Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“Delightful.” Gustavo lifted my hand to brush a kiss against my knuckles, making me blush. “I am a lucky man to have a woman as beautiful as you at my side all evening.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m the lucky one since I don’t have to pop around the room filling empty seats all night. And I’ll get to jump up and clap for you when your show wins. Maybe I’ll even be caught on camera, and my professors will see me. I’m a student at Tisch, so they’d be impressed for sure.”
Gustavo tilted his head to the side. “You act, too?”
“Not even close.” I shook my head with a smile. “I stick behind the scenes doing set design.”
“Such a shame with how beautiful you are.” He patted my hand. “But you are helping me, so I will introduce you to some people who can help with that later.”
His offer was incredibly generous. “Thank you.”
The music playing in the background lowered, and the host strode toward the center of the stage. I sat on the edge of my chair, awed by the show they put on for the attendees. It was a seamless production as they moved from one award category to another with entertaining acts between.
I had attended other awards shows as a seat filler, but the experience was different being up this close while surrounded by A-list celebrities. And it got even better when the Best Telenovela category was called.
“The winner is…Dias de Amor no Rio!”
I clapped as Gustavo and several others at our table got to their feet and headed toward the stage to accept their award. It was surreal to have spent the past hour chatting with a celebrity who had just received recognition at this level yet again. And it was wild to think that after the ceremony, he would help me network with industry professionals I never would’ve had the opportunity to meet.
3
RIGBY
The tux fitting was as boring as I’d expected, and I nearly broke a tooth holding back my desire to tell the prattling man to shut the hell up.
At least the pre-luncheon would have food, I told myself. I forgot that it was a bunch of celebrities who lived on fad diets and kale, though. I was a healthy guy, but that didn’t mean I was a fucking rabbit. I needed more than lettuce to sustain me. Instead, I had to nibble on a plate of veggies while I listened to mostly shallow, self-absorbed people waxing on about what they’d done and who they knew.
Luckily, the press conference was catered, and the reporters cared more about sustenance than their waistlines. So while Natalie and her team answered questions, I filled my stomach. It was a good thing, because I probably wouldn’t have made it through the rest of the night if I’d been hungry and aggravated.
By the time Natalie and I arrived at the awards ceremony, I was exhausted and reaching the limit of my tolerance for stupid people.
“Would you stop looking like somebody just insulted the Nighthawks and kicked you in the balls?” Natalie whispered, elbowing me in the side.
“Ouch,” I mumbled, then mentally grinned when—despite all the cameras—she turned her head to roll her eyes at me before facing forward once more.
They were doing a musical number on the stage, but I barely noticed. My mind replayed my interaction with Cleo—as it had been all day—and I planned on what I would say when I called to make our date.
When the number ended, the host came back to the microphone and introduced the next presenter. The category was Natalie’s final nomination—Best Performance by an Actress. She sat ramrod straight in her seat, and I put my arm around her, giving her a gentle hug to show my support.
Her show had been nominated for Best TV Movie/Miniseries and Best Drama Series, one of which had gone to a show produced by a woman who was supremely less talented and well known for sleeping her way to the top. The other had gone to a show directed by a man rumored to have bought every one of his nominations over the years.
I watched the large screen that zoomed in on the announcer. He made a joke, and the audience was riddled with laughter, causing the cameras to pan around the room.
My breath caught in my throat, and rage exploded inside my chest when I spotted a familiar head of pink hair. Her profile was to the camera and her hair fell forward, forming a curtain that hid her face as she leaned in to speak to the man in the seat beside her—Gustavo Duarte.
They looked intimate and cozy, and I prayed that I was mistaken. But then he grinned and said something that made her throw her head back and laugh. I watched in fury as Cleo smiled brightly at her companion before he bent his head to brush a kiss over her cheek, causing her to blush.