Except for the distant sound of highway traffic, the night was quiet and the sky mostly clear, considering this was Los Angeles. Quint looped her arm through his, and they climbed the cracked concrete steps of her apartment building.
“I’d invite you in, but I have three roommates and some friends are staying with us until they find their own places.” Chrystelle turned to him and half expected to see fairy dust sift over them. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“My pleasure.” He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes with such meaning, she thought her chest would melt. “We didn’t finish our conversation about your script. Call my office tomorrow. I’ll leave word that they’re to schedule our next meeting immediately.”
“I can’t believe you like what I’ve written.” It was an enchanted day she didn’t want to end.
“As you said, it’s a good match for Fairchild Films. I’ll make a few calls and see about getting you proper representation.”
“This is all happening so fast.”
“Things happen fast here, but I’ll have an attorney on hand to make sure you understand every aspect of the negotiation.” His lips gently touched hers—a chaste kiss that made her heart race. “Good night, Chrystelle.”
“Good night.” Chrystelle was in a daze when she unlocked her door and stumbled inside her apartment. She pressed her back to the door and released a long-held breath. Did today truly happen?
Quint was interested in her script, but he also seemed interested in her. How was that possible? She was nothing like the women she saw at the ceremony this evening. They were elegant and glamorous and said clever things, just like in the movies. She should be clever; after all, she wanted to be a scriptwriter, but tonight she’d been so starstruck, she couldn’t think of anything to say other than how glad she was to meet so many wonderful people.
Inside the apartment was dark. By the light of a flashing neon sign, she picked her way through sleeping bags covering the floor and crept into the bedroom. Three mattresses covered the floor. The two women laying on the other mattresses were fast asleep.
A flickering light from a streetlamp filtered through the window and splashed against the closet door mirror. Chrystelle stepped to the reflective surface and gazed at the woman in a sparkling evening gown, her hair flowing over her shoulders, her makeup smooth and translucent making her skin appear flawless, her eyes large and shining.
She touched fingers to her lips that still looked glossy and perfect even after Quint had kissed them. She closed her eyes remembering the tenderness and the jolt that rocked through her when his lips touched hers. His kiss had been fireworks and stars and Tinker Bell waving her magic wand. It had shaken the universe.
She reached out a hand to touch the magnificent creature staring at her but as her fingers bumped glass, she gave a soft exhale. She’d remember this night forever, because she couldn’t imagine looking this lovely again.
And she couldn’t imagine Quint ever kissing her again.
Nor would she ever end up with a prince named Quinton Fairchild who had been more magical than a fairy godmother.
Chapter 6
Quint stood on the sidewalk and stared up at Chrystelle’s third-floor apartment window. No light shone from within, and he wondered if she moved in the dark through her apartment. He wasn’t ready to leave her, but he’d see her tomorrow. Turning away, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode toward the waiting limousine.
Jerry opened the door. “Shall I take you home, sir?”
“Yes, Jerry. Thank you.” He climbed into the rear compartment that seemed cavernous without Chrystelle and her spirited nature.
Jerry moved to close the door, but Quint caught it before it shut. “On second thought, take me to my parents’ house.”
Jerry nodded and soon the limousine was cruising down the highway before exiting and heading to a well-lit community of high walls and wrought iron gates, far from Chrystelle’s humble neighborhood. Quint didn’t like that the neglected third-floor walk-up was all she could afford. What was it like to live in an apartment packed with people in a modest neighborhood? His chest tightened. Chrystelle lived in a neighborhood where people struggled to survive. He’d never know what it was like to work just to meet basic needs. Neither would any of his friends.
He wouldn’t deny that he was spoiled, but his parents expected him to achieve and not ride their coattails. He was glad they did. The Hollywood doors didn’t open because of his pedigree. Even though he worked for his father, Malcolm handed him nothing. He was expected to climb the ladder with the other Fairchild Films employees.
Even now he had plans in place to expand the divisions of the production company. His father’s vision had been adequate for his time, but video was expanding into other areas and he intended to lead the way. Fairchild Films wouldn’t just be known in Hollywood. His vision included studios across the country and around the world.
He worked hard, but his life hadn’t been a struggle. Chrystelle had come from a small town. How shocking had it been for her to move from a close-knit community to Hollywood? Chrystelle was young and beautiful. And very trusting, though living in LA probably taught her not everyone could be trusted. Even he had learned some hard lessons when it came to trust.
The gates to his parents’ mansion, his childhood home, swung open. The limousine glided down the tree-lined drive and around the water fountain before stopping in front of the slate steps and the carved oak doors his father had bought and imported from a crumbling Irish castle.
Jerry opened the rear door.
“Thank you, Jerry. You don’t need to stay. Go home. Get some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll drive to the studio with my father.”
“Very good, sir.” Jerry waited until Quint waved his hand over the reader by the front door and stepped inside the mansion before climbing into the limousine and driving away.
Motion sensor lights illuminated the area when Quint stepped into the entryway. Polished marble covered the floor of the foyer which was at least four times the size of Chrystelle’s apartment. The welcoming arms staircase surrounded a chandelier before sweeping to the second floor.
Quint’s stomach growled, reminding him he’d eaten little at the ceremony. He’d been busy greeting people and introducing Chrystelle to friends and colleagues who could help her with her career. Not all would. Many were focused on their own careers. They didn’t help Hollywood newcomers, despite saying they would. Offering to help was more important than actually helping, which had always disappointed Quint. He was honest and he expected others to be honest in return, but he took comfort in knowing some of his colleagues would do what they said and extend offers to Chrystelle.
This afternoon, when Quint had read the first page of Chrystelle’s script, he realized her story was marketable. He wanted to hire her as a staff writer with Fairchild Films. It would be the platform she needed to hone her skill for future projects. He’d helped many people get their start in this industry. He was glad to share opportunities with those starting out.
Quint crossed the foyer of his parents’ home. A lean man in a charcoal suit and black tie stepped through the arc created by the open-arms staircase.