FINALISTS
Sara
My second day auditioning, this time with the eleven finalists, and the bitch blonde was late to arrive. Now she’s been watching me dance up on stage with a pen in her lips and her eyes narrowed.
“Wonderful job, everyone. We’ll call you,” one of the directors tells us after we finish the piece.
Exhaling as I step off the platform, I grab my duffel and change my dancing shoes for my sneakers.
“Sara.”
I turn to see the blonde bitch.
“You’re our top contender for the lead. Just wanted you to know.”
I blink, completely taken aback by the nearly blinding megawatt smile on her face. “I am?”
The blonde continues giving me that winning smile. “You are. I have it on the highest authority that you’re in.”
I’m so mind-blown, I’m pretty sure my brain is about to explode as I head outside. I got the lead. I got the lead in a Broadway show. I step out onto the streets and feel like jumping, screaming, throwing myself to the ground, and kicking in glee. But of course I do none of that. I just pump my fist in the air and then try to compose myself as I head toward the train station. That’s when I spot Becka crossing the street. “Becka, what are you doing here?”
“I’m roaming the streets, getting inspiration.”
“You’re crazy. Where are you even sleeping?” I demand.
“Don’t worry—I’ve got myself the best, most unbelievably hot roommate. Some guy who missed his flight too; turns out we know each other’s families, and he’s helping me get my muse.”
“What guy?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion over the twinkle in her eye. And that’s when my gaze locks past her shoulder on to a figure behind her. A figure leaning against a black SUV. A figure in a Suit. A figure I have touched, kissed, and licked.
Ian Ford, my Dirty Workaholic Film Mogul Extraordinaire, is standing there next to a dog. Next to Milly. My eyes widen. I head over. “What are you doing here?”
Ian doesn’t even break a sweat. “Mills misses you. You said you’d bring a replacement. Turns out today I was it.”
“Ian.” I laugh and chide him with a shake of my head, unable to keep my heart from backflipping. “It’s so bad of me to have done that to your Gran.”
“That’s all right. I already know how bad you are.” He opens the back passenger door of his SUV. Milly hops onto the seat, and Ian opens the front door for me.
“You’re worse. You look all serious, but I know how dirty you are,” I whisper, going up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. He lifts his head to Becka.
Shit, did I really forget she was standing there gaping?
“Does your friend want a ride?”
“Becka, get over here.” I wave her forward. “Becka, this is Ian.”
She seems tongue-tied as they shake hands. “I don’t need a ride, thank you.” She sounds all mousy and sweet with Ian, but then pulls me to the side and gives me a giddy-shocked death glare.
“Bitch!”
“I know.” I groan as I peek at Ian behind me. “He’s taken, okay?”
“By you?”
“No. He’s married, remember—but getting divorced. And I’m next.” I kick her feet with a grin, then tell her, “Now tell me about this guy.”
“I can’t, he’s waiting for me—” She points across the street, where now it’s my turn to gape at the figure leaning on a lamppost, watching us. Tall and lean, with sandy, messed-up hair, wearing jeans and a leather jacket and a silver cuff around his wrist.
“Who is he?” I murmur.
“My hero. More like antihero. You’ll read all about it in my book if I can even get my bitch muse back.” She smirks and waves me off. “I’ll be in touch, I promise.” She heads across the street to the gorgeous guy, who I almost suspect is some sort of movie star. He seems oddly familiar.
Seeing him smirk at her as she reaches him, I watch them in curiosity while I walk back to the car and climb in the passenger seat. “How’s my favorite little pooch?” I reach back and scratch behind Milly’s ear.
She licks my palm, and I giggle. Aware of my Hot Workaholic watching me with a smile on his lips, my whole body turns warm. I don’t know if this casual dating thing is working for me.
My feelings for my Dirty Workaholic have never been casual at all.
Worrying about it, especially after what my mother went through, I’m concerned his wife may be going through the same pain despite her being the one who betrayed him. I ache to know that it’s over so that I can feel more certain about Ian’s interest in me. But I don’t want my confused feelings for Ian to dampen my excitement, so I shake that out of my thoughts.
“How is your Gran and the replacement I sent?”
“She’s good. They’re both good. But I promised I’d steal you away for an evening, and today seems as good a day as any.”
I sigh happily and stroke the back of Milly’s ear. “I’m so glad to see you two.”
“Hard day?”
“Awful. But I made it.” I grin.
He tips my chin back. “Of course you did,” he says, his eyes gleaming with pride and something else, something unreadable.
His jaw squares as he squeezes it, turning his attention to the road.
He stops me by my apartment so I can quickly shower and change out of my sweaty clothes, then we head to SoHo and have dinner with Mrs. Ford. During dessert, Mrs. Ford asks the most pressing question of all.
“How is the divorce coming along, Ian, dear?”
Ian doesn’t hesitate from shoving a forkful of apple pie into his mouth. He munches slowly, looking at her, and then at me, as he swallows and chases it with some wine. “We should sign this month.”
His dark eyes gleam at me. I feel the look all over. In my sex, my nipples, and somewhere deeper. I pull my gaze free and try not to make eye contact for the rest of the evening.
I should be happy about his divorce coming through soon, but I’m sick of hearing it’s coming and still, it’s not here yet. What if it never comes?
* * *
He drives me home that evening. The air between us crackles with mutual frustration.
“Spit it out,” he says as we leave Mrs. Ford’s.
“You spit it out. I just told you I got the part of my dreams and you said nothing! Speaking of your upcoming divorce doesn’t help my mood one bit.” I sigh.
I wanted to go back to his place and use his stupid toothpaste again. I know, crazy that doing stuff like that—sharing things with him—gets me off. But there it is. This man is making me lose it. And it’s because I’m losing it that I told him I should go home and rest and wait for my call.
“The producer of that show is my soon-to-be ex-wife.”
“What?” I blink. “Oh wow. That blonde bitch from hell?”
“That’s her.”
I stare out the window. No wonder the blonde was such a bitch to me. She knows I’m fucking her husband. I feel sick, my stomach clutching as bile rises up my throat.
“And you knew, Ian!”
“I didn’t know you were auditioning for her that first time. I found out today.”
“How did you find out?”
“She told me.”
“You still talk to her?”
He shoots me a get-real look. “I haven’t for a year. It’s over. This was different.”
“Why?” I cry. I’m jealous and confused and distraught and emotional.
“Because it was about you,” he lashes.
“Take me home.”
“I’m taking you to mine.”
“No. I said take me home.” I’m scowling now. Enraged, and needing some time to stew on my own. “I thought it was over between you!”
“For me it is. It’s over, Sara. But I’m afraid she’ll make your life a living hell if you take this part.”
I shoot him a frustrated, hopeless, angry look. “I won’t let that stop me. It’s my shot, Ian.”
He mumbles under his breath, shaking his head.
He drives the rest of the way in silence, and I ride chewing my nails. It’s only until he stops before my apartment, wedging his SUV in between the narrow streets and traffic, that I realize I don’t have my apartment key.
“I think…Fuck. I forgot my key.”
His phone rings. “Sorry I’ve got to take this.” He glances at the door of my building, which doesn’t open without my key. “Go inside, I’d rather you not freeze. Yeah?” he barks.
I head toward the door and ring my apartment number as I text Bryn. Hey. I’m here! Forgot my key! No answer. Bitch, open up, I’m freezing my ass!
“That’s so odd.”
Behind me I hear a groan, and a moody, “Stop licking my balls. I’ll stop by—you owe me big time.” He hangs up and I hear, loudly, “Nothing?”
I turn around. “Nope. Run off. I can handle myself.”
“Out here in the cold.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to be out here for long.”
He heads over, exasperated.
“She may be at the office. Or with her new boyfriend. I’ll take care of it,” I assure, sticking to my pride.
Ian glances up and blinks. “Leave you out here in negative-degree weather?” He ponders it and scowls at me. “Nope.”
My teeth are chattering. His hand comes to grip my arm.
“All right, sweetheart. Let’s get back in the car.”
“No. Really. Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you with me.”
“Where?”
“Change of plans. You can come.”
“What gave you the indication that I want to go to wherever it is you’re going?”
He pauses and looks at me. When he finally speaks, his voice is whisper soft. “Don’t do that.” He frowns and shakes his head.
“Do what?”
“You know what,” he growls under his breath.
I stare past his shoulder as the cold wind slaps us both. He’s frustrated. I’m frustrated. He spoke to his wife today, and I’m so jealous I can’t see straight.
I got the part of my dreams. And his wife is the producer.
It’s all messy and complicated and I’m confused and scared. This dating cautiously thing is not working for me. I cannot stop thinking about him. I’m happy. Too happy, when I’m with him. So happy that I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to tell me he still loves his wife. That he’s going back to his wife. Maybe his wife even hopes for that. I mean, look at my mom. Everything went to hell. She’d have done anything to get my dad back.
His wife knows more about him than I do. Like if he likes… to play Monopoly naked in the middle of the night or something crazy? She has an edge, an advantage over me. What if she cooked his favorite meal when they talked? Or wore his favorite color? And it makes me mad. Because I want this man all to myself and I don’t know if I could bear it if he let me go.
Will this end leaving me to spend the rest of my life comparing every other guy to him? Crushed and wanting a man who wanted someone else a little more?
But it’s not his fault that I’m bad at this whole casual thing. It’s not his fault that I… want more.
I sigh dejectedly. “Where are we going?”
“It’s Hilton’s birthday.”
“Hilton?”
“One of my friends. The one we bumped into at the hotel the other day.”
“Is it proper for me to be going?”
“I don’t care if it’s proper. You’re coming with me.”