45. Chapter Forty-Five
And the trade magazine says, “Charles Malloy has an eye for talent. There is no actor who wouldn’t want to do a movie he chooses to produce.”
* * *
When Jean-Claude was satisfied, or tired of the scene, he walked off set, and that was that.
At this point, I have called Graham an idiot more than I ever had when I didn’t like him.
We’ve been in one another’s faces all day, yelling and threatening. My character pushes his character. They throw papers off a desk and scream some more.
My throat is becoming raw, and the angry line that forms between my brows has deepened.
I haven’t seen Graham since he walked off the set when we were done. No doubt he needed a few moments to decompress too.
Penny and I walk back to my trailer. I just want to get out of wardrobe and into my clothes.
As soon as I’m changed and have handed Penny my items that need to go back to wardrobe, my phone rings. It’s not a ring tone I hear very often—it’s my father’s.
When Penny has left the trailer, I finally answer his call.
“Hello, Daddy,” I say, leaning against the counter and rubbing my fingers over my forehead.
“I have a car waiting for you at the studio.”
“I came with Graham this morning,” I say, not sure why he would send a car for me.
“The car is there. You’ll come to see me, and you’ll come alone.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “We just wrapped, and I’d really like to?—”
“Christina, you will get in that car and come see me in my office. I don’t have time for any of your antics. Just do as I say,” he says and ends the call.
I don’t understand why my parents can’t freaking finish a phone call. Is it so hard to say goodbye?
I grip my phone in my hand. I want to throw it. I want to chuck it at the wall, but I won’t.
He’s probably heard that Graham and I are engaged. This is where the shit hits the fan, and instead of talking to us as a couple, he’s going to reprimand me in private. Lovely.
Fine. I’m almost thirty years old. I can handle my father.
As I step out of my trailer, Graham and Loki are walking toward me.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever tire of seeing the man and his dog.
“Tough day, huh?” he says as if he’s completely defeated.
“Yeah. Wasn’t so pleasant.”
Graham nods. “Are you ready to go?”
I hike my bag up on my shoulder. “My dad just called. He has a car waiting for me. He wants me to meet him to talk.”
Graham winces. “About the engagement?”
“I can only assume.”
“I’ll go with you,” he offers, and the sentiment squeezes at my heart.
I move to him and wrap my arms around him. His body is stiff as he wraps his free arm around me.
“I’m okay. I’ll go and talk to him. I’ll have his driver take me back to your place,” I say before lifting on my toes to kiss him softly on the lips.
“I love you. Deep inside, I feel as if you need to hear that over and over from me to know it’s true.”
I ease back slightly. “I know you love me. I have your ring,” I say, holding up my hand and wiggling my fingers at him.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he says as Loki brushes up against my leg. “He’ll be waiting for you too.”
I kneel and give Loki a hug around his neck. “I’ll see you soon, boy.”
When I stand and look at Graham, I see something I haven’t seen in the few months we’ve been spending so much time together. There is deep seated worry in his eyes, and I wonder if there is something behind this meeting with my father that Graham knows about.
No, I don’t want to start second guessing my fiancé.
I’m my own woman. If I want to marry this man, then I’m going to marry him. There is nothing my father can say that’ll change that.
* * *
I’m irritated that it’s seven o’clock at night, and my father is having me meet him in his office. Seriously? He couldn’t let me just go to their house and hear what he has to say?
Is he keeping this from my mother?
Is this business?
There is a security guard poised at the entrance to the building when the driver opens my car door.
I don’t even thank him as I step out and walk toward the building.
When the guard opens the door, I move past him and right to the elevator that will take me directly to the top floor, where my father keeps his office.
As the elevator door opens, I step into the grand entry. CHARLES MALLOY PRODUCTIONS greets me in grand gold letters that hover over a waterfall wall.
Just like his sunglasses being worn inside, this screams attention-getting, and I’ve never liked it.
My father opens the large glass door that leads into the offices.
“Christina,” he says in a low voice. His eyes are narrowed on me.
“Dad,” I say and step through the door.
Without another word, he walks toward his office, and I follow.
There are a few people still in the office, and that makes me sad too. Is there so much that has to be done that he has employees still working into the night?
Why I even consider that, I don’t know. I know he has people working all the time. The man has always been all about business. Family didn’t matter.
When we reach his office, he moves behind his desk.
“Close the door,” he says as he sits down.
I do so and look around.
The walls of his office are lined with photos of him and hundreds of A-list actors and actresses. There are news clippings that have been framed, some movie posters, and a cabinet of awards that I know don’t mean a damn thing to him.
What there isn’t is a family picture on the wall or on his desk. Even Graham has family pictures in his home. His parents have walls of photos of them all. My father has an office that showcases the names he can drop, but not one photo of his daughter or his wife.
There is a door to the side of his desk that leads to the apartment he keeps. I wonder why he won’t take me, his daughter, in there to discuss whatever he has to talk to me about.
I twist the ring on my finger with my thumb and then fist my hand. What I wouldn’t give for my parents to be excited about what’s coming in my life.
“Sit,” he says, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.
I take the seat, cross my legs, and rest my hands on my knees—ring on display.
He looks at my hand and then up at me.
“Penelope Mondragon has a new project with Sebastian Yates,” he says.
I study him as he clasps his hands on the top of his desk. No mention of the ring on my finger. No mention of me being engaged to Graham. Does he not know?
“Okay,” I say. “And?”
“She wrote the script with you and Sebastian in mind. He’s already signed on.”
There is a flutter in my stomach when he mentions the script. Penelope hadn’t mentioned that she had anyone else in mind, or that the script was ready to go.
“I thought she was still writing the script. I talked to her today.”
He nods. “She’s still working on the final.” He pushes a script in my direction.
Cheers to the Happy Couple, a screenplay by Penelope Mondragon.
I reach for it and notice that when I lift it, my hands are shaking.
This is it. This was what it was all about. Won’t Graham be so happy to know I got my promise too?
I thumb through the first few pages and then flip to the very front where she’s added a synopsis.
My father leans back in his chair and watches me with his arms crossed in front of him.
This movie is everything I could ever have imagined it might be. It screams cult favored rom-com. If I do this movie, I’ll be among the rom-com royalty that I’ve dreamed of.
I know better than to get giddy over it or to show my excitement.
Keeping my smile inward, I slide the script back toward my father.
“She’s magical,” I say. “I think this is going to be an amazing film.” I study him for a moment. “Why do you have it?”
My father sits forward, resting his forearms on his desk again. “I’m producing it.”
I blink hard and the smile surfaces. My father is producing the movie. Does this mean he believes in me? He wants me to have what I’ve always wanted?
“It’s a rom-com,” I say, but there’s still a hint of excitement in my voice.
“And was written for my little girl.”
I don’t even know how to react at this moment. I could jump across the desk and hug him, but then how would he react? I mean, he called me his little girl.
Instead, I just smile at him.
“What do you think? Are you in? Do you want to sign?” he asks.
Now the excitement breaks through. “Yes!”
He nods and slides another stack of papers in front of me.
This is about to change my entire life.
Before I can pick up the contract and put my name in ink, he lays his hand on the top of it.
“There are some caveats to this,” he says. “Let me see your left hand.”