Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Well, there’ll be a brunch for you guys and for some of the prominent locals in the industry.”
“And?” Now I was getting excited… Ronnie’s tone had rubbed off on me.
“And, one of the people attending is Miranda Morales Sanchez.”
“No!” My gasp was so loud it probably reached the far end of the cabin.
“Yes!” Ronnie all but squealed.
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” Ronnie said. “Aiden told me himself.”
“But she’s amazing.”
That was an understatement. Miranda Morales Sanchez was one of the most influential female directors in the US. I’d seen every one of her films.
“My god, I can’t believe I’ll get to meet her.” I’d probably end up too tongue-tied to speak, but just being in her presence was enough for me. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.”
“Thank you for telling me. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”
“That’s not why I told you.” Ronnie sounded a little exasperated. “You have to show her your screenplay.”
“What?” My voice came out in a loud screech, and from out in the main room, I heard Zeus bark once in response. But Ronnie couldn’t be serious. I was the very definition of a rookie screenwriter. Showing the script to Miranda would be like a child showing Wolfgang Puck the toaster pastry he’d made.
“Don’t say you can’t, because you can,” Ronnie said. I wasn’t sure when she’d gained the ability to read my mind.
“It’s not even finished,” I said, noting the shocked quality of my voice.
“Well, finish it, then. What else have you got to do? I can’t imagine you sitting around playing pinochle with Otto and the others.”
“I—I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. And what’s more, I’m going to get Aiden to make sure you do.”
“Seriously, Ronnie, it’s not that good.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it’s so damn hard to write.”
“That’s what every writer I’ve ever known has said.” She laughed. “Please try to remember that this is good news. It’s a chance to get your screenplay into the hands of the best possible director for it.”
“I just don’t know what to do.”
“Finish your script,” she said promptly. “Your desire to write the screenplay is so strong, it almost got you squashed like a bug in the middle of nowhere. That means you want it bad. You owe it to yourself to finish it and show it to Miranda.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think, just write,” she demanded.
The corner of my mouth tugged upward. “I think you get the best results if you do both.”
“Whatever. Just finish your screenplay. And ignore those men, no matter how hot they are.”
“That, I can definitely do.”
At least I thought I could. One thing was certain—I’d make damn sure I wasn’t in the living room tomorrow at three o’clock. They could do their workout without an audience next time.
An hour or two later, I ventured out into the living room. Tristan and Drew were sitting on the sofa, their feet up on the coffee table. Carter was in the recliner. All three of them were watching TV.
“Sleeping Beauty has emerged from her tower,” Drew said when he spotted me.
“Isn’t that Rapunzel?” Tristan asked. He was definitely in relaxation mode. He had on faded blue jeans and a gray t-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hands were behind his head. “There’s some chili out in the kitchen if you want some.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But you guys don’t have to feed me.”
Carter leveled his dark eyes at me. “Are we supposed to let you starve?”
I flushed. “I meant, you don’t have to cook for me, though it’s very kind of you.”
Drew grinned. “You might not think it’s kind once you taste our cooking.”
God, nothing I said ever came out right around these three. “Speaking of food, I want to help pay for the groceries, too.”
“You already did,” Tristan said, his eyes on the flat screen television above the mantle.
I frowned. I hadn’t given them a cent so far.
“You paid for your own groceries,” he continued. “Winston told us he delivered to you, too. So, we all paid for food—it’s just that ours is a little easier to get to at the moment.”
“And has fewer splinters in it,” Drew added.
He was joking, but it made me consider things I hadn’t thought of before. “Do you think the fridge is still on?”
“No.” Carter spoke flatly. “I turned off the power. The fuse box was off the kitchen.”
“It seemed like the safest course of action,” Drew said. “Who knows what damage that tree did to the electrical system.” He stretched and took his feet off the coffee table. “We were just about to watch a movie. Want to join us?”
“Uh, thanks, but I’ll just get some food.”
“I thought we were going to watch her video first?” Tristan said to the others as I made my way to the kitchen
I froze, replaying his words in my head. Her video? Had they found out I was an actress? My blood chilled as I watched Tristan do something on his phone. A moment later, a clip of an unfamiliar woman filled the screen above the fireplace.