Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Admit what?” I say through gritted teeth as Mason knees me in the gut.
“That.” He swats at me again. “You.” Somehow I get his shoe and start smacking him with it. “Love her!”
The fuck? He knows I’m in love with Chloe? This whole thing was a show just to piss me off, forcing me to admit it. My own brother fucking played me, and I’m not sure yet if I should be mad. Mason takes advantage of my hesitation and knees me in the stomach again, and I hit him once more with his shoe.
“Boys!” Mom’s voice rings out around us. “What the hell is going on?”
I let Mason’s shoe fall from my grasp and look up and see—shit—Chloe.
Chapter Twenty
Chloe
“Hey, Vanessa,” I say when I answer the phone. I close the sliding glass door behind me and am surrounded by the sounds of the night. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, and I’m so sorry to bother you on a Sunday night,” she starts. “I got a quick question for you before I pursue this any deeper.”
“Pursue what?” I walk along the patio, looking past the white picket fence at the barn. The lights are on, and I can hear voices coming from inside. I know Mrs. Harris still has chickens, but I’m not sure what other farm animals they have now that the kids are grown.
“I went out to dinner tonight and just happened to strike up a conversation with a producer. Of course you came up, and to make a long story short, they’re interested in getting you involved in an upcoming show. They’re putting a twist on medieval legends, based on a book written thirty years ago that ended on a huge cliffhanger. The author died before he got to finish it. Basically they want to say the writer of the Nightfall series is continuing the plot as well as tweaking the original to be up to today’s standards of equal representation.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yep,” she laughs. “It’s nothing formal at all at this point, but before I go forward at all, I wanted to see if it’s something you’d be interested in. It would require you to meet in person, probably weekly if not more. I know that takes time away from your novels. And if this does go through, they want to start in January.”
“Wow. That would be an incredible opportunity.” I look out at the woods behind the barn. It would tie me to LA, and I was just thinking about actually coming back home. For good. “Okay, I’m kind of interested to see the formal offer or contract or whatever, but not sold on saying I’m actually interested. Sorry for the non-answer.”
“Don’t be. It was a lot to dump on you, and trust me, it was not what I was expecting to take away from dinner tonight. I’ll get back to the network and we’ll go from there. How’s your write-cation going?”
I unlatch the gate and step into the dewy grass. “Good. It’s been nice to get away, and I have the entire day by myself to write tomorrow. I’m feeling very inspired too.”
“Great. Enjoy your night and give me a day or so to get something more concrete about this to go over with you. Take care.”
“You too.” I end the call and am about to turn back inside when the barn doors open. I wave, not wanting to freak out Mrs. Harris or anything, and end up walking back inside with them. I wipe my feet on the mat outside the garage door and follow behind Jacob. I’m going slow as I open up Vanessa’s email.
“Boys!” Mrs. Harris exclaims, and I jerk my head up to see Sam and Mason on the ground in what at first looks like a fight but is more of a comical squabble. “What the hell is going on?” Mason has one arm locked around Sam’s legs, and Sam is holding Mason’s shoe. It drops from his hand and they both scramble up.
“He started it,” they say at the same time, pointing to each other. I cock an eyebrow, looking from Sam to Mason.
“I don’t care who started it,” Mrs. Harris goes on. “Just stop it.”
“You know I would have whooped your ass if I wanted to,” Mason quips, and Sam narrows his eyes.
“You never could before.”
Mason swats Sam on the back of the head.
“I have horse tranquilizers in my truck,” Jacob says.
“Maybe you should get them,” I whisper.
Mr. Harris sighs and walks into the kitchen, going to the sink to wash his hands. “I thought you two grew out of this.”
“Mom did say she wanted things to be just like they were when we all lived here,” Mason grumbles and goes back to the counter, getting another piece of pie.
“Did your agent have good news?” Sam runs his hand through his hair.