Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  “How many types are there?” I ask him and look over at the counter that must have about twenty takeout containers. “Is that all soup?”

  “Yes,” he tells me. “I didn’t know which one you would want, so I ordered from five different restaurants.”

  “Just chicken is fine,” I say, and I look out the window. “Is it hot outside?” I ask him, and he nods his head.

  “There was a storm last night, but I think it broke,” he says, pouring some soup in a bowl for me. He puts it in the microwave and then grabs me some water and crackers. He doesn’t say anything else, and I know he has all the questions to ask me, and I have to tell him. The beep tells him that the soup is ready, so he grabs it and brings it to me and then grabs his own.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” I say, and a tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. “For everything.”

  “Baby girl.” He hugs me from the side, kissing my head. “I would climb the tallest mountain on the coldest day naked for you.”

  I try to laugh but just a smile comes out. “That is some visual.”

  He grabs his spoon and starts to eat, and I do the same, blowing on it before bringing it to my lips. “What is going to happen?” I ask him while I eat my soup.

  “Whatever you want to happen,” he tells me.

  “I don’t think I can work with him anymore,” I tell him, and he nods. His phone rings in his pocket. He takes it out and looks at me. “Go take the call, Dad.”

  He nods his head and steps out of the room. I get up and walk to the sink, putting my bowl in there, and then step outside, soaking in the heat of the sun. I walk past the infinity pool and lie down on the round couch he has outside. I close my eyes, thinking of him. I can almost hear him call my name, but it’s all in my head.

  My father comes outside and sits next to me. “How long will it hurt?” I ask him, and he looks at me. “The pain. How long will it last?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, but I know that each day, it’ll get a bit better. The pain will numb, and then one day, you are going to wake up, and it’ll be gone,” he tells me, looking out at the mountains all around him.

  “The pain is more today than it was yesterday,” I tell him. “I thought it would be lighter, but it’s not.”

  “Because you haven’t seen him,” he tells me. “Even though he broke your heart, seeing him makes your heart know that he is right there.” I nod, not asking him anything more. That night, I take a bath, a hot bath, and let the tears fall, thinking of him. Every single day plays in my head, every single time he smirked at me or smiled is there when I close my eyes. When I dream, it’s of him calling my name and me turning but not going to him. I walk away from the pain, but it just hurts even more.

  When I walk into the kitchen the next day, my father is there with a coffee in his hand. “Good morning,” he says with a smile, probably happy I got out of bed. “I have coffee.”

  I nod at him, taking a cup and helping myself. “I have to go get dressed,” I tell him. “I’m supposed to meet everyone on set at ten,” I tell him, looking at the clock and seeing it’s almost eight.

  “Honey, why don’t you take an extra day off?” He tries to talk me into staying home.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to let him know he broke me.”

  “Honey,” he says, and I just shake my head. “Okay, we will play things your way.”

  I nod at him and walk up the stairs to my room. Opening the closet, I find the things my father has here for me just in case. I grab the pink dress, but I can’t put it on, so instead, I grab the black pants and slip them on. I grab the black camisole and black jacket, and I slip on the black shoes he has there with the chunky heel. I go to the bathroom and tie my hair in a ponytail. I walk out of my room the same time that my father comes out of his own. “You look nice,” he says, and I know he’s lying. I had to put some makeup on under my eyes to cover the discoloration.

  “Is it okay if I come back here tonight?” I ask him, and he stops walking.

  “You never, ever need my permission. This is your home; all my homes are your homes.” I nod at him. “Now if it ever gets too much, I want you to step away. Do you understand me?”

  “I do,” I tell him and go to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Dad.”

  He nods at me, and I walk out the door, going to my car, sending Sylvia a text that I will be on the set in thirty minutes. She answers back that she is already there. When I called her last night and told her everything, she didn’t say a word. She only said she would take care of it, and that was it. I make my way to the set, my heart pounding in my chest and the tears burning my eyes. I let one slip by, thinking it’ll be just one, but it isn’t.

  “You can’t let him see that he broke you,” I tell myself and blink away the stinging. “Tonight, you can cry rivers, but right now, you can’t. Do not let him see you emotional.” I pull in, and I force myself not to look for his car. I walk onto the set with my shoulders back, but my head hanging a touch. I step into trailer eight where Sylvia told me to meet her. I knock, and then I hear her shout at me to come in. I walk up the step, and I see her sitting at the table with her papers all in front of her. She takes off her glasses and looks at me. “You look nice.”

  “Well, at least I look nice,” I tell her, going to the table and sitting on the couch. “Sylvia . . .”

  “Don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t choose who you fall in love with. It just happens, and there was nothing you could have done differently.”

  “I think there are a couple of things I could have done differently.” I take a deep breath. “What time is the meeting?”

  “Ryan will be here in thirty minutes, and we have the meeting in forty.” I nod at her. “Let’s start switching things over.”

  I nod at her, grabbing my notes and computer. We work side by side until there is a knock on the door, and Ryan comes in. “Morning,” he says and then looks at us. “Are we ready?”

  I nod my head at him. “As ready as she will ever be.” I hear Sylvia say, and she leads the way out of the trailer. We walk over to stage three where there is a conference room set up. I look down while we walk there, not wanting to see him, not ready to see him. We stop right in front of the table, and I hear Jeff.

  “Hey, guys,” he says, and I look up to see Jeff and then right beside him, my eyes find him. I give myself a second before I look away. My father was right; it’s not as painful as I thought it would be. It’s worse. “Shall we get this meeting going?”

  Sylvia walks to the table and sits at the far end with Ryan next to her and finally me. Sylvia took the seat in front of Carter. I don’t know if they did it on purpose, so I can escape fastest or not, but I don’t have time to think about it because Sylvia gets right to it.

  “So there has been a change in plans,” she starts, and I see Jeff look over at Carter who sits in his chair the whole time looking at Sylvia. He looks like he hasn’t slept. “From now on, I will be the one working Carter’s case,” she says, and I am looking at Sylvia when I feel Carter turn and look at me. “Erin set up everything already, and the transition should be smooth.”

  “No surprise there.” His voice comes out, and it cuts me. What little piece of healing was done is now gone just from the sound of his voice. “She got what she needed from me.”

  Ryan now sits up straight. “If you will excuse us.” He pushes back from the table, and I look up at him. “Carter, I need a minute.”

  “It’s fine,” I whisper to him, but he doesn’t listen to me and just walks into the other room.

  “Should I go with them?” Jeff asks, and Sylvia just shakes her head.

  “I don’t think that is necessary.” She looks at me, then at Jeff. “Also, all communication between Carter and Erin will have to go through me. In fact, I don’t think there is any need for him to contact her. If he needs anything, I will have all the answers.”

  Jeff nods at her and then pushes a
way from the table, walking past me and stopping. “They say you hurt the ones you love the most.” I don’t answer him. I just get up and walk away from the table, the whole time breathing slowly, so the tears don’t escape. The more I walk away, the more my heart hurts, and it’s knowing that I won’t be with him that makes it beat faster in my chest. The pain shoots through me, but I don’t stop moving. I grab my purse and make my way to my car and pull away from the stage, the pain deeper and deeper. I push it down. I push it all the way down, and instead of going to the office, I go back to my father’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Carter

  I’m not surprised when Jeff calls me on Sunday and tells me that we are summoned for a meeting. The weekend was a blur, and when the car picks me up on Monday morning, I look at the seven empty bottles of Jack on the counter. The only time it was easy to breathe was when I drank. Her face is clear in my head when I’m not drinking, making it hard to move, hard to think, hard to live. I get in the car, putting my glasses on. “Can we stop and get something to eat?” I tell him, laying my head back on the seat. He pulls up at Sonic, and I order the double egg and cheese, the grease soaking up some of the booze from my system. When I walk on set, I go straight to my trailer, but I don’t know why I expect her to be there sitting at the table with a smile on her face.

  It’s even worse knowing that she is somewhere on the lot, and I can’t see her. I sit in my trailer until I hear a knock on the door, and my heart speeds up just a touch, thinking, hoping, but then the door opens, and I see it’s just Jeff. “You ready?” he asks me, taking off his glasses and tucking them into his suit pocket.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say and walk out of the trailer, following him. My eyes roam everywhere to see if I can see her, to see if she is around here. We get to the table first, and I sit down at the far end, grabbing my phone and going through it. Nothing has been posted on Instagram since Friday night. I hear the noise of high heels coming closer, and my hands start to shake, my heart beating faster and faster. I look up for a second, and I see her. Her hair tied back in a ponytail, she’s wearing all black, and her head is down. I don’t stare more than that because I don’t think I can take it. The pain is so much more than it was yesterday. “I need a drink,” I say under my breath and then hear Jeff hiss.

  “The last thing you need is a drink. You stink like the bottom of a fucking barrel.” I look at him, and then he turns to say hello to everyone. I watch Sylvia sit in front of me, followed by Ryan, who looks like he’s about to chew me a new asshole. He just glares at me, and then I look at Erin. Her eyes are sunken in, and she looks frail. She must have lost weight. I wonder if she’s still sick from Saturday. I want to ask her, to make sure she is okay, but I don’t. I sit in my chair and let the pain eat away at me.

  “So there has been a change in plans,” Sylvia starts off, and I feel Jeff look at me, then back at Sylvia. “From now on, I will be the one working Carter’s case,” she says. I turn to look at Erin. I didn’t think she would actually come back and work with me, but I have to say a part of me was hoping she would. “Erin set up everything already, and the transition should be smooth.”

  “No surprise there,” I say out loud, not listening to my brain telling me to shut the fuck up. No. Instead, I dig the knife deeper into her. “She got what she needed from me.”

  Ryan now sits up straight. “If you will excuse us.” He pushes back from the table, and Erin looks up at him. “Carter, I need a minute.”

  I push away from the table and follow him to the room on the side. I walk into the room and take it in. It’s supposed to be the house my kidnapped daughter is staying at, but instead, it’s me who feels trapped inside these walls. The living room furniture is all set up. He slams the door closed, and I stand in the middle of the fake room. “We are going to get a couple of things straight.” I know he isn’t playing.

  “Listen,” I tell him, putting my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, “I know that she’s your employee and all that, but . . .”

  “My employee?” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to beat around the bush with you.” I watch him. “You fucked up, Carter. So big you have no idea.”

  “I fucked up?” I ask, shocked. “Me?” I point at myself. “She used me.”

  “Carter, if you say another word about my daughter, so help me God, I’m going to put you through that fucking wall,” he says with his teeth clenched together. And I stare at him in shock.

  “Daughter?” I ask, confused.

  “Erin is my daughter,” he says, “my only daughter. She didn’t want people to think she got the job because of me, so we never told anyone until Saturday when I had to go and get her because she couldn’t drive,” he tells me, and he doesn’t stop there either. “She couldn’t drive because of the pain in her chest.” He starts to come closer. “She couldn’t breathe and ended up having a panic attack.” His voice gets louder. “And you fucking did that to her.”

  “Ryan,” I tell him softly. His words cut me, taking whatever little I had left, whatever pieces in me that weren’t broken. I had no fucking idea he was her dad.

  “If you so much as fuck with her or look at her, and I don’t like it, I’ll fucking destroy you,” he says, and I know he isn’t joking. “I told her that I wouldn’t get involved, but when you sit at a table and spew the shit that you just did in front of me, all bets are off.” He turns and walks away, stopping at the door with the handle in his hand.

  “You had something precious in your hands. Something that no money in the world can buy, and you threw it away without so much as a second thought.” He shakes his head. “You don’t deserve her.” He walks out and slams the door behind him.

  “I know I don’t,” I say softly to the empty room. I walk back out and see that Erin is gone, but Sylvia and Jeff are waiting for me. “I have to get to makeup,” I tell them and walk away to the makeup chair. Mandy takes one look at me and doesn’t say anything. She just does her job, and I leave without saying anything. The day drags on. It drags on because I can’t get my lines right, and each scene has to be redone a hundred times until I finally get it right. Ivan spends most of the day swearing in Russian every single time I fuck up.

  I drive by her house on my way home, and I see that the lights are off in her house. I wonder if she’s sleeping, but then I don’t spot her car. I sit here, looking up at the window that I know is hers. Pulling away from her house, I go home to my empty house, grabbing a bottle of Jack and going to the guest room. I haven’t been back in my room since she left. I kick off my shoes the same time I crack open the bottle of Jack and take four gulps before hissing out in pain from the burn. I lie on the bed, and I grab my phone, opening it up to the photos. I know I shouldn’t, and I should just delete them, but I can’t. Not yet. I look through them, starting at the very beginning when we were in Montana. Every single time I think of the memory that goes with the photo, I take another chug, the burning less and less. I drift off into the darkness with the phone on my chest and the empty bottle of Jack in my hand. The sound of it falling and shattering on the floor barely has me opening my eyes. I sleep through my alarm the next day, and I only wake when I feel my phone buzzing on my chest. I blink open and slur out, “Hello.”

  “Where in the fuck are you?” the woman asks me, and I cringe when I open my eyes and then close them just as quickly when the light is unbearable.

  “I’m in bed,” I tell them. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Sylvia,” she hisses. “You were due on set an hour ago. I’m outside your door.”

  I lift my head, looking at the bedroom door but not seeing anyone. “I can’t see you,” I tell her.

  “I’m outside,” she says, and then I hear the banging. “Get up.”

  I sit up and groan, the headache that started off as a little throb has turned into full pounding. I climb out of the bed and get up, not realizing that I’m stepping on shards of glass in my bare feet. The sting makes me win
ce, and I look down, seeing the blood start to pour out. “Four-seven-one,” I tell her the code, and soon, I hear the front door open. I sit back on the bed and hiss when I turn my foot over and see that it’s sliced open. “I need help!” I shout, and I hear her running up the steps. “In here.”

  She walks in and sees the blood dripping off my foot and the glass all around me. “Fuck,” she says and grabs her phone to call someone. “I need a doctor to come over to Carter’s place.” She looks at me while she listens to what the person on the other line says. “Yeah, get him over here right now. The set is on standby until he shows up.” She hangs up the phone and leans on the doorjamb.

  “Does it hurt?” She folds her arms over her chest.

  “Stings a bit,” I tell her the truth.

  “Good,” she says and then takes out her phone, and her fingers are flying across her phone. “We are probably going to have to postpone shooting for today.” Turning her wrist over to look at her phone, she says, “It’s already late.”

  “Can you go get me some ibuprofen?” I ask her, and she just stares at me. “Please. Between the sting of the cut and the hangover, I don’t know which is worse.”

  She turns and walks down the stairs, and I hear the cupboards slamming shut and then the water running. She comes back with two pills and a full glass of water. She watches me, or better yet, she glares at me until her phone rings. She answers it, walking out and then coming back in with the doctor. He comes in wearing a suit and holding a black bag. He places it on the bed.

  “I’m Dr. Novack,” he tells me, opening his bag and putting on latex gloves. He grabs a pillow and puts my foot up on it. “You need stitches,” he confirms, “but first, I have to make sure all the glass shards are out.” He looks over at Sylvia. “I’ll need a towel.” She nods and goes into the bathroom, coming back with a towel. He pours something over the cuts, and I lay my head back and hiss.