a mistake.
I needed to prove to my father that I didn’t need his name or his approval.
But more than that, I needed to prove it to myself.