Chapter 57
As the night wears on, it becomes clear to me why Dom has gotten a stilted look on his face every time his brother’s name comes up.
Quinton’s kind of an ass, and his wife is no better.
Once I finish chopping the vegetables, she promptly starts orchestrating how I can prepare the sauté seasoning to go with the seared ahi Dom is making on the big hibachi grill out back.
“There’s sesame oil in the pantry,” Selma instructs. “You’ll know how to make an easy Asian stir fry to go with Dom’s seared ahi, won’t you? I just need to give my feet a rest after being on that jet all of yesterday.”
“Of course.” I smile at her — although I’m not so sure what would make her exhausted after spending a few hours on their private luxury jet. Dom told me they own two private jets, and utilize the larger or smaller one depending on the length of the flight. Since the trip to Hawaii from Los Angeles is around six hours, they chose the larger of the two, which I’m sure has a full bedroom to sleep in if they want.
After giving me orders on how to mix the sauce, she leaves the kitchen to sit with Quinton on the patio, overlooking a sunset over the water. His crystal tumbler is filled halfway with nearly straight whiskey. I saw him add a splash of soda and a twist of orange peel that Dom shaved for him at the bar, but otherwise it’s been straight liquor all night.
After I’ve finished mixing the sauce for the sauté, I knit my brows and make eye contact with Dom, who smiles stiffly from his place at the hibachi. Then he comes inside to join me at the stove.
“Do they dress all your guests in aprons and hand them a spatula?” I grin — I know this can’t be easy for him either.
“What guests? I never invite women over when Quinton’s in town.” He grabs my hip and pulls me in for a kiss. I don’t like cooking, but I do like the idea of dressing up in an apron, with Dom manning the grill.
“Do they have any clue that I’ll be talking to Quinton about my script?” I ask him.
I study his face, searching for anything useful in his eyes.
“Bringing it up organically will give you the best clout here.” He averts his eyes and snatches a long chunk of pepper from the pan. He tosses it into his mouth while I watch him, unsure of what to say. “Quinton is . . . eccentric. High maintenance.” He glances outside to make sure they aren’t listening. “He fancies himself to be a bit of a genius — honestly because he is one. And geniuses don’t like to be handed their next work of art. No matter who’s suggesting it.”
“I already mentioned to Selma that I write film scripts.” I search his eyes for guidance. “Did I ruin the organic element of surprise?” My lips twist into a lopsided smile, trying to make light of all this. But, inside, I feel the pressure to make this work. Speeding up my path into film production means I could leave my job at UBN faster, and stay right here with Dom instead of having to go back.
“Well, that explains her sudden attitude tonight, then. She hates when people ask Quinton to work on vacation.”
“I can just enjoy tonight with them as your girlfriend and bring this up some other day.” The helium I’d been floating on before starts to drain right out of me. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be after all.
“Listen, I know my brother, and I know his wife. They both love me, but they hate when people try to get a leg up by knowing someone in the industry. If I’d told them why we’re all here tonight — honestly, they never would have agreed to it.”
I untie the apron and slip the neck strap over my head, setting it down on the counter beside Selma’s long knife.
I feel like screaming. Like I’ve already ruined this opportunity before it’s really gotten underway.
“You need to pitch him tonight,” Dom insists. “I want you to. Don’t let whatever history with Taryn detract from the opportunity you have right in front of you. Nothing worth wanting comes easy.” His deep voice is drawn lower so they can’t hear him. “Use your gut to make tonight everything it needs to be. Trust me. I don’t have the power to push this through that man’s head. My brother is as egotistical as he is brilliant.”
“So pretty egotistical then?” I cross my arms, fighting my face to remain neutral.
“I grew up around this industry. I know it like the back of my hand.” His eyes are glowing like he knows I can do this. “If you want to break into film, if you want to leave UBN faster and make a real go at this, then you have to play the game. And your game is starting right now. You’re the only one who can make this happen.”
I finally relent. “Okay.” Challenge accepted. If we’re going to play ball tonight, I better get my head in the game.
“Trust me when I say it’s the only way to do this. I may be powerful in my own right, but Quinton practically owns the film industry. Even if I gave you money to find a producer, and director, and hire all the actors, and rent out a production house, you still wouldn’t get the respect you deserve, because everyone in the industry would know. That kind of beginning can sink someone trying to get started in Hollywood.”
He’s right. I know he is. This has to happen on my own terms, and with my own grit. Not handed to me on a silver platter by anyone, not even Dom.
“You have to trust me,” he says again.
“Of course I trust you. I just wish your brother wasn’t so intimidating.”
I glance outside to make sure they’re still engrossed in their own conversation. Selma is draped across Quinton’s lap, sipping his whiskey between kissing him. They are every bit the Hollywood royalty all the tabloids make them out to be. She, stunning from head to manicured toe, drenched in this golden hour of the sunset. He, lapping up the attention of his supermodel wife, with one of the most breathtaking views in the world at their feet.
I consider how the hell I’m supposed to pull this off if I’m standing at a stove instead of sitting at the table with them, pouring it on so he becomes interested in hearing about what I want to do for a living. Or, at least, what I hope to do.
The veggies sizzle louder, so I grab a silicon spatula and start tossing them around as Dom watches me closely.
“Trust me on this,” he repeats firmly. “I know how to work the Quinton Rockwell system. I’ve been around it my whole life. I’ll finish this up so you can get out there and start schmoozing.” He gently takes the spatula and gives me a kiss. “I’m going to give you as much time alone with him tonight as I can. Just don’t come on too strong,” he adds. “Easy does it.”
While Dom pushes peppers and carrots around the wok, I stalk Quinton from a safe distance away. His thick head of hair is wavy and curled, a too-white smile surrounded by laugh lines, acquired from years of high-octane social events and nights spent in luxurious locations around the world. He wears a thick gold pinky ring with some unknown chunk of amber gemstone fixed in the center, probably yellow topaz if I had to guess. Although, it could be a yellow diamond. He oozes power, with his willowy trophy wife sitting atop his lap, staring down at him so lovingly that it makes me a little envious. I can see a resemblance to Dom in the way his eyes sparkle in the sunlight, crinkling at the edges.
Since working over ten years in high-stakes news, I’ve schmoozed with powerful people most of my adult life. I am capable of doing this right.
I can convince Quinton Rockwell to take a chance on me, while making it seem like it was his idea all along.
“Here goes nothing.” I grab my wine glass and whatever is left in the bottle, and march outside to stalk, kill, and sink my teeth into exactly what I want.