“I don’t think Mason is alone that often,” I say with a snort of laughter. “And Jacob’s house is always full of animals.”
“That is true. I’ll let you go, then. Love you, Samuel.”
“Love ya too, Mom.” I end the call and put my phone on the counter. Yawning, I lean back and roll my neck. My shoulders have been tense and stiff since this morning. Letting out a breath, I eat half my dinner and go into my bedroom, stripping out of my clothes to take a shower, mind on Chloe. I want to talk to her. I want to see her and be with her more than anything.
But, fuck, I feel like I’m lying to her and I hate it. Not telling someone something isn’t the same thing as lying, I know, but in this case, what I’m not telling her is a big fucking deal. I turn on the water, thinking of how the hell I’m going to tell her.
Hey, by the way, my ex showed up the other day and told me she’s pregnant and I’m the father. But don’t worry, I love you, not Stacey. The sex was meaningless and—fuck. She’s not here now, and I’m not telling her over the phone, so I don’t have to think about it just yet. It’s going to eat away at me, dammit. I like to be prepared, and the uncertainty with everything Stacey said digs into me. I get into the shower only to get back out, walking naked through my apartment to get my phone from the counter.
With the lights on in here and my living room having two walls that are entirely windows, it’s easy to see in. I’ve never been shy, partly because I know I’m in good shape and partly because I just don’t care. I quickly scroll through my call log, going back to June, seeing the last time I called Stacey. Fuck, I want to take it all back.
But I can’t and I know I have to deal with this, somehow, someway.
“June fourth,” I mutter to myself, opening up an internet search. I was a few days off but still close in remembering when she came over, distracting me from a shitty day at work. If she got pregnant that night, then she’ll be due around the end of February.
It’s early September now, but fall always goes fast, and once the holidays pass us by, it’ll be time for her to have the baby. Letting out a slow breath, I take my phone with me back into the bathroom. Right as I’m about to get in the shower, Chloe calls.
She’s dated actors in the past…hopefully I can fake it like the best of them and act like everything is as perfect as it was before shit hit the fan this morning.
4
Chloe
“Holy shit.” Eyes wide, I reach for my mimosa. It’s only ten in the morning, but we’re celebrating with drinks at brunch. My agent, Vanessa, raises her own glass and gently clinks it against mine.
“You can say that again.” She takes a drink and sets her glass down. “Or I will: holy fucking shit.”
I blink several times and then take a small drink, not wanting to drink too much alcohol until I get some food in my belly. I stayed up until three-thirty in the morning, having gotten to a good part in my book that I couldn’t not get out. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I didn’t have my crack-of-dawn meeting with the network producers. I opted to get fifteen extra minutes of sleep and had to forgo breakfast in the process.
If I wasn’t in the state of shock I’m in, I’d be dead-ass tired right now from lack of sleep. But the deal I was just presented with was way more than I expected…in more ways than one.
“What do you think?” Vanessa asks, looking at me with a smile on her face. “It’s a lot to think about.”
“It is.” I pick up my water and take a big drink. “I need a day to think about it.”
“Take your time,” she says calmly. “The ball is in our court and now is the time to get exactly what you want out of this.”
I nod, thinking back to everything that was presented to me. What the producer told Vanessa over dinner several weeks ago was legit, when they just happened to run into each other in LA. But he left out some major details, some good and some…well, I’m not sure yet.
They offered me a ton of money upfront to sign onto the series, and I’d have a lot of control over the writing for season one and two of the show, which sounds awesome. Epic fantasy is one of my favorite genres to read and watch, but I haven’t written anything set in a complicated, magical-yet-historical setting yet. The world has already been built for me, and I’d get to come in and change the rules of magic, making it work exactly how I’d like it to.
And since the first book the series is based off of ends on a cliffhanger, I’ll head up the writing for season two, and can even do a cameo role and appear as a side character of my choosing. Of course I want to be a tavern wench, serving ale or mead in the background. I’ll have a team of writers to work with me, ones who know how to turn novels into screenplay, and the network even offered to provide me with an assistant if I need one.
Sounds great, right? Why would I even question something like this? They’re going to pay me a shit ton of money and I get to do something I never thought I’d get to do…I should be signing the papers now.
But there is a catch, of course. Two, in my case, which makes this harder.
Production is set to start in just a few months, and once we get to writing, I’ll be busy writing and meeting with the network—here in LA, which will make traveling to Chicago really hard. I shouldn’t base a life-changing career decision off a brand-new boyfriend, I know, but it’s Sam here. He’s not just some guy I started dating.
It’s Sam.
The only man I’ve ever loved. The only one I ever will love. So yes, not being able to go to Chicago and spend time with him influences my decision, along with catch number two. If the show gets renewed for a third season, I won’t be the main writer on it, basically because I’m too expensive and they’re giving me a very generous offer for seasons one and two. I’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement, and not tell anyone that the writers have taken over, and I’m not actually writing the show anymore, yet my name will still be credited as the writer.
I don’t know how to feel about that. Having my name on something I didn’t actually write? I know many super popular authors use ghost writers, but it’s also more or less common knowledge that they do. What if the showrunners write garbage episodes? Make the characters do something stupid or sexist or say something terrible and I’m blamed for it? That alone makes me hesitate…along with not being able to see Sam.
The producer promised I’d build up a good working relationship with their writers, and they’d continue the series as if I was still there.
“Right,” I tell Vanessa. “I shouldn’t even think about a new project until I’m done with my book.”
“I agree. You already have a good thing going with Nightfall. How is that book coming, by the way? Did going back to Silver Ridge help?”
“It was very inspiring.” I’m smiling again, mind going back to Sam. “It’s nice to be somewhere quiet.”
“If it helped, go back,” she says with a laugh. “I’m going to go over the contract from the network with a fine-toothed comb and have another agent sit in on it with me. There are things right away I’m changing before we can even consider moving forward. It’ll take me a week or so to get a new contract drawn up, so don’t let this stress you out,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “I know you.”