Chapter 4
Try not to lose it?
Gabi’s words echo in my head as I step onto the stage.
Between this bullshit with Hannah, the sweltering heat, and the film’s insufferable theme song, it’s taking everything I’ve got not to snap.
And that’s before I spot Artie at the casting table with his definitely-not-here-to-fix-the-AC companion.
The hall Artie booked is very Urban Cowboy, minus the mechanical bull. It’s old wood and flickering neon, the air thick with perfume and sweat. The dance floor’s packed with extras in starched shirts and tight jeans, fanning themselves with their hats like it might actually help.
“Good luck with that,” I say louder than I intend, loud enough to draw attention.
Her attention.
The woman beside Artie turns, and I’m hit with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen—sharp, unflinching.
Unnerving.
I adjust my hat.
“Hi,” she says, offering a small wave.
“Uh, hi.”
Now, this girl looks like Katie from the book.
Her hair, falling just past her shoulders, is the same golden hue, and judging by the handful of inches she has on Artie, she’s tall. Just shy of six feet. Most of her is legs, and half of those are tucked into knee-high, blue leather boots I’ll spend the rest of the day trying not to think about.
She’s stunning in that girl-next-door kind of way. Natural. No fillers. No nothing, as far as I can tell.
And damn if that doesn’t do it for me.
Shut it down, Shaw.
But then I catch the yellow number tag pinned to her T-shirt, and I don’t have to.
She’s an extra. A fan.
And I don’t get mixed up with fans.
She smiles. “I’m—”
“Number fifty-six.” My hand clenches around my phone. I figured a couple kids, maybe Artie’s mom’s neighbor. The buddy from high school who owns this place. Not whatever this is. Whoever she is.
“Holden,” Artie sings, whirling around to face me. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Magnolia Calhoun. Ms. Calhoun, Holden Shaw.”
Magnolia?
An eager hand shoots toward me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shaw. But please, call me Maggie.”
Her Texas drawl is thick and unexpected, and if I weren’t in such a foul mood, I’d probably find that sexy too.
The rest of her sure as hell is.
“Maggie,” I say, like I’m testing it out. I’m not sure it suits her, not the way Magnolia seems to.
Her fingers curl around mine, and my gaze catches on her chipped blue nail polish, so normal it throws me. I don’t realize I’m still holding her hand until she pulls it back, slipping it in her pocket like she’s hiding it.
“Your accent,” I say. “Haven’t heard so much as a twang since leaving Houston. You from here?”
“Born and raised.”
“Huh. That’s…” I trail off, slap my smile back on. “Well, always a pleasure to meet a fan.”
“Oh, she’s not a fan,” Artie says, lips twitching with amusement as he starts to waltz in place. “She’s a dancer.”
I point to the tag on her shirt. “Yeah, I got that from the giant fifty-six.”
Now, why am I meeting her?
“I’m a fan of the book,” she says. “And the author. Mostly the author.”
“Barrett?” I can only imagine the face I’m making that wipes the smile right off hers.
“But you were great in that one movie,” she adds quickly, her ears turning pink. “It’s the only one I’ve seen.”
The song ends, and Artie chuckles, waving a hand at the dancers. “No need to inflate his ego, my dear. That’s what they’re for.”
My gaze sweeps the dance floor just as Alisa, the assistant director, addresses the remaining couples. But she’s already lost them. Every pair of eyes has shifted to the stage.
“Hmm,” she hums into her mic. “Wonder what has everyone so distracted.”
I grit my teeth, letting her run with it.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, look who it is. Our very own Tripp McCoy.”
“Howdy, y’all,” I say, grin firmly in place as I stride to the edge of the stage. “Lookin’ good out there.”
If I weren’t so damn cranky, I’d probably hop down, take a few pics, sign a few autographs. It’s not exactly encouraged, but I’ve never cared much about protocol.
Artie cares, though, which is why this little introduction with the dancer has me shaking my head.
The music cues back up, so loud the stage vibrates beneath me, and whatever patience I had left evaporates.
“Which one was it?” I ask Maggie as I rejoin her and Artie at the casting table, mercifully behind the speakers. “Which—shit. Hold on a sec.” I glance down at my phone, buzzing in my hand.
Don’t encourage your sister, the text from my dad reads. I draw in a sharp breath, let it out slowly, then fix my gaze on Maggie. “Which movie of mine did you see?”
A flush creeps into her cheeks. “It was, um…”
“Can you describe it?”
Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?
Artie shoots me a look.
“The surfing one,” she says, tugging at her necklace. “It’s been a while, but my friend’s little sister—she was here earlier—she loves that one. She’s a huge fan.”
“The teenager?” Artie asks, dragging his gaze from me. “You know her?”
“Sort of. It’s…complicated.”
“Alisa hated cutting her, but there just wasn’t anyone to put her with.” He scratches his chin. “Actually, I might have something…”
My phone goes off again, and Artie’s voice fades to static as I read a text from Hannah.
Dad says I have to work at his office this summer. That’s why I can’t go. Three dots appear. Then: What’s an aprintist?
Apprentice, I reply. Someone who learns a skill from someone else
“I really hope they can fix it,” Maggie says beside me. “It’s hotter than deep-fried Hell in here.”
She drones on—something about Satan’s house cat—but I’m too busy trying to figure out how to save my sister from our tyrant of a father to listen.
I search Ashes of Eden to see if the timeline is even real. Dad’s not exactly known for shifting his lunch plans unless there’s a PR stunt or a power play involved.
“Mr. Shaw?”
“Huh?” I glance up, eyes snagging on Maggie’s—cobalt, I realize now. Like the Murano glass my mother used to collect. I pull out my earplugs and stuff them in my pocket. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“I asked what you thought of the song. It doesn’t fit the plot at all.”
“Can’t stand it.” I go back to scrolling.
“I wonder what he’s thinking. I mean, he’s the director, so he must have his reasons, right?”
“He must.”
What kind of skill? Hannah asks.
Depends, I tap out, cringing at the kinds of skills my dad’s secretaries tend to possess.
Maggie exhales sharply. “You have read the script?”
This sucks
Yeah, Han, it does. Dad might lie about the timeline, but he wouldn’t bluff when it comes to Hannah. If I don’t cave, she pays the price.
Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out
I’ll do his fucking movie.
“Mr. Shaw? Holden!”
My head snaps up. “The script?” I blink, hesitating a beat too long. “Not all of it. Where’s Artie?”
“With the AC guy?” Maggie sighs. “Have you heard a single thing I’ve said?”
“Yeah, of course.” I heard that last part. “He’s coming back, right?”
“Yes, he’s coming back. But in the meantime, I think we should—”
My vibrating phone cuts her off.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Are you kidding me?” Maggie huffs. “Is this a bad time? Because I have absolutely nothing to do today if you want me to wait.”
“Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”
Please Holden. I hate it here
My throat constricts. I hate her being there, but without her mom having sole custody, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do.
I press call and lift the phone to my ear.
Maggie groans. “Unbelievable.”
“Hannah,” I say when she answers. “I’m leaving soon. I’ll call you when I get to my room, okay?”
“O-okay.” She sniffles.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I turn away from Maggie’s hard stare. “You know I love you, and I’ll do anything for you, right?”
“I know.”
“Okay, Han. Hang tight.” I end the call, and just as I start to slide the phone back in my pocket, a final text pops up.
Christ, this kid.
I love you too