Neevah
“So what’dyou think of Trey during the screen test?” Canon’s production partner, Evan, asks.
“He was great.” I sip my virgin mojito. “I mean, I thought so. What’d you think?”
“Totally agree.” Evan glances around the incredible rooftop restaurant, Open Air, where we’re having drinks and an early dinner. The Olympic-size pool is positioned as the aquamarine centerpiece of the roof, accessorized by lounge chairs and VIP curtained pods offering additional privacy. “Galaxy loves him, too. I’m not the one who needs convincing.”
“Let me guess. Canon.”
“You got it. It took him forever to cast your part. I don’t expect him to be that picky on Cal’s role, but it’s Canon, so . . .”
He leaves the comment unfinished like it’s self-explanatory, and I guess it is. Canon’s reputation for being exacting precedes him and makes him casting me, an unknown, that much more miraculous.
“He’s en route, by the way.” Evan glances at his phone. “He had to speak across town at this event where he was being honored.”
My heartbeat hiccups.
Stop doing that.
This crush, attraction—whatever it is—has to be put down before it causes any awkwardness and costs me this opportunity.
“I, um, don’t want him to feel like he has to rush to get here,” I say, twirling the miniature umbrella from my drink. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to entertain me either, hanging out tonight.”
“You kidding me? I need the break and you fly back tomorrow. It’s a chance for us to get to know each other. Besides, I love this place. I don’t come here enough.”
Graham booked me in The V, a boutique hotel in the heart of downtown LA. It screams class and money like a dog whistle. The rooftop restaurant is the cherry on the literal top of the spectacular building.
“This place is something else.” I take in the crowded outdoor dining space, which resembles a high-fashion photo shoot. “Does everyone in this town look like a supermodel?”
“It’s LA and this is a popular spot to be seen, so everyone always looks their best. You never know when you might be ‘discovered.’”
With my hair scraped back, wearing only light makeup and a simple sundress, I feel a little underdressed compared to everyone else on the roof. I expect Tyra Banks to pop up out from behind a potted palm tree any minute and order me to smize. I work in theater, in New York, so there are always beautiful people around, of course. These people, though, set against the balmy glamor of the LA skyline, glitter like a tray full of diamonds, everyone in on a beauty secret that makes them glow.
“Monk’s on his way, too,” Evan says, glancing up from his phone. “He texted me. He was in a session, but he wants to see you.”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for Monk dragging Canon to see me in Splendor.”
“Things happen like they should, I guess.”
I’m not sure I’ve believed that in a long time. The things that hurt you most—it’s sometimes hard to accept that those are the result of fate or a deity’s deliberation. Much easier to believe the universe means us good, and good will prevail. Either way, I’ll always be grateful for Monk’s role in getting me here.
“This is actually my sister’s place,” Evan continues. “Well, stepsister.”
“This place belongs to your sister? Uh, stepsister?”
“Her family owns the hotel and the rooftop is kind of her pet project.”
“Some pet. This place is gorgeous.”
“It’s even better when it’s empty. It doesn’t open ’til five, so occasionally she lets us up here before the madness starts. Can’t beat a gorgeous view of the city and the best mimosas in town.”
“Nice. You said she’s your stepsister. How long have your parents been married?”
“Oh, they’re not anymore. That particular marriage only lasted about nine months. My father is, shall we say, indecisive. He just remarried again.” Evan raps his knuckles against the table. “Knock on wood, sixth time’s the charm.”
“Six? Wow. Is she your only stepsibling?”
“I have . . .” He counts on his fingers and squints. “Twelve.”