Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Who’s Clare what’s-her-face?” I ask, after a second.
Randy looks up. I think his face is going to freeze permanently in a look of a disgust.
“She’s an art critic, idiot, and really hard to impress. Maybe this girl isn’t so bad for you after all because she’s not a complete nobody,” he says, studying Brynn’s photo. “She’s attractive, but in a real way. Not overboard, and no obvious plastic surgery as far as I can tell. We can definitely use this.”
I glare at him.
“No, absolutely not.”
He glances at me. “Why not?”
I exhale.
“She’s not one of your floozies, Randy. Listen to me: do not send anything to the media. Brynn already hates me, and if she sees her name plastered all over the internet, she’s going to hate me even more. She wants her privacy.”
Randy merely shrugs, still reading his phone.
“If she wanted her privacy, she wouldn’t be publishing a book, would she? She may thank you for the publicity. In fact, I bet that’s the reason why she did all this. Can you imagine the media attention she’ll get if she dates you? She’ll sell millions of copies. Again, we can use this.”
“Randy, I swear…” I say through gritted teeth.
He sighs and puts his phone done.
“Fine, fine. What are you getting to eat?”
I look around for the waitress, a desperate plan forming in my head.
“Actually, I have to go. Can you get the plane for me?”
Randy drops his silverware.
“The plane? What the fuck do you need that for? You haven’t been in LA more than a few weeks!”
The waitress sashays over at that moment and leans on the table, showing off her perfectly plastic D cups.
“Mr. Masters, can I help you?”
“Just the check, thanks,” I manage, still gritting my teeth.
She looks surprised but walks off to get the check. Meanwhile, I stand and toss a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table.
“Order whatever you want Rand, and get the plane while you’re at it. I’m heading to the hangar now.”
My agent watches me, and I can tell he wants to argue some more, but he holds it in. Good. Reluctantly, he picks up his phone.
“I’m texting Gary now. Your plane is ordered, your highness.”
I’m too busy to comment on his sarcasm because I don’t care. There’s a woman waiting for me, and I have to find her.
8
Brynn
“Brynn, I’m at the store. Do you think yellow is a good neutral color for a baby?”
I sigh into the phone and smile.
“Ma, stop buying clothes! You’ve already clothed my baby for the next two years. I’m running out of storage space.”
“Oh, it’s okay honey! Just one more item for my new grandchild.”
I can just picture my mom in a high-end baby boutique, holding clothes and gossiping into the phone in her Cuban accent.
“No Ma, if you want to help, please buy diapers.”
“Brynn, your father is hoarding all the diapers in the city. You don’t have to worry about that,” my mom scolds.
I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder and finish smearing cream cheese on my bagel. Now that I’m about two months into my pregnancy, I can’t stop eating and devour everything in sight.
“Then buy me maternity clothes, extra-large, Ma. I’m ballooning,” I say with a wry smile. My mom merely coos.
“No, my love. You are beautiful. You are growing my grandchild. Eat. Eat!” I take a bite of my bagel to oblige. “I look forward to meeting my new little manzana!” she sings. “I love you! Bye now!”
Ana hangs up and I drop the phone on my kitchen table, shaking my head. I’m lucky that my parents are supportive about my pregnancy. At first, my dad was disapproving, but he’s pretty much come around. Ana, on the other hand, is over the moon at the prospect of becoming a grandmother. She was talking so excitedly in Spanish when I told her about my pregnancy that I had to ask her to slow down.
But yes, Ana and Ronald have offered to support me in any way I need and are both looking forward to becoming grandparents now. Suddenly, my phone vibrates as a text from Simona comes in.
“I’m down the street. Do you want a chai?”
Ever since I told my Simona about my pregnancy, she likes to “check in” on me. I think she’s worried about the fact that I’m going to be a single mom, and I appreciate it.
“Sure, sounds great,” I text back.
“Fantastic, I’ll be at your place in a few, chai in hand. BTW tell me who the father is? Pleez?”
“See you soon.”
I still haven’t told anyone who the father of my baby is. It’s not like anyone would believe me anyway because after I found out I was pregnant with Tom Masters’ baby, I did a google search on him, and what I found was not comforting. He’s a model-dating playboy. I guess he had a fiancée a while ago, but since she left him, he’s cut a swath through the starlets of LA.