I bit my lower lip as I shuffled forward along with the rest of the line as the next customer ordered. Fallon would text me again today, and what would I tell her?
Hate to break it to you, but your crush is a Grade-A jerk.
I wrinkled my nose. Nope. That wouldn’t do. I might’ve been getting a little jaded about Hollywood life, but that didn’t mean I had to crush her fantasies about the admittedly too-handsome-for-his-own-good star.
Seriously though. No one should be so handsome. He was like some lab experiment that took genes from the hottest people on the planet and spliced them together to create the perfect male specimen.
Which, now that I thought of it...wasn’t too far off. I remembered Fallon telling me that Henry’s mom was some former bombshell. One of the Bond girls, I think. And his dad was one of those huge action stars back in the day. His dad had moved offscreen, first as a director, then a producer—now he was a freakin’ living legend and his son was basically Hollywood royalty.
But yeah, sure. He was having a bad day.
The ding of a text interrupted my eyeroll and I pulled out my phone to see two words from my least favorite new co-worker.
Taylor: You’re late.
Late? Of course I was late! Taylor was a second-year intern which made her slightly senior to me, but not by much. Just enough to make me go and do the coffee run ten minutes before we were supposed to be having the meeting that would determine the rest of my life.
I sneered down at the phone as adrenaline raced through me.
I hated being late, but today I’d been doomed from the start. I blamed Kendal, one of my roommates, and the girl who seemed to have an uncanny sense of when I was going to hop into the shower. She’d then squeeze in there and take over until the entire apartment smelled like hair products before waltzing out looking like a supermodel and leaving the rest of us just enough time to brush our teeth.
I tapped my foot with impatience as I typed back: In line. Be back in a minute.
Taylor: We’re going in now. Colin’s asking where you went.
I groaned with frustration so loudly the guy in front of me turned back with arched brows. I managed a tight smile in return.
Colin was a junior associate and the guy in charge of the internship program. He was a good guy—young, smart, and from Iowa just like me so we had a bond that annoyed the crap out of Taylor.
But then again, Taylor was just annoyed. Period. That seemed to be her default setting, and really, who could blame her? The whole point of this internship was to get a job at the end of it. The number of openings for junior script developers were limited and last year Taylor hadn’t gotten the spot. They liked her enough to have her back as an intern, but my guess was that had more to do with her family connections in the industry and less to do with talent.
Or work ethic, for that matter.
The girl shifted every task she could onto me or one of the other first-year interns. But she could get away with it because she was Taylor-freaking-Hayes and everyone knew her uncle wrote the script for last year’s blockbuster action movie.
Between Taylor and Henry, it was hard not to get jaded about the nepotism in this town. I took a deep breath and reminded myself of what Colin and I had talked about over lunch just yesterday. Family connections and fancy degrees were all fine and good, but they had nothing on drive and ambition, and those factors were the reason I would be the one scoring the job at the end of this internship.
I glanced down at my phone guiltily because my mom’s last text was right there beneath Taylor’s, waiting to be answered. She was just checking in, making sure I hadn’t been drugged, murdered, and dumped in the woods—my mom watched way too many true crime shows and we all paid the price with her paranoia. The problem was, she’d also ask about my plans for next semester. I was only two weeks into this semester’s internship and my parents couldn’t wait for it to be over and done with so I could join Fallon at Ohio State.
The fact that I was hoping to get a job right after this…?
They definitely wouldn’t understand. That hadn’t been the plan, but now that I was here...now that I had a taste of what it meant to actually read scripts morning, noon, and night. To sit around and discuss them with others who shared my passion. To have my thoughts and opinions taken into consideration as part of the movie making magic?
I let out a long exhale. I didn’t have to tell my parents anything today, right? There was plenty of time to worry about college.
I shoved my phone back into the pocket of my borrowed blazer, which was a size too big but at least it covered the coffee stains I hadn’t been able to remove from this blouse after last week’s coffee run disaster.
I frowned down at my chest as I tugged at the blazer. It did cover the stains, right?
I was up next and I placed the order for ten different coffees—not one of which was just plain black coffee, of course, because that would be too easy—and waited with as much patience as I could muster as the workers made them. When I had three cup-holder trays balanced delicately in my arms, I hurried back to the office as quickly as I could without a major spill.
I’d learned my lesson on running with full coffee cups last week, thank you very much.
By the time I arrived, Colin, a couple other junior associates, and the other interns were already in the conference room, and I burst in as Colin was speaking.
“Sorry,” I murmured, my cheeks burning as Taylor and her friend Kimmie snickered at my ungraceful entrance.
Colin smiled. “Glad you could join us.”
Tommy Miller, one of the other first-year interns who I actually liked, leapt up to help me and between the two of us, we got the coffees sorted and were in our seats ready to listen in minutes.
What Colin said had my adrenaline racing all over again. “We’re trying something new this year with our interns. A sort of shark-tank style approach to figuring out who will be with us next year, either as a returning intern or, for one lucky soul, as an actual paid associate.” He grinned at us all and I was sure I wasn’t the only one holding my breath as he continued.
With a lock of his floppy brown hair drooping into his face, he kept his head down as he read from the screen in front of him. “You’ll each be given time to sort through the submissions in the slush pile, current or old submissions, doesn’t matter. Your task will be to pick the one that you think has the most potential to be developed into a film.”
I exchanged a quick, excited grin with Tommy as Taylor and her friends stared intently at Colin. We were all leaning forward, on edge with excitement.
“You’ll each pitch your script to a development team and if it’s good you’ll make it to the next round. Your goal is to make it to the final pitch where one script will be given the greenlight. The winning intern will get to work with the screenwriter to make the manuscript as polished and marketable as possible.” He glanced up with a little smile that seemed to say he knew exactly how eager we all were to dart out the door and get started.
My heart was pounding in my chest as he spelled out the rest of the details, about the final presentation and the rules we were to adhere to…
I was only half listening because my brain was racing a mile a minute. This couldn’t be happening. It was too good to be true.
Two weeks ago I’d been so sure that people were only granted one miracle in a lifetime, but here I was looking my second straight in the face. Because while all my peers had been partying it up after work these last two weeks, me and my work ethic had been holed up in my apartment, reading through scripts in the slush pile in the hopes that I could find one to bring to Colin. I’d been optimistically planning ahead just in case I had an opportunity to pitch a project of my own and now…
I grinned at Colin when he finished speaking and looked right at me.
Now I was light years ahead of the others and in the perfect position to earn a spot here after my internship ended.
Colin arched a brow as the rest o
f the interns ran toward the door, racing each other back to their desks so they could get first dibs on the script of their choosing.
“Aren’t you going to run off and read through submissions?” Colin asked.
I shook my head, not bothering to hide my triumphant grin. “No need,” I said as I got to my feet slowly to go back to my desk. “I already picked my script.”
I headed out of the conference room, not rushing for the first time since I woke up this morning. Finally, I didn’t feel like the loser of the group. I might not have had the clothes to look the part or hair that stayed perfect all day like Taylor’s or the connections to give me an in…
But I did have drive. I had ambition.
And for the first time in two weeks, I knew without a doubt that I would be the last one standing because I already had my script.
And this script?
It was a winner.
I sat down and opened my laptop. Everyone else was at square one, but all I had to do was compose an email to the screenwriter.
I opened a new email and typed in the email address I’d looked up the moment I’d finished reading his script.
Dear Leo…. I stopped typing and thought about how to phrase what I wanted to say.
Dear Leo...I’m about to make your dreams come true.
I grinned and hit backspace. I had to be formal. I had to be professional. Because I might be making Leo Lang’s day with this email, but if this worked and I won…?
His script would be more than making my day. It was my golden ticket to getting the life I’d always dreamt of.
Chapter Two
Henry
“Darling, I thought Elena was joining us?”
I froze with my spoon halfway to my mouth. “Well, that would be awkward, don’t you think? Considering we broke up.” Again.
I cringed at the unfortunate reminder of how little my parents listened to me, and that I’d been stupid enough to let Elena Rhodes reel me back in only to break my heart again.
Some might say dating a co-star was just asking for trouble, but who else was there for me to date? No one in the real world had any idea what my life was like. Even most actors couldn’t imagine it. Growing up in the shadow of fame and fortune always wondering your worth...
I gripped the gold soup spoon tighter as my mother sighed deeply over her chilled watermelon gazpacho. “Well I wish I would’ve known, darling. Now we have too many place settings.”
I clenched my jaw, trying not to react to my mother’s little dig. Why on earth did she even care about stupid place settings? It’s not like she expended any effort on it. One of the dozens of house staff she employed had set the table and with a snap of my mother’s fingers, they would undo it, removing any evidence of her disappointment in me yet again.
She was always dying for me to bring my dates around. In some sick way it was like she was living vicariously through me. Perhaps it was because any love between my parents had died long ago. Their relationship pretty much operated like a successful business merger. There was mutual success, sure. Monetary gain, definitely. But romance? Maybe at one point, but I certainly hadn’t seen it in my lifetime.
But it wasn’t my job to entertain my mother with my disaster of a love life. The only girl I’d dated in the last year and a half was Elena Rhodes. We were one of those on-again off-again couples that ruled the tabloids. It was absurd that people actually believed the ridiculous things written about us. But I guess that's just the nature of the beast.
An on-screen couple dating in real life? That was the stuff Hollywood fairytales were made of.
Too bad our fairytale wasn’t going to get a happy ending. I’d promised myself this was it. A guy could only have his heart ripped out by the same girl so many times before losing hope—and not to mention his man card.
I was determined to get over Elena. And the best way to do that was to fall in love again. Luckily, I had. With my script. The only problem was, Beyond Sunset didn’t seem to be eliciting the warm and fuzzies from anyone else. Especially my father.
I hadn’t even worked up the nerve to tell him about it yet. But today was the day. Because if I didn’t tell him now, all the rejection letters I’d received would destroy what was left of my confidence.
Honestly, I wasn’t used to rejection. It stung more than I’d imagined. But I believed in my script and I was determined to bring it to life, one way or another. Using my father’s connections had always been a last resort, but it seemed I was out of options—and time.
My father took a sip of his wine. “So, Henry, Hermosa Beach is wrapping for the season soon. What’s next?”
“Well Dad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” His distinguished eyebrows rose. “You’re not still thinking about starring in one of those low-budget indies you’re always going on about, are you? It’s completely beneath you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with indies, Dad.”
My mother wrinkled her nose like the word, indie, was actually offensive. “Darling, honestly. We’ve given you every opportunity, why would you even consider doing a film that’s not up to your caliber?”
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? I had no idea if I had any real talent as an actor or if my only true talent was being born a Landon.
I waffled under my parents’ appraising glares.
Did I really want to go there?
We’d basically had this conversation a million times. I already knew my father’s stance on indie films and just because I’d written one, I couldn’t expect it to change. I knew that. It was the whole reason I’d submitted the script under a false name. I knew as soon as anyone saw my last name, they’d assume the great Lars Landon was on-board to back it.
But that was even more laughable than me thinking I could ever make it on my own.
I’d really been hoping my script would be picked up by a producer based on merit, but I was out of time. I’d either have to ask my father for help and see if his influence could get it into the right hands or I’d have to give up and move on.
I didn’t like either option, but it’s not like I had another one.
My skin prickled as I thought about my script and how much of my heart and soul I’d put into it. It couldn’t end this way, abandoned because of my pride.
I took a deep breath, pushed my pride aside and prepared to beg my father for help. But just then my mother rang her absurd antique bell, signaling she was ready for the next course.
The staff rushed in swapping out ornate china dishes and refreshing beverages. Now was definitely not the time to beg for help on my script. The fact that I’d let the ‘help’ see a chink in my armor would be reason enough for my father to shut me down.
Landons did not grovel.
I sighed and pulled my phone out of my pocket to kill time. My mother hated it when I brought it to the table, but I knew how long these changing of the courses could take, especially if she wasn’t satisfied with whatever pureed mousse thing she’d asked the chef to prepare.
What my mother considered food was preposterous. I rolled my eyes at the miniscule meal that was being set in front of me. I’d sneezed bigger things than that—not that my impeccable manners would ever allow me to admit such things.
My stomach growled as I scrolled through my emails. What I wouldn’t give for a burger.
I paused, nearly choking on air as I read the subject of the third email in my inbox.
Manuscript Rights Request - from [email protected]
I immediately opened the email, holding my breath as I scanned the letter. It wasn’t a rejection letter! It was a request! Someone actually wanted my script! I kept reading. That someone was Isabelle Ellis and she was a junior script developer! This was legit!
“Yes!” I howled, making my parents jump, but I was too excited to care.
I knew it! I knew I could do it on my own! My script was good and this proved it. Nothing else mattered.
I breathed a sigh of relief, my chest swelling with pride. I couldn’t believe how close I’d come to ruining everything I’d worked so hard for by asking my parents for help. Perseverance paid off. And this was Hollywood, I reminded myself, the land of miracles and dreams…anything could happen.
Izzy
My morning started off the way it had the day before—with a standoff outside the bathroom. “Kendal, I swear, I’ll only be three minutes. I can’t afford to be late today.”
Kendal’s long brown hair was piled on top of her head and her normally perfect supermodel features were still puffy from sleep as she eyed me, cinching her silk robe tighter around her skinny waist.
About two feet shorter and with blonde curls that refused to be tamed, I felt like a frumpy hobbit in my oversized sleep T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. I was used to the feeling by this point. All four of my roommates were either models, actresses, or...in Kendal’s case, a fashion designer with the looks and build of a supermodel.
I clasped my hands together in front of my chest and stuck out my lower lip. I had zero shame. “Please, Kendal. I’m begging you. Just once let me show up at my office looking like I actually belong.”
Kendal arched one perfectly manicured brow as she eyed me with something akin to pity. Not surprising since I was supremely pitiful at this particular moment.
At some point during week one I’d just learned to embrace the fact that I was the house charity case. I no longer even pretended to be affronted when one of my roommates handed me a styling product or gave me unsolicited makeup tips. I hadn’t even blinked when my roommate Carolina had taken one look at my admittedly obnoxious hair the other day and had promptly taken off her signature floppy hat and planted it on my head.
Kendal was actually the kindest of them all despite her ice queen demeanor. I knew for a fact she was responsible for the blazer that magically appeared on my bed the other day after I’d come home in tears over the fact that one of my three good blouses had been ruined.
So I suppose, I shouldn’t have been all that surprised now that she caved to my begging.
Young Adulting Page 2
