“You gotta take it, Jackson, you just gotta! You’ll be a star!”

I grunt at Mickey and lean back in the chair. I put a fake frown on my face. “I don’t know,” I say. “Brutally Dishonest is an awful title. And that offer?”

“They’re paying way above your minimum, Jackson.” Mickey is starting to sweat and I’m loving it, but I keep my cool.

Mickey Rains in my agent, and he made my career. He took me from a nobody struggling to get work as a stunt double and turned me into a real life action star.

This was not the life I ever thought I’d have. When I retired from the SEALs, I thought I’d go into private security. But a minor knee injury made sure that I’d never be healthy enough to be on my feet for hours at a time, running around and killing guys. That’s probably for the best. And so I started looking into a new industry, and stunt work seemed like a good fit for me. Despite the knee, I’m still a big, healthy guy, and I can do all that shit, no problem.

But Mickey Rains saw more in me, apparently, and he started shopping me around as a real life action hero. I’m an ex-SEAL with real combat experience and the medals to prove it. I’m handsome, I can act a little bit, and I’ll bring real life experience to any movie set.

I booked my first feature-length film after a month of living in Los Angeles. I was playing the supporting role, but the reviews were good, and soon the offers started rolling in. My first real hit, The Alpha Hero, catapulted me into serious stardom.

That all happened just over a year ago. It’s been a crazy time for me, and I’ve made more money and done more than I ever thought possible. But now that I’m established, it’s time to get down to business.

It’s time to do what I really came out here to do.

“Still, do I really want another action movie right now? I just did one.”

Mickey’s eye bug out. “What… what are you thinking?”

“Period drama,” I say. “Something with costumes, that sort of shit. You know, put me in a pirate outfit, get me shirtless and sweating. Or hell, give me a big ass sword and some armor.”

Mickey looks like he’s going to have a freaking heart attack. “Armor?” he asks me.

“Hell yeah, armor. I’d love to get some real sword fights on my resume.”

“Sword fights,” he says, shaking his head. “Jackson, you have to be insane. You’re a military action star. You do contemporary stuff, with guns and all that, where your real world experience comes into play. That’s what works for you, and this movie is perfect.”

I deepen my fake frown. Truth is, I already decided that I’m doing this movie. I just want to see Mickey sweat a little bit. He’s like a mentor to me. I’m thirty and Mickey’s in his forties, but I feel like he’s a father figure or some shit like that. He believed in me when nobody else did, and I owe him everything.

But it’s still fun as fuck to mess with him.

“Maybe I want to do something more serious,” I say. “Maybe an indie?”

“Indie?” He practically falls out of his chair. “Fuck indies, Jackson, are you crazy? You’re hot right now but that doesn’t last forever. You need another solid movie under your belt, prove that The Alpha Hero wasn’t just some fluke.”

I sigh, really playing it up. “You sure about that? I just don’t know.”

“Listen. You have to trust me. I want you to become the biggest star in the whole fuckin’ industry. You just gotta listen to me.”

I can’t take it anymore. The poor guy is about to have a meltdown. He thinks his biggest rising star is about to throw away his career and do some lame ass fucking indie chick flick or some shit like that.

I burst out laughing and point at him. “Holy shit, you were buying that,” I say to him. “My acting’s gotten a lot better, hasn’t it?”

It takes him a second, but he leans back in his chair and finally releases a sigh. “You motherfucker. You were fucking with me?”

“Of course I was,” I say. “I’m going to do this movie.”

“Oh thank sweet merciful fucking Jesus!” he says, jumping up. “Sign those papers, my big man, and let’s celebrate. VON!!!”

I nearly jump in my damn seat when Mickey yells his assistant’s name. Von quickly comes into the room. He’s a short little West African guy with some of the most perfect teeth I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Yes, sir?” he asks. I think Von’s maybe twenty at most, fresh out of school and trying to get into the business.

“Get us champagne. None of that cheap shit. Our boy here is going to make us a lot of money.”

“Sick,” he says, grinning.

“Don’t say sick,” Mickey answers, making a face.

“Sorry sir, I mean, that’s very wonderful.” Von starts to back out.

“Don’t do that fake respectful bullshit either, goddamnit, Von. Hurry up and get the damn bubbly!”

Von disappears out the door and I shake my head, grinning to myself. I love making Mickey happy, and nothing makes him happier than landing a big movie deal.

But I don’t really care about the money. There have been plenty of other big offers in the last couple weeks, and I’ve turned them all down, one after the other. None of them have been right for me.

Brutally Dishonest isn’t the best movie of the bunch. It’s not even offering me the most money. It won’t have the biggest release, although it’ll still probably do reasonably well. It’s not a step backwards, more like a lateral move, although Mickey still thinks it’ll be good for me.

And I agree, though for different reasons.

Von comes back a minute later with glasses and the bottle. He pours three and Mickey stares at him.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asks.

“Big balls on you, Von,” I say, laughing.

He shrugs, grins, and downs the champagne. “Congrats, Jack,” he says to me.

“His name’s Jackson, you little shit, now get out of here.”

I grin and shake Von’s hand as he leaves. I love that little guy. Although Mickey gives him shit, I know he’s a great assistant.

“To you, big guy,” Mickey says. I take my glass, we toast, and I down it in one gulp. “Now, let’s do the boring shit.”

We sit down next to each other on his couch and start to walk through the contract. Normally I’d ignore all of this stuff, but there’s one thing I’m waiting for.

We get past the offer, the deadlines, all that shit, and finally get to the part where it lists the crew.

“Okay, director is some German guy named Lionel, no last name apparently,” Mickey says. “Buncha other guys, you know what a crew looks like.”

He goes to turn the page, but I stop him. “Wait. Who’s the script girl?”

He blinks, surprised. “Script girl? I don’t fucking know, some kid. Who cares?”

“Read the name,” I say, trying to stay patient.

He sighs and skims through it. “Okay, let’s see… photography… gaffer… okay, here we go. Script girl.” He squints at the name. “Tara Austin.” He looks up at me, a confused look on his face. “That mean anything to you?”

I smile at him and nod. “That name means a lot to me, Mickey. Now let’s sign this shit.”

He looks confused, but he doesn’t press. I wouldn’t tell him the truth even if he asked anyway.

Truth is, I’m doing this movie for that script girl. She doesn’t know it, but I’m coming for her. I fucked up once upon a time, although I did what I did for a good reason.

But now I’m back and I’m going to make up for that one colossally stupid decision.