The Roommate Equation

by Jillian Quinn

  “Stop tap dancing in front of my door,” Vinnie says as he slams the phone down. “Either get in or get out, Ash.”

  Dammit, I didn’t think he saw me.

  “Do you have a minute?” I ask as I walk into his office with my head held high.

  He leans back in his chair and shrugs. “What’s up?”

  “Something happened last night.”

  He cocks his head at me. “Speak. I don’t have all day.”

  “Dominic Deville approached me at Bella’s Cabaret. He gave me his card.”

  Vinnie’s eyes widen, and then he raises his hand, ushering me toward his desk. He points his finger at the chair across from him. “What did he say?”

  “To call him today. He said I might be a good fit for his next project.”

  “That’s great,” he says with genuine happiness. “But let me give you a piece of advice when it comes to Dom.”

  I lean forward, digging my elbows into my thighs as I meet his intense gaze.

  He kicks his dress shoe up on the edge of his desk and sighs. “He’s a pig. Be careful with him.”

  I give him an appreciative smile. “Thanks, I can handle myself. There’s something else…” My throat feels as though it could close up as I attempt to speak. “If Dominic offers me a role, would you represent me?”

  Vinnie purses his lips. He drops his foot on the floor and leans forward, pinning me down with one look.

  “Let’s see how this meeting with Dom goes first and go from there.” Vinnie hits a button on his phone and then puts it on speaker.

  “Dominic Deville’s office, how may I direct your call,” a woman says.

  “Mags, this is Vinnie Sax.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Sax. One moment while I connect you to Mr. Deville.”

  A few seconds later, the same gruff voice from the club booms through the speaker. “Vin, it’s been a while. You better not be pitching Nico Chase to me again.”

  “No, not this time. I have my assistant, Ash Riley, in my office with me. She says you gave her your business card. So, what part do you have in mind for her?”

  “She’s your assistant,” he says, somewhat surprised. “I had no idea. Her cabaret act last night, shall we say, inspired me.”

  Vinnie rolls his eyes. “How so?”

  “I’m working on a satire about a cabaret club. The script is still in progress, but your girl would make a nice addition to the cast. I’d like to see her tomorrow around noon. Give her my home address.”

  Vinnie looks annoyed as he says, “You better have a legit part for Ash. She’s my assistant. We take care of our own at Brenton-Lake.”

  “Understood,” Dominic says. “I’ll see her tomorrow at noon.”

  I have to contain my urge to jump on the desk and scream as Vinnie hangs up the phone. After years of school and failed auditions, I may finally get the chance to show my acting chops.

  After I leave Vinnie’s office, I fish my cell phone from my purse and text Dylan.

  Ash: I have an audition tomorrow.

  An hour later…

  Ash: We need to celebrate tonight.

  A few hours later…

  Ash: You okay?

  What the hell is his problem?

  I can’t go through this shit again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ash

  On our ride home, I grab Sloan’s headrest and give it a good shake. “What’s up with you today? You got your period?”

  “It’s nothing,” Sloan grunts.

  “You’re not talking to Dylan. Why?”

  Sloan looks out his window. “Ash, stay out of it.”

  “Okay, fine.” I slide over to the seat behind Dylan and give his headrest a shake. “Dylan, why aren’t you talking to Sloan?”

  “Ash, c’mon,” Dylan says, glaring at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “Both of you need to take out your tampons and stop acting like little bitches.”

  Sloan snorts with laughter.

  Dylan ignores my comment, staring at the road in front of him. We’re stuck in a shit ton of Los Angeles traffic, bumper to bumper with the car in front of us.

  “You two better kiss and make up,” I say to no one in particular. “The ride to your house is way too long to sit in silence.”

  “I’ll change the playlist,” Sloan offers.

  “That’s not the point,” I challenge. “Why are you guys acting like weirdos?”

  Sloan groans and then shifts his body to look at me. “We’re working through our issues in our own way.”

  “By not talking to each other? Men are dumb. Why don’t you kick each other’s asses and then hug it out?”

  Sloan glances over at Dylan and then sits back in his seat. He goes back to staring out the window, which annoys the hell out of me. We continue our drive home in almost silence. An hour in the car with these jackasses feels like a day.

  Once we step inside the house, Dylan makes a beeline for his bedroom without a word. Sloan goes straight for the kitchen. I close the door behind me, annoyed by their reactions. I waited all day to hear back from Dylan.

  “Have a drink with me,” Sloan says.

  I drop my purse on the sofa table and join him in the kitchen. Sloan uncaps two bottles of Heineken and hands one to me. We clink our bottles together, and Sloan leads me outside to sit by the pool.

  The waves crash from a distance, the scent of salt filling my nostrils. Sloan plops down on a lounge chair and pats the one next to him. He leans back, facing the ocean, and drinks his beer.

  I sit next to him, waiting for him to talk.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Sloan says after a while. “Dylan’s holding up the deal with Exact Match over an algorithm.”

  I don’t want to say anything that would imply I have been talking to Dylan behind my brother’s back.

  “Dylan wrote the code for Date Crashers,” I say, kicking my feet up on the chair to get comfortable. “You know what he’s like. He’s possessive of his work.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Sloan shoves a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “He says it’s important. That we can’t sell the algorithm. But Max—”

  “Max is a creep,” I say without hesitation. “I don’t think you should trust anything he says.”

  He rolls onto his side and looks at me. “What makes you say that?”

  “I get this eerie feeling about him. You’ve known Dylan for most of your life. Why would you trust the word of a stranger over your best friend?”

  Blowing out a deep breath, he turns his head, as if ashamed. I hate that Sloan is doubting Dylan. He knows he should be supporting his friend instead of acting like a man-child.

  “Date Crashers is important to Dylan,” I continue. “He created the algorithm. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like a lot of work.”

  Sloan’s head snaps in my direction, his focus entirely on me. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to speak, and then drinks from his beer. Okay, I guess he’s in the mood to listen.

  “I’ve written dozens of screenplays no one has ever seen,” I admit. “Do you know why I won’t let anyone read them?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Because once I put myself out there, my words are no longer mine. They will belong to the people consuming them. To Dylan, his code is like my screenplays. It’s personal for him.”

  “Then, why did he share it in the first place?”

  “You guys own the rights to the code. Once you sell it, Max and his idiot brothers can do whatever they want. Why would you want to give it to them if it’s that important to Dylan?”

  “It’s a good deal,” Sloan says. “We can get into the dating market without any friction.”

  “You’re already in the dating market,” I point out. “Why couldn’t you expand Date Crashers into an online dating service. I’m sure Boy Genius has some ideas for how to make it work.”

  He laughs at my reference to Dylan. �
�Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Duh, stupid. I’m always right.”

  Sloan balls his hand into a fist and taps me on the arm. “Thanks.”

  I nod and then sip from my beer. “You can start calling me Dr. Ash.”

  Sloan slides his long legs off the chair. “Log in to my DoorDash account and order whatever you want for dinner. My treat.”

  “You’re paying me for my services in food? I can get used to this.”

  He pats the top of my head and smiles before heading inside the house.

  Long after my brother is gone, I stare out at the ocean, listening to the waves break, considering my next move with Dylan. He asked me about us last night. When he finally comes around, I’ll be ready to give him an answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ash

  My hands tremble as I approach Dominic Deville’s front door. His estate is larger than the grounds of my apartment complex. Even my brother’s house seems tiny in comparison to this place. High walls of thick shrubs shroud the stone mansion from the outside world, providing the perfect escape.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on the front of my skirt, attempting to gain control of myself. This is the biggest day of my life. If I nail this audition, I can drop the word aspiring and finally call myself an actress.

  When I got into UCLA Film and Theater School, I thought doors would open for me. I had so many expectations that have only led to disappointment.

  As I approach the house, a middle-aged man with blond hair opens the door for me. “Welcome, Miss Riley. Mr. Deville is waiting for you in his office.”

  My throat feels as if it’s closing up as we walk down the long tiled hallway. Pictures of Dominic Deville, both in color and black and white, don the walls. Once we reach the office, the butler announces me and then leaves me alone with Dominic. He’s sitting behind an oversized mahogany desk in an executive leather chair, with his thick arms resting on the wood.

  “Ash,” he says with a sly grin. “I’m glad you could make it.” He tips his head to the chair in front of his desk. “I was surprised to get the call from Vinnie. You should have mentioned you work for him.”

  I sit across from him, running my hands down the front of my skirt for the millionth time. “It didn’t come up.”

  “Vinnie’s an old friend,” he says in a deep voice that sounds like a growl.

  His lecherous gaze sends a tremor down my arms. Dylan often looks at me this way, but when he does, it elicits a different response. I’m alone with Dominic, in his house, and on his turf, and now I’m shaking for an entirely different reason. He looks like he wants to devour me.

  Vinnie said he was a pig and warned me to be careful. The rumors around Hollywood paint him as a dirty older man who makes women work for the roles in his movies.

  “What’s the part you had in mind for me?”

  He leans forward, his palms flat against the desk, and his intense gaze terrifies me. “Are you comfortable taking off your clothes?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

  “The role will require you to strip.”

  “I thought you said cabaret.”

  He rolls his shoulders. “Same thing.”

  Not quite. Burlesque is stripping on a stage, where most cabaret shows are song and dance numbers in a nightclub or bar.

  “No, I’m not comfortable taking off my clothes on screen.”

  His expression is unreadable. A moment passes, where we stare at each other, my heart pounding in my chest. I can barely breathe when he presses his lips together, disappointed by my response. I should have known better. This is the way of the business, Vinnie would say if he were here.

  “I suppose I can find something else for you,” Dominic says, getting up from behind his desk. He hovers over me, his hand extended, and helps me from my chair. “But first, show me what you’ve got.”

  He leads me out of his office and down another long hallway. We stop in front of double doors, and he flashes a crazed grin as he pushes them open, revealing a theater room. There’s a stage at the front with silky blue curtains and a movie projection screen overhead. About ten rows of movie chairs span up to the top of the room, making me feel like I’m in a playhouse.

  So, he wants me to perform for him. Okay, I can do this. I had expected to audition for a role with my clothes still intact, and I will stand my ground. I’m not stripping for a part. I don’t care what it pays or if it would advance my career.

  “Get on the stage,” he says, flinging his hand out.

  Dominic opens a panel on the wall and music belts through the speakers suspended from the ceiling. I climb the stairs and stand on the stage, looking out at the empty room. A chill rolls down my arms, creating tiny bumps along my flesh.

  “Dance for me,” he says, stopping at the edge of the stage, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Let me see what you’re working with.”

  “Can I read the script first?”

  His expression turns grim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want a role in my movie?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, dance for me.”

  “I’m not a trained dancer. I’m an actor.”

  He shakes his head, disappointment scrolling across his face. “A good actor can fake it.”

  For most of my life, I have wanted to become an actress. And as I stand on this stage, staring down at this disgusting man, a thought pops into my head.

  I’m not supposed to be an actress.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I take the stairs. “I can’t do this.”

  “You only get one shot with me,” he growls. “If you leave now, you will never work in this town.”

  So, if I sleep with this idiot, I can have a career?

  I’ll pass.

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” I say with a forced smile. “But I don’t think I’m right for the part.”

  He glares at me. “See yourself out.”

  Without another word, I exit the theater room, whipping through the hallways until I’m in the foyer. My chest feels heavy as I exit the house. I take in a few deep breaths to keep myself from hyperventilating.

  I can’t believe I said no to Dominic Deville. He might be right. I may one day regret not having the opportunity to work for him, but at least I will still have my self-respect.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ash

  Before I could speak to him, Dylan left the house, showered, and dressed in his usual shorts and a shirt that says, I Know HTML (How to Meet Ladies). I laughed and even commented on his shirt. But Dylan blew through the house like a tornado, ignoring me.

  We’re still not talking for some reason. All of my texts and phone calls have gone unanswered. Even after Sloan spoke to him and supposedly smoothed things over, he still seems angry. But why? I wish he would talk to me and stop acting like the old Dylan, the person I broke up with years ago.

  After Dylan left, I told Sloan about my meeting with Dominic. Of course, he threatened to kill him. Then, we drank for a few hours until we fell asleep on the chairs by the pool. Sloan was gone when I woke up, and Dylan was still fucking off somewhere. I busied myself working on my latest screenplay, and now more energized about my future career as a writer.

  I fell asleep with my head on my notebook, the pen still clasped between my fingers. The sound of the front door slamming wakes me with a jolt. I lift my head from the book and wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth. The house falls silent for a moment, and then loud footsteps come toward my bedroom.

  I rush to my door and pull it open. Dylan stops when he sees me, giving me a quick once over and then walks past my room.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  Irritated, I jog down the hall and get in front of him, blocking the path to his bedroom.

  He flexes his jaw. “Move it, Ash.”

  I throw my hands out at my sides and lean back against his door. “What is your fucking problem?”

  “Nothing. Get out of
my way.”

  “Talk to me, Dylan.”

  “Not now,” he growls, leaning forward, pressing his hard chest into me. “Go back to your room.”

  “I’m not a child, and you’re not my father.”

  “Ash, please. I’m not in the mood.”

  I shove my hand into his chest, and that seems to get his full attention. “You asked me last night if I want this, you and me. I said I didn’t know what I want. Is that why you’re shutting me out?”

  He shakes his head, and his hair brushes my forehead. “Go back to bed. We can talk later.”

  “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. I needed you earlier, Dylan, and you did what you always do.”

  “I have a lot of shit going on right now,” he groans. “I need to be alone, okay?”

  “The meeting with Dominic Deville didn’t go well. You know what he wanted?”

  He closes his eyes and sighs. “Don’t say it, because once you do, it becomes real.”

  “He wanted me to dance for him.”

  His mouth twists into a painful snarl. “I’ll fucking kill that asshole. Does Sloan know?”

  I nod. “I needed you, Dylan. You were the first person I wanted to tell, and you were wherever the fuck you went today.” I shove my palm into his chest once more, and he leans closer. “What are you up to? I thought you and Sloan are good now.”

  “We are,” he snaps. “But it’s complicated. You’re complicated. Everything in my fucking life is complicated right now. Because of—”

  “Me?”

  Dylan stares into my eyes, unblinking, with zero emotion on his handsome face. He doesn’t have to speak for me to know the answer.

  “I didn’t make your life harder, Dylan. And let me remind you that I’m not the one who kissed you. I didn’t give you a note seven years ago. I would have spent the rest of my life having a crush on my older brother’s best friend without acting on it. You’re the one who made the first move.”