Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Twenty-seven…I think.” Seb lifted his glass. “Out of curiosity, how old are you?”
“I’m thirty-seven. You?”
“Forty-eight.” He twitched his nose in distaste. “Two years from fifty and on the doorstep of antiquity. I’m fucking ancient.”
I snickered at his deadpan delivery. “You’re not that old.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not even forty yet,” he scoffed.
“I’ll be there soon enough. Thank you very much.” And unlike Seb, I had nothing to show for it. I pushed that unpleasant thought aside and added, “Age is just a number.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say. But those numbers mark time, and I don’t understand where the years went. I feel young. I feel like the same person I always was…smarter for sure, but still me.” Seb pointed at his chest before slumping in his seat a bit. “Older me.”
“That’s how time works.”
“I know, I know. Time is a wicked bitch. Get this…my oldest son is almost thirty and he’s madly in love with his boyfriend—who’s a great guy and kind of a saint ’cause Charlie’s a handful. And he’d kill me if he heard me say ‘almost thirty,’ so let’s keep that between us.”
I made a zipped-lips motion. “So, he’s age sensitive like you, eh?”
“Very much so.” Seb smiled indulgently. “Char is also a planner. I have no doubt that he’ll be married within the next two years, which means…I’ll be a grandfather soon after.”
“That’s brilliant.” I gave myself a mental high five for throwing out a timely Britishism.
“Brilliant? Are you crazy? I’m not mature enough to be a grandparent. Everyone who knows me knows that I barely have the parent thing down.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Trust me, it is,” he huffed, reaching for his empty glass.
The bartender must have noticed because a fresh Scotch showed up out of the blue. The server bowed slightly and turned to me. “Can I get you another martini, sir?”
“No, thanks. I’m driving,” I replied.
Seb nodded his thanks, eyeing me thoughtfully over the rim. “What was I saying?”
“Something about your old age,” I deadpanned, chuckling when he flipped me off.
“Hmph. Do you have kids?”
“No.” I inwardly winced the way I always did when that question came up in conversation.
“One piece of advice…make sure you’re ready, ’cause it’s hard. It’s great too, of course, but it’s challenging. There’re so many rules, and I’m terrible at following rules. To be honest, I think I’ll be a better grandparent than I am a dad.”
Okay, this was a weird conversation. Until I could figure out how to segue back to a job opportunity for me, I had to go with the flow. “How so?”
“Grandparents get to spoil kids, and I’m great at that. I’ll let them eat what they want, stay up all night watching scary movies or playing video games. Then I’ll send ’em home with a suitcase full of new toys and money in their pockets, close the door, and return to my regularly scheduled life. I’d be a fucking hero every time. No chance of getting anything wrong.” He darted his gaze to the now-crowded bar area. “That doesn’t work with your actual children.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
Seb hummed. “Married, girlfriend, boyfriend?”
Buzz, buzz.
I silenced my phone and set it facedown on the table. “Nope. I’m single.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He stared at me for a moment, then sipped his drink thoughtfully. “I’m not flirting. I have strict rules about flirting with actors…and stuntmen.”
I smiled, stupidly pleased that he’d admitted he was sort of attracted to me. And that he’d given me my segue. “Good rule, except I’m not an employee anymore.”
He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Oh, right. Well, give me your call sheet info. I’ll talk to Hal or—”
“I’d be up for something else too,” I intercepted. “I’m more of an actor than a stuntman. I don’t know if there’s a part for me in the current Baxter production, but if there’s an opportunity in your upcoming London-based project, I’d be happy to be of service. I’ve been told I’m a natural villain. Or accomplice. Or whatever other parts might be available. I can do a medley of accents too…Irish, Scottish, French, Italian.”
Buzz, buzz.
Damn it.
I flashed a sheepish smile and slipped my vibrating cell into my pocket.
“You should probably answer that.” Seb must have sensed my hesitation. He circled his wrist and shook his head. “Seriously. I won’t be offended.”
And now I didn’t have a choice. My phone was still buzzing away and Seb was waiting for me to put an end to it. I glanced at the caller ID briefly and winced, hoping this would only take a minute.
“Hello, Macy.”
“Trenton?”
“Yes, it’s me. Did you need something?”
“Yeah, I need to know why you’re talkin’ like the Queen of fuckin’ England,” Macy cackled on the line.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I lowered the volume on my cell, but that didn’t help. I couldn’t hear her above the din of nearby patrons. The bar had filled over the past hour or so. It wasn’t max capacity, but it was crowded enough to make a phone conversation difficult. Unless you were talking to someone as loud as Macy.