38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
And the entertainment report during the evening news didn’t mention Christina and Graham, but the reporter said, “Olivia Chase is rumored to be seeing a man who is a decade her junior. The A-lister is also known to be a bit of a party girl and hard to work with. That seems to be the norm, but who would want to invest in a movie that she stars in if she’s that much trouble?”
* * *
Coffee isn’t cutting it this morning. I’m sure that I was awake all night long, tossing and turning.
I texted Christina to make sure she’d gotten home okay, and she replied that she had. But the texts I sent after that went unread and unanswered.
I didn’t expect that she’d leave after we got home last night. I didn’t expect her to tell me she loved me, either.
With my elbows on the counter, I rest my head in my hands. What did I do? How did I screw this up?
Loki nudges me with his nose. Even he’s not very happy this morning. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask him, but those eyes looking up at me make me even sadder.
Okay, so the night was overwhelming for her. I have to remember that. Something triggered her between leaving my parents’ house and coming home. She blurted out the words I love you and then everything fell apart.
I wonder if she’s ever told anyone that before. And by anyone, I wonder if her family ever said those words to her.
Rubbing my hand over my chin, I realize I need to shave. I have to meet Christina’s father at his club, and I can’t even tell her what I’m doing.
Sandra turned in the nondisclosure document they’d asked for.
For the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel in control. Even when this whole scam started, I knew that I could make or break it. There was some control there. But now, I can’t focus on anything but Christina. And I’m going to have to withhold this information from her. Hopefully it won’t be for long.
* * *
Pulling up to the club, my stomach tightens and my chest aches. Just the selection of cars that are valeted around the drive makes me realize that I’m still a kid from Ohio.
The valet hurries to my car and pulls open the door after I put it into park.
“Hello, sir,” the man says.
“Hi. I’m meeting Mr. Malloy here,” I say.
“I think he’s right inside, in the lounge.”
I stand just outside the building, take off my sunglasses, and draw in a deep breath. This meeting is everything I’ve ever wanted. Charles Malloy waits inside for me. Romances, though they got me here, will soon be a thing of the past.
This is it.
I hook my sunglasses on the front of my shirt, push back my shoulders, and walk into the club.
Eyes scan over me as I walk to the lounge. No one here is starstruck seeing me, but some of the faces I see cause me to be starstruck. I nod silent hellos to those I know in passing, or others whose eyes I’ve caught.
Just as the valet had said, Charles Malloy is sitting at a corner table in the lounge with a man whom I know to be his assistant.
When his assistant sees me, he nods toward Charles Malloy, who then turns his head and stands.
He doesn’t move toward me, instead he stands and waits for me to move to him.
“Mr. Malloy,” I hold out my hand to him and he shakes it.
Charles Malloy takes my hand, and he’s scanning a look over me, even though his eyes are shielded by dark sunglasses.
“Mr. Crowley. Please have a seat,” he says.
I take the empty seat at the table, and Charles Malloy nods to his assistant, whom he hasn’t introduced, and the assistant stands and walks to the bar.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he says.
“My pleasure, sir.”
He eases back in his chair. “How’s filming going?”
“We’re a week into this project, and it’s going well,” I say, and he nods slowly.
“Jean-Claude is an idiot,” he says flatly. “The man doesn’t understand direction. That studio suffers when he works.”
I find myself chewing the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting. Sure, Jean-Claude’s vision never matches mine, but I’m there to act, not to direct. And he’s no fan of me, Christina, or the platform on which we work, but I’m not going to comment on that.
Charles Malloy’s assistant returns with two glasses and sets them on the table before he takes his seat.
Charles moves one of them in front of me and takes a sip from his. “You look like a whisky and Coke kind of guy,” he says, and the corner of his mouth curls up as he nods at the drink he’s offered.
I pick up the drink, very aware that it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning. I take a sip and try not to wince. I’m anything but a whisky and Coke kind of guy.
“Let’s get right down to the reason I asked you to meet me here,” he says, leaning his forearms on the table. “You’ve been brought to my attention, and your work is good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I have a new project filming in Italy. It’s an action film, and I think you’d fit the bill of the main character.”
Every nerve in my body is firing. What I hear is, you’re the next action hero star.
“I’m honored, sir.”
He laces his fingers together. “I assume you read the sample of the script I sent.”
Of course I had. I’d read it in my trailer while they were filming Christina’s single scenes, and then I tucked it back into my safe.
“I did. It’s intriguing.”
“Are you interested?” he asks with a rise of his brow that peeks up behind his sunglasses.
The man has some power to send a partial script, have a secret meeting in a public place, and simply ask, are you interested?
“I am.”
He nods slowly and sits back again, picking up his drink and taking a big sip. “Alister will work with your agent to get you in for a screen test with the other actors,” he says, pointing to his assistant, who nods as if he’s taken in the information.
“I appreciate it, sir,” I say.
“Now,” Charles Malloy sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “Let’s talk about my daughter.”