35. Eavesdropping
35
EAVESDROPPING
Mara
As I headed out of Don’s kitchen, I had an excellent view of the enormous living room.
For serious? This room is as big as a bowling alley.
The fireplace was tall enough to walk into. The carved stone mantel alone was probably worth more than my car.
This kind of wealth was mind-boggling.
As I twisted the lever on the antique gold faucet in the guest bathroom, my hand trembled. Mahogany-paneled walls, a crystal chandelier, and leaded glass windows added to the overwhelming opulence. It was like stepping into a scene from a high-end hotel, not a private home.
Growing up, my family was comfortable, but nothing like this. Even though my dad was a successful cardiac surgeon, we were paupers compared to the people who lived in this house. I'd been around people in the top one percent, but this was the top point zero one percent. These were the movers and shakers who owned private jets, yachts, and multiple residences around the world.
Ford's childhood was worlds away from mine, despite some surface similarities. He'd grown up around the Hollywood elite, but I never would have guessed he came from this sort of wealth. I felt like a fraud being here, sipping champagne and casually discussing casting actors like Kim Curry and Chris Pitt.
But really—what was I doing here? I felt like a stand-in. Chance should be the one turning his graphic novel into a movie, not me. I barely had a creative bone in my body. I wasn’t qualified for this! I was a coder and a nerd, riding on Chance’s coattails. He was the one who should be here. Not me. I’d bailed on my software company, and my comic book shop was floundering. I should face it… I was a failure. This movie thing was bound to be a disaster as well.
That couldn’t happen, though. I couldn’t let it be a disaster. That wasn’t acceptable. Not if I had anything to say about it. No matter what, Ghost had to be a success. I had to make this work.
Pull yourself together, Mara. Breathe. Don’t get intimidated by this display of money and power.
I turned off the water and dried my hands on the thick white hand towel, then carefully adjusted it so it hung squarely on the towel bar.
One step at a time. Focus on the moment.
When I spotted a pretty ceramic bottle with the word “lotion” baked into the glaze, I pumped some into my hand more as a delaying tactic than because I really needed it. The delicate floral scent seemed to break through my panic, soothing my frayed nerves. I rubbed it into my hands and forearms as I descended from my momentary freakout.
“You got this,” I told my reflection. Damn, if I didn’t look determined.
If nothing else, I could fake it.
I could do this. I had a job to do here as Chance’s representative. That meant I needed to voice my concerns about Chris Pitt. Chance would have hated having him cast as Ghost, I was certain of it.
But—I’d wait to talk to Ford until after we left this house. Its display of power cowed me. I’d be able to make a stronger argument once we were away from here.
Ford and his dad seemed to have a really good relationship. It reminded me of the way my own dad treated Grayson—as the golden child. Lucky him. Must be nice. Ever since I’d chucked it all and opened Ghost of a Chance, I’d become my dad’s least favorite. Sucked to be me.
I sighed. What was it with me and parental displeasure?
Too deep. I’d end up back in a funk if I kept this up. I needed to stay focused here.
“You can do this,” I told my reflection.
As I finally headed back to the kitchen, I heard Don’s voice emanating from behind the partially open double doors of his office. As I passed, I heard him say, “I can handle my own son.”
Well, of course, I stopped in my tracks. Who wouldn’t?
“Give the guy some credit,” Don continued. “It isn’t as though this is his first film. He’s an award-winning director. Besides, I’ll be there to make sure everything goes smoothly. That’s my job, and I’m good at it.”
I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, so I forced myself to turn to leave.
There was a moment of silence as the person on the other side said something, then Don said, “Don’t worry. Just because he and Pitt are friends doesn’t mean I’ll let him cast the man as the lead. Like I said, I know how to handle my own son. I can promise you, I won’t let him ruin the film by making a bad casting choice.”
My breath hitched. Who was Don talking to, and why was he going behind Ford's back about casting? I might have my own doubts about having Pitt play the part of Ghost, but Don had agreed to give him a screen test. He shouldn’t be promising someone he’d keep him out of the film.
I backed away from the door and hurried back to the kitchen.
Ford smiled the moment he saw me. He pulled me into his arms for a kiss. Heady stuff. In an instant, the man made every thought disappear from my brain.
“Dad had to take a call. Are you getting hungry? Try the appetizers.” He bit into a bright-green pepperoncini with a grin. “You’re going to love these.”
I glanced at the arched opening of the doorway, then grabbed hold of Ford’s arm. “Listen, I don’t eavesdrop as a general rule, but I happened to overhear something just now that you should know about.”
Ford glanced over my shoulder and tensed, then touched my arm as if to silence me.
I turned to see Don sweep into the kitchen. It was a good thing I hadn’t lingered outside his door, because he would definitely have caught me.
I shot him a smile and hoped it didn’t look strained. “Your home is spectacular.”
“Thanks. Not my doing though. Most of it was like this when I bought the place. My late wife picked out the furnishings. I haven’t changed a thing since then. I guess I’m a bit set in my ways.” He cleared our empty champagne glasses. “You’re probably getting hungry. Help yourself to the antipasto tray while I finish getting dinner ready.”
Ford continued to chat with his dad about the film as Don pulled a bowl of ceviche from the refrigerator and then emptied his rice-cooker into a serving bowl.
Listening to their easygoing conversation, my tension layered on like the soft cheese I was spreading on my slice of twelve-grain bread. Soon, my stomach roiled with anxiety. Ford had no idea his own father was plotting to undermine his film. I’d clearly pegged Don wrong. I’d seen the supportive side of him and had bought into it, but maybe he and my dad had way too much in common. They both wanted to manipulate their kids.
Ford reached out and snagged a shrimp from the serving bowl of ceviche. “I know you didn’t prepare this yourself.”
“I picked it up earlier today at Carribbia’s. The owner’s a friend.”
I knew of the Caribbean style restaurant by reputation only. It was supposed to be amazing.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Ford said. “You’ve always loved good food. Why won’t you take those cooking classes with me and Max? It’d be fun.”
“Not for me.” Don set the serving bowls on a large tray and lifted it. “I like to have someone else do most of the cooking. I’d rather socialize with my guests.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s head to the dining room.”
I followed, wondering how Ford would act right now, if he knew what his dad had said. Chance had always felt betrayed when Dad had tried to manipulate him. Would Ford feel the same way? My stomach knotted.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt Ford.
A realization struck me suddenly.
Anything that hurt him would hurt me. It hit me like a lightning bolt—I’d fallen for Ford Ross. Hard. The thought sent a rush of warmth through me, quickly chased by a tightening in my chest.
I glanced at him. What if he didn’t feel the same way?
A moment later, his eyes met mine and our fingers interlaced. It was right there, in those amazing blue eyes of his. I mattered to him.
Most of my anxiety evaporated—because after all, maybe he was falling for me too.