How To Wed A Billionaire (How To... Book 3)

by Layla Valentine

  It’s an LA number I don’t recognize. It could be a sales call. For a second, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but a little voice whispers at me to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Rachel Rios?” a female voice that’s somewhat familiar asks.

  “This is her.”

  “This is Tracey, the casting director from your audition today.”

  My heart does a flip.

  “Uh, h—hi,” I stammer.

  “Is this a good time?”

  Who is it? Molly mouths at me.

  Casting director, I mouth back, but it’s clear she doesn’t understand me, looking at her expression.

  “Yes,” I tell Tracey, “this is a good time.”

  “Great. Listen, the producers loved your audition.”

  What part, exactly? The bit where I was late? Or the scene-stealing moment where I lost my temper with a stranger?

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, and they want to hire you. You came across as very real and raw. The tech has already found you a match.”

  “They found me a match?” I repeat. My voice sounds far away, like it’s coming from the end of a long hall.

  Molly’s fork hits her plate. “What?”

  “What do you say?” Tracey asks. “Filming starts in two weeks. I have the contract sitting in front of me. I can email it over right now.”

  Butterflies flutter their way up my throat.

  Just like that, it doesn’t matter that only a few minutes ago Molly and I were saying I’m better off without this show.

  I’ve been offered the kind of exposure opportunity that might not come along twice. Millions of people will tune in and see my face, get to know me as a person. Not to mention, appearing on the show could lead to industry connections. Events where film producers and directors are present. It could even help get the investment my shelved movie needs.

  It’s not the path to acting that I imagined for myself, but that’s life. Sometimes blessings aren’t anything like you expect them to be.

  “Yes,” I tell Tracey. “I’m in.”

  “Great!”

  Molly waves her hands above her head. “What?” she hisses. “Is that casting?”

  Biting into my smile, I nod. I give Tracey my email address to send the contract to, and we hang up.

  “Were you just offered the job?” Molly asks.

  “I was.” My hands shake as I put down the phone. Is this really happening?

  “Oh my God.”

  We stare at each other for a long moment.

  Finally, I say, “I want it. I know we were just talking about the reasons—”

  “It’s a great opportunity,” Molly interrupts. “It’s the kind of thing that can be whatever you make of it, you know?”

  I nod. I do know. Some people have gotten on reality shows, made complete fools of themselves, and ruined any chances they had of succeeding further in entertainment. On the other hand, some people have done extraordinarily well thanks to their shows.

  Rachel Rios. Reality star.

  It’s not me.

  But if I commit to approaching this like a part for a fictional role, it can be. Whatever’s needed from me, I can give. If there’s one thing I can do well, it’s perform.

  Chapter 6

  “As you can see,” Annie says, sidestepping so I have a good view of the northern field through our video call, “it’s a little dry.”

  I cringe. “When’s the next forecast for rain?”

  “Not soon enough.”

  It used to be that I checked the weather in East Texas daily, even after I moved to California. It was my way of staying connected with my home.

  “It’ll happen soon,” I promise my little sister.

  “Hey, how did that thing go?”

  She talks as she walks, holding the phone out but only catching bits and pieces of her face. Mostly, I see the ranch we grew up on. The tire swing Dad put up when we were in elementary school. The chicken coop.

  “The reality show audition?” My breath is shallow. It’s been years since I’ve kept anything from my sister. The older we get, the more similar we become.

  Except for this one. Annie could never understand why I’ve chosen to go on reality television and marry a stranger. Hell, a week ago, I wouldn’t have understood it.

  Even though I told her about the audition, that was when it was nothing more than exactly that. She’s heard me gripe and get excited about hundreds of auditions. At this point, she probably sees them as doors that lead to nowhere.

  I doubt she expected me to get this job.

  “I got it,” I say, biting the bullet. “They offered it to me yesterday.”

  Her jaw drops. She stops walking.

  “Seriously?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I draw my legs up onto the metal chair. The tiny patio off the apartment’s living room is sunny, but I suddenly feel cold.

  “What did you say?”

  The lump in my throat slows down my answer. “I said…yes.”

  Annie’s brown eyes are wide. Cautious.

  “You didn’t think I’d get it, huh?” I ask. “Neither did I.”

  “You’re gonna do this? You’re gonna marry a stranger?”

  I stiffen. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  Hopefully, not within earshot.

  “They’re in town.”

  The news makes me relax. “Yes. I’m going to do it. It’s not a real marriage, anyway. We’ll be divorced after two weeks.”

  Annie’s face is doubtful. Where we come from, things are what they are. Your word is your word. You stick to it when you give it. Land and family are everything.

  And marriage?

  The community we grew up in has a traditional point of view, to put it simply. When you slip on those rings and say those vows, it’s for life. If you decide to break that promise, there better be a damned good reason for it.

  It’s a moral code I can respect, but there’s more to me than that life.

  I mean, I’m in Los Angeles, not Middle-of-Nowhere Texas. There are some big reasons for that. Even though I appreciate the place I come from, I also want the chance to explore and figure out exactly what’s right for me.

  “Wow.” Annie’s voice is small. She takes a seat on the picnic table in front of our family home. Finally, the screen gives me a proper view of her face.

  “Yeah. But it’s good. It’s what I want.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes,” I say without any hesitation.

  Not that it matters. I already signed the contract. I’m in this for good.

  “I’m going to make the best of what I’ve been given,” I add.

  Now there’s the full truth.

  “Okay.” Annie smiles. “Mom called you the other day, you know.”

  “I know.” Even through the screen, it’s hard to meet her eyes. “I’ll call her back soon.”

  “I don’t think they’d be as upset about this as you’re predicting.”

  “But they’d be upset,” I answer, squirming in my seat a little. “There’s no denying that.”

  Annie’s lips twist. “You never know. People can surprise you. Especially when you’re not defensive when presenting things.”

  For a twenty-year-old, she can be extremely wise.

  “True.” I blow her a kiss. “Thanks for chatting. I’ll call Mom and Dad soon, just…keep the whole reality show thing between me and you for now. Please?”

  “You don’t even have to ask. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  We end the video chat, and I lean back in my chair. Beneath the second-floor patio, a car door slams. A muffled shout comes from down the street, and on the sidewalk across, one leashed dog barks at another.

  Lifting my forgotten coffee from the table, I take a sip. Cold.

  It’s late in the morning, and I’ve yet to really get moving. Molly was right about the pay from the reality show: it’s not a t
on, but it’s good. Enough for me to live off of for a few months, anyway.

  Still, I should be out driving, making something to put away. That’s one lesson you learn as an artist. Make hay while the sun shines. There’s always bound to come another time where you’re too busy on projects to make money, and that’s why you need to have as much squirreled away as possible.

  Currently, my stash wouldn’t last one little squirrel through winter.

  Setting the coffee back down, I eye my laptop, also on the table. I brought it out here with me to do my daily internet rounds, which includes checking casting calls and social media.

  Ever since I got the call from Tracey, I’ve been extra careful about what I put online. The few posts I’ve made have been resigned to very safe arenas. A pic of me and Molly outside our favorite tea house. One of me giving the peace sign while hiking Runyon Canyon. There’s nothing on there that could be misconstrued.

  Right now, I’m staring at the computer for a whole new reason. There’s someone on my mind. Try as hard as I can, he can’t be shaken.

  Who was that Aaron guy at the audition? Molly didn’t know. I could call Tracey up and ask her about him, but that seems unprofessional. I don’t want to rock the boat.

  My heart races at the very idea of sleuthing. It’s only because I’m curious. Not because I have any interest in seeing him again.

  Additionally, what if he shows up on the set? Say he’s working on the show, either as a member of the crew or a producer after all? Can I handle that? He’ll try to rile me up, for sure. That kind of thing seems to bring him pleasure.

  Unfortunately, I realize once I try to start my search, there’s nothing to go on.

  Reaching for my phone again, I call Molly. Even though she’s at work, she’ll answer if she’s able to.

  The phone rings four or five times. I’m about to hang up and shoot her a text when the next ring is cut off halfway through.

  “Hello,” Molly answers.

  “Hey.” My response is much slower. I roll my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You haven’t…” Clearing my throat, I switch the phone to my other ear. “You haven’t heard anything about that Aaron dude, right? He hasn’t popped up or anything?”

  On her end, there’s the sound of people talking and phones ringing in the distance.

  “No,” Molly says. “Did something happen?”

  My stomach squirms. “No, but something could. What if he comes back?”

  “Like to our apartment? God, Rachel. Was he really that creepy?”

  “No, no,” I quickly say. “That’s not what I mean. What if he’s at the shoot?”

  “Then he’s there,” Molly says slowly, quizzically. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I tug on the hem of my shirt, which I slept in. After waking up a few hours ago, getting ready consisted of tugging on some jeans and putting my uncombed hair into a bun on top of my head.

  “You’re nervous. I get that. What you’re about to do is a big thing.”

  “I’m not nervous!” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Did I really just yell at her?

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

  “It’s okay. Look, if you’re…what I mean is, it would be understandable for you to be anxious right now, and that’s why you feel a need to be as prepared as possible. You want to know what you’re headed into. It’s the right move for any new job.”

  “Yeah. I know.” The spot between my eyes aches.

  I’m a little worked up over what I’ve agreed to, but nerves isn’t all of it. Not unless you count the nerves caused by Aaron.

  There’s something about that guy that gets me riled up.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I want to be as prepared as possible. That’s why I need to know who he was.”

  “Maybe time will tell.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, starting to regret making this phone call. It makes me look terribly needy. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for talking to me. I know you’re busy.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll always answer when you call.” Molly lowers her voice. “So long as my bosses aren’t around.”

  “Right. Well, don’t get in trouble. Have a good afternoon.”

  “I will. Try not to stress too much, Rach.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Hanging up, I take the phone, my computer, and the coffee mug into the kitchen. The apartment is eerily quiet. It’s unsettling.

  I’m used to being gone most days. The movie shoot took up a lot of my time, and on the days I wasn’t working, I stayed busy with errands, going to the gym, and prepping for my next shoot day.

  Without that structure, I’m lost.

  Dumping the remains of my cold coffee down the sink, I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin. There’s only one thing to do.

  Take the anxiety I feel and use it to better myself. Come the first day of this new job, I’ll be as ready as possible.

  It doesn’t matter that it’s one thing in particular that makes me the most nervous. Or rather, one person.

  The memory of flashing hazel eyes turns my legs to jelly.

  “Ugh.” Shaking my head, I push away from the sink.

  It’s wrong that such an asshole should have an effect on me, that he should be taking up any space in my mind at all.

  Here’s hoping all my fears regarding Aaron are unfounded and I’ll never, ever see him again.

  Chapter 7

  Zipping up my suitcase, I straighten and look down at it. It rests on my bed, nearly bursting at the seams from everything stuffed in it.

  “I wish they’d given me a list of things to pack,” I say.

  “Half of your life is in there,” Molly says. “I’m sure you’ll be okay. If there’s anything you really need, they’ll either have it or they’ll send someone out for it.”

  I nod, but I don’t feel convinced. Despite my promise to myself to be as prepared as possible, I feel anything but. Over the last two weeks, I’ve watched enough reality TV that it’s a wonder my brain hasn’t melted.

  My intention was to scan the shows for clues on how to conduct myself. Unfortunately, reality shows love to showcase the most dramatic moments. If there are people keeping their cool, that rarely makes the final cut.

  “I wish you were coming with me.”

  Molly squeezes my hand. “I know. It’s times like this that makes me wish my job was more on-set and less in-office. You’ll do great, though.”

  “Two weeks.” I take a long breath.

  With a stranger.

  Yikes.

  And I don’t even know what the house will be like. Is it big enough for the both of us, or will this unknown man and I be constantly on top of each other?

  What if I hate him? What if it’s the opposite? Say I fall deeply in love with him and the feeling is not reciprocated? The app is supposed to join perfect matches, but technology isn’t foolproof.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Molly says.

  “Hm?”

  “You’re thinking too much,” she repeats. “I can tell by the way your eyebrows are pushing together. You get this look.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  She makes a sympathetic face and pulls me in for a hug. “No. But, despite that, everything will work out fine.”

  I squeeze her tight, wishing the hug could last a little longer. Say, two more weeks.

  My ringing phone prompts me to let go. It’s my mom.

  Sucking in a breath, I hit the answer button.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Rachel, there you are. I called yesterday, you know.”

  Guilt flooding my heart, I take a seat at the end of my bed. “I saw. Sorry. I’ve been busy with…”

  My parents still don’t know about the reality show. They’ll find out at some point. The thing will be airing on TV, for Pete’s sake. Even if they don’t see the show, people who know us will be sure to
mention it to them.

  It will be a thousand times better if I tell my mom and dad what I’m up to, rather than have them hear it from someone else, but I can’t seem to get myself there.

  Not yet.

  Plus, my contract states I need to keep this whole thing under-wraps until it airs, anyway.

  “Auditions,” I say. “I’ve been pretty busy with auditions. Been driving a lot, too.”

  I can feel Molly watching me, but I stay turned away from her face. She hasn’t offered any input on what she thinks of me keeping such a big secret from my parents. Today is already too emotional of a day. If she’s disappointed in me, I don’t want to hear it.

  “That’s what your sister said,” Mom muses. “Still, it would be nice to hear from you every once in a while.”

  “I know. Hey, um, I might be a little out of touch the next two weeks.”

  Make that completely out of touch. The production will be taking my phone for the duration of the shoot.

  In my mind, it’s an absolutely crazy move, but fine. Whatever. It’s their show.

  If there’s some sort of emergency with my family, Molly will let me know. She has their numbers, and they have hers.

  “What’s happening?” she asks.

  Her voice is so sweet and genuinely curious. I hate that I’ve put space between us.

  Okay. Here it goes. Time to tell her the truth…kind of.

  “I’m working on a project. It’s somewhat secret, though. I can’t tell anyone about it.”

  “What is it? What’s it called?”

  Lord, my mom. Bless her heart. I love her to death.

  “I can’t reveal that. I signed a non-disclosure agreement, sorry.” My lips are too dry. I lick them, but it does no good.

  “Oh. Okay.” Her laugh is light. “Look at that. Off one job and on to the next. My girl is gonna be a Hollywood starlet in no time.”

  She doesn’t know about the post-production funding being slashed for the movie.

  “Yeah,” I croak, because it’s good to hear her approval and it could be that I care way too much about what my parents think of me.

  Molly points at her wrist. If she wore a watch, she’d be telling me to look at it.

  “Hey, Mom, I’m glad to talk to you, but I need to go. I’m sorry.