“You got that right. I’m no dummy.” He lifted me off the floor and planted a sweet peck on my lips.
Walker and I had fallen into a comfortable routine. Everything between us flowed easily and naturally, like we were always meant to be together.
He stopped hanging out at night clubs and I met his friends. It turned out all of them knew exactly who I was, even from before the night of the concert. Most of them had been friends with him for years, and were there through Walker’s breakdown after we lost contact. They were thrilled for him, and couldn’t believe we’d finally found each other after all this time.
Sometimes I still couldn’t believe it either.
My parents had been just as excited when I brought Walker home one evening. My mom had actually started crying when she saw him, saying she couldn’t believe that the little fifteen-year-old boy from Malibu had turned into such a successful and handsome man. She insisted on telling embarrassing stories that Walker reveled in hearing.
I’d wanted her to stop, some of the memories were too painful to relive, but Walker had seemed genuinely interested in knowing everything I went through during our separation. My dad had just smiled, seemingly content with the chaos around him, and I felt tremendous relief at their approval. Everyone around us called our situation unbelievable, but I knew it was more along the lines of a miracle.
Walker grinned at me and set me gently back on my feet. “I’m here on official business, woman. So we should get to it.”
I tugged down my black pencil skirt to straighten it and walked back toward my desk. Stalling, I fidgeted with a stack of papers as Walker made himself comfortable in my guest chair.
“Did you finish reading the script?” he asked, knowing full well that I had finished it last night.
“I did. Did you?” I countered, knowing he finished it last weekend.
“Yeah. I really liked it.”
I smiled. “Me too. I think it’s a brilliant first role for you. It’s so different than how the public sees you, so you won’t get typecast and only get scripts where you’re a lonely singer or a musician on the run. I love that this character doesn’t sing. Thank God there’s no singing at all in the whole movie,” I exclaimed, throwing my arms wide with enthusiasm.
He laughed as I recalled the multitude of scripts I’d received since the announcement in the trades proclaiming that I was his agent. Every script had included a singing role for Walker to play; it was beyond ridiculous.
That was, until the day Keri’s dad had a script couriered over to me with a role for Walker that was unlike him at all in real life. It was an action flick, with Walker’s character a single dad fighting for his daughter. Apparently he blew them away at the audition. I hadn’t attended…by choice. Agents didn’t normally accompany their clients on auditions, and I wanted to keep that line clear. Our professional relationship was already muddled enough.
“So, the contract looks pretty standard,” I told him. “You’re getting a really nice flat-rate paycheck with a bonus if the movie grosses a certain dollar amount upon release. There are also a couple of other bonus provisions based on DVD sales and such. Before the film is released, you have to keep quiet about the details of the story and only reveal things about your character that have been approved by the producer or director.” I pushed the stack of papers toward him. “You just have to sign all the pages I’ve flagged.”
Walker grinned and accepted the pen I offered. His hand scribbled furiously from page to page, each signature more illegible than the last. He looked up. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I’ll courier these back to Mr. Sampson’s office, and will get in touch with your manager with regard to your schedule. They plan to film for six weeks straight, but things don’t always go smoothly, so I’d plan for extra time. And then there will be a press junket
afterward, both domestic and international. You shouldn’t schedule another tour yet.”
Walker laughed. “Another tour? I need to get in the studio and record all the new songs I’ve been writing first.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re such a slacker.” I laughed at my own joke, knowing how untrue my words were.
Walker never stopped. His head constantly churned with new melodies and lyrics. He carried a notepad in his pocket everywhere we went, and he utilized the voice record feature on his cell phone more than anyone I’d ever known—humming, beat boxing, and singing chords into it at all hours of the day and night.
And I loved it. His dedication, determination, and work ethic only made me love and respect him more.
“Well,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to work. I might stop by the studio on the way home and lay down some tracks. Text me before you leave to see where I am, okay?”
“Okay.”
Walker leaned across my desk and gave me a soft kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
As he headed out of my office, I watched his backside until he suddenly stopped. He turned around, catching my gaze on his ass, and said, “Oh, Madison. I almost forgot.”
I cocked my head to the side and waited.
“I got you a gift to celebrate our first movie contract.”
“A gift? Walker,” I started to object, realizing I’d never get used to the way he spoiled me.