by North, Paige
I stared at Leo’s bright smile, the one that made his eyes shine a light, bright blue and crinkle the corners of his eyes.
My phone buzzed with a text. In the split second before I saw the screen, I held hope that it was Leo—and hated myself for it. But it was Ava Marie.
At auditions all day. Meet us for drinks tonight? 7:30 @ Thirsty Cow. Michael will be there!
I looked back at the photos of Leo and wondered what he was doing tonight. It was none of my business. He was strictly business. I had to remember that. And the fact that he was probably out gallivanting with another woman after what he did to me on that plane was also none of my business.
Will see you there, I texted.
I’d have time to go home and change, refresh and put on something outstanding for this Michael fellow. It was time I started having fun in L.A. without relying on Leo.
Chapter Ten
Minimal makeup and red lipstick felt in order for the evening, and a black dress that was shorter than I normally wore. I told myself I was excited to meet Ava Marie’s dancer friend, Michael, and see if there was any spark there.
A text came through from Ava Marie. We’re here. Where are you? Michael is asking!
Just texted for a car, I wrote back. Be there in 15. Tell him I’m coming!
You will be, Ava Marie wrote back, and I laughed. I felt better about my decision already.
I was slipping on my heels when the doorbell rang. I wondered why the cab driver would come to the door, or how he knew my apartment number.
“Delivery for Ms. Adams?” said the man when I opened the door.
“That’s me,” I said.
He handed me a thick envelope, and left. Inside was a screenplay. Untitled Armstrong, said the cover page. A note on thick cardstock was attached.
Discuss by the ocean tonight? —L
My phone rang, making me jump. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local.
“Good evening, Ms. Adams. This is Steve, Mr. Armstrong’s driver.”
“Oh, hey, Steve,” I said.
“Mr. Armstrong would like to know if you received the package he sent over, and if you’re available to spend time with him this evening?”
“Yeah, I got it,” I said. I quickly set the stack of papers down on the table by the door and flipped through the pages, curious.
“Mr. Armstrong would like to work with you tonight, if you’re available.”
“Well, I…”
“And you’re under no obligation.”
“I know, it’s just…”
“If you’d like to join him, I can drive you now,” Steve said. “I’m just around the corner from you.”
My phone buzzed a new text. “Hang on, Steve,” I said, and checked the text. It was Ava Marie: Hurry up!
I looked back at the script on the table, and a thought came to me—had I come to Los Angeles to socialize, or to start my career?
“Steve?” I said. “Come get me.”
Afterwards, I send Ava Marie an apology text, stating that I’d been called into work for an emergency edit on an important article.
She never responded, so I assumed she was angry, but I couldn’t let that distract me from my mission.
Soon after, I was in the car, headed for my rendezvous with the infamous Panty Dropper yet again. That name held more meaning for me now than it had originally, that much was for sure…
We drove up Pacific Coast Highway, the sun still shining over the horizon. I watched as we passed by the beaches, surfers carrying their boards back in from the ocean. We arrived at a sushi restaurant, and Steve helped me out of the back of the SUV.
As I walked across the restaurant I had flashbacks of the last time Leo invited me to dinner and we ended up dining at thirty-nine-thousand feet. I hoped he would show, and we would actually sit and have dinner. I wanted the after-dinner stuff, too. But I wondered what he wanted with me and the screenplay. Also, I needed to hustle on the story for Kait.
I needed more info, the pressure was mounting for me to really deliver.
My eyes scanned the room for Leo. When I found him at a small table by the window, tucked in the shadows, my heart skipped a beat. It’s not that I’d forgotten how he looked or how handsome he was. I suppose I’d just forgotten how gorgeous he was in person. He caught my eyes at the same time, and I froze. I thought I might collapse to the floor as a smile stretched across his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Just the way he looked at all the other girls in those photos I’d seen online, I tried to tell myself. But this time, I realized, he was looking at me.
He stood up from the table and greeted me with a kiss on my cheek, his hand on the small of my back. The closeness of him, his hand on my body, his breath on my cheek—it was all more thrilling than I wanted to admit.
You’re falling for him! I cried inwardly.
But he was like a vampire, even if you knew what to expect—looking too long into his eyes would guarantee your seduction.
“You should walk across rooms more often,” Leo said, keeping me close. “You look absolutely stunning.” I felt the heat of my skin blushing, and I moved to cover my face. He gently took my hand. “Remember,” he said, kissing it, “no hiding.” He pulled out the chair for me.
“Wow,” I said, sitting down. I’d walked across the restaurant toward Leo, and he’d been all I’d seen. Now, though, sitting at the table, I saw that the restaurant was actually perched on the beach, waves hitting a large rock barrier just below us. The sun dipped in the sky, a blazing orange. “This is incredible.” When I looked at him, he still had that easy, pleased looked on his face, watching me. I pointed to the window. “Look at that! It’s amazing!”
Leo laughed. “I see the view and yes, it is amazing.”
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “It’s new to me.”
“Too cheesy?” he asked.
“A little,” I said, but I had to admit I was buying into it despite myself. “Are you trying to impress me, or do you always eat at such fancy restaurants?”
He replaced his napkin in his lap. “I do not always eat in fancy restaurants and yes, I’m definitely trying to impress you.”
“Well,” I sighed, “it’s working.”
“This isn’t so fancy,” he said, looking around the dimly-lit, romantic restaurant.
“Leo. This place has a sommelier and a dress code,” I said. “Fancy.”
“Maybe,” he said. The glow of the sun shone on the side of his face, and when he turned back to look at me, the blue of his eyes was electric, piercing. “I guess I’ve gotten myself spoiled.”
“In more ways than one,” I said. “You even have a driver. Are you not able to drive or do you not want to drive?”
“I am capable of driving, thank you very much,” he said. “One day I’ll take you on drive somewhere. Up the coast to Santa Barbara or something. But having Steve take me—and sometimes my guests—just makes things easier with my schedule. I can work in the car, take calls, go over scripts, that sort of thing. In case you haven’t noticed, traffic in L.A. is a nightmare, so I can keep working while we’re at a standstill on the 405.”
My mind was still on going up to Santa Barbara, Leo in the driver seat—probably of some panty-dropping sports car. Still, I saw myself in the passenger seat, hair blowing in the wind, his hand on my bare thigh. But I had to keep focus and, honestly, I wanted to know more about him. “Did you grow up rich or something?”
“Blunt, aren’t we?” he said. Leo sucked in a breath and said, “I grew up rich in advice.”
“What does that mean?”
“I had lots and lots of people telling me what I should do,” he said.
“Did you listen to any of them?”
“Not a one.”
Leo had ordered the wine before I arrived—from the sommelier, of course—and she appeared at our table to present the bottle and pour us each a glass. Soon after, the waiter arrived and Leo asked if he could order for the two of
us.
“Ordering is one of my many talents,” he joked.
He began rattling off specialty rolls, tempura, sizzling meats and all kinds of dishes I’d never heard of, and it sounded like enough food for a party of five.
When I looked at him ordering for us, I felt a sense of ease, which was the last thing I should feel sitting across from the most powerful man in Los Angeles with a script he gave me to evaluate still resting in my lap. But I did. Or maybe I was still feeling shell shocked from his mere presence.
Ordering done, the waiter took his leave.
“You brought the script with you?” Leo finally asked, turning towards me now.
“I did.”
“Did you have a chance to read it?”
Straightaway I wondered if this was a date or a business meeting. Still, I laughed at his question. “Leo, I just got this less than an hour ago. But I did skim it and see that it’s set in Korea.”
“I’m hoping you’ll help me with it. That’s a very rough draft, but you have a sharp eye and I think you could really bring some life to it.”
“You think I could add something to a war movie?” I said, a bit confused. Leo had already taught me that, even in the loudest of movies, there could be realistic, compassionate, three-dimensional characters. But a war movie set in the 1950s?
“It’s not a war movie,” he said, a smile flickering on his face. “I guess you didn’t get to read much of it on the drive?”
“There was a pretty spectacular view on the ride that held my attention,” I said. “Kind of like the one here. You bring all your script dates here?”
“No, come on,” he said, rearranging the plates and chopsticks before him.
“I’m teasing,” I said, resting my forearms on the table.
“You’re very good at it. Listen, Sophie,” he said. He reached across the small table and brushed his fingers over my hand. I felt myself staring down at the slow motion of his fingers on my skin, hypnotized. “I enjoy spending time with you. You’re smart and drop-dead beautiful. If you enjoy spending time with me, then let’s not read more into it. Okay?”
That pulled me out of my trance. “Yeah, sure,” I said, flustered, the familiar pang of rejection hitting my insides. “I wasn’t reading—into it, I mean.”
“And you also weren’t reading that script, I see,” he said, that grin coming out to play on those lips again. I thought he’d sit back, move his hands away from mine after making his not-so-subtle point. Instead, he covered his hand over mine and held firm, stroking his thumb slowly across my skin. I was expected to sit through dinner with him and act as if this one small gesture didn’t make me squirm in my seat, already hot with desire for him? I’d never make it past the edamame.
He watched me closely, and I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs. I moved my thumb so squeeze his hand back. “If you gave me a little more time to do my homework, professor…”
He laughed, and the fact that I made Leo Armstrong laugh out loud gave me immense pleasure, even though it made him move his hand away from mine.
“I want to work with you on this,” I said, taking the stack of papers. “Whatever it is. But there’s one thing I want from you first,” I said, recalling how lost I’d been when he disappeared for so long up until tonight.
“A role in the movie?”
“Very funny,” I said. “All I want is your phone number. That’s not too much for a girl to ask, is it?” I kept my eyes on him, gauging his reaction. He kept such a steady watch I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Why wouldn’t I give you my number?” he said.
“Because that’s your M.O.?” I said. “And because up until now you haven’t given me your number?”
Because that’s how you keep control over the women you date, I wanted to add, but didn’t.
Leo looked confused. “I’ve called you before,” he said. “Why didn’t you just copy my number from that?”
“Because it’s blocked,” I said.
“It is?” He thought for a moment. “My assistant set up my phone. I don’t know what it says on the other end when I call. But here—give me your phone. I’ll put it in now.”
And like that, this thing I thought I had him on was resolved.
He handed back my phone and said, “Now that that’s done, do you want to talk about that screenplay?”
I was a little stunned, but tried to recover.
“Back to business,” I said, putting my phone away after he’d put in his number.
“There’s plenty of time for pleasure,” he said.
My mind immediately danced around what that pleasure would be, where, when, and what. But I had to focus. “The screenplay, yes. What’s it about?” I feathered through the pages. “Some captain leading his platoon over a hill against a hundred enemy soldiers?” I joked, because I really hadn’t read much of it on the drive up.
“Like I said, it’s not a war movie.”
“It’s about Americans in Korea in the 1950s. But not a war movie. Okay—what is it?”
“It’s about an American nurse serving in Korea—during the war, yes. She has a fiancé back home in law school. During her deployment, she goes on a month-long leave to Australia and meets a man. They fall madly in love. Soul mate love.”
“Wow,” I said, surprised. A romance? “And you want to make this movie?”
It came out harsher than I intended but Leo didn’t seem offended. Instead, he said, “Absolutely.”
“This isn’t the kind of movie you normally make,” I said, stating the obvious.
“You’re wondering where are the explosions and car chases and aliens?” he asked. “There will be a some gunfire in the beginning. Vivian—that’s our heroine, the nurse—she’s stationed at a hospital, so there will be some blood and disturbing war images.”
“Thank goodness for that,” I joked.
“But the majority of the story—the bulky middle—will be set in and around Sydney. Lots of sun, bright blue skies, beaches, that sort of thing. But I need you to help with the script.”
I was flattered, but intimidated. “Leo, I appreciate the vote of confidence and all but I’m no expert. I can’t write or rewrite a script.”
“I think you can. I already know that you have a good eye for story, and a good ear for dialogue,” he said. “And frankly, I trust you. No one at the studio—no one anywhere, actually—knows I'm working on this.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said. “And I don’t want them to. I don’t need to hear the negative comments about Leo Armstrong’s Epix Pictures working on what they’d no doubt call some sappy romance, and the industry chatter about my losing grip on reality and what makes a hit. I don’t need it. So I want to work on this with you, to see what comes of it.”
“Wow,” I said, intimidated. “Leo, I’m not sure I’m qualified for this.”
“You won’t be alone,” he said. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I felt not only comfort in that statement, but warmth. Having Leo Armstrong as a mentor on a movie script was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Having Leo Armstrong by my side as I did anything was more thrilling and exciting than any roller coaster in the world.
Of course, now that he’d defied my preconceived notions about him, my guilt was slowly crawling back into view again. Guilt over the fact that Leo had entrusted me with more and more aspects of his business and his personal life, while I was…
Lying. Plain and simple.
I tried to shake off the nagging sensations of tension that were squeezing me from the inside, but it was hard to do. I almost wished Leo would do something mean again, just to remind me why I was doing any of this.
I’d always considered myself a pretty honest person, but for the first time I was starting to wonder how that could be true if I was willing to say and do anything for a story and my career.
The food was served in slow rounds, giving us time to enjoy every bite while talking about t
he story. We read through sections of it together and I got a feel for the tone. It was definitely more cerebral than any of his other movies, to say the least. He wasn’t joking when he said the majority would be set in the happy, sunny land of Australia.
Almost three hours passed. I’d been so consumed in talk of the story of Vivian and her true paramour, Ian, that I missed the sunset and couldn't even say how many plates of food we’d gone through. Not to mention the wine and cold sake Leo had ordered.
“It’s a good thing you have that driver,” I said, feeling tipsy. “It’s a long drive back to Wilshire Boulevard.”
“Luckily I have a place nearby,” he said.
I tilted my head. “You have another home?”
He smiled. “A man of means can’t have just one home, Sophie. What would people think?”
“It would be so low rent,” I said, taking a last sip of the sake. “And I’m sure this place of yours nearby is on the beach?”
He spread his hands. “Why bother having a house in Malibu if it’s not on the beach?”
“Naturally,” I said. “Well, if you can make it back to your place then Steve can drive me to my little shack in Culver City. Or as my roommate likes to call it, Santa Monica adjacent.”
“Or,” Leo said, “Steve could drive us both down the road to my house.”
Like I was going to say no? It was Friday night and I had the whole weekend to do nothing—no Kait breathing down my neck, and I could also put off up a little bit longer Ava Marie’s disappointment that I stood her up.
“Well,” I began, acting as if I was really thinking it over. “I guess we still need to talk about the ending of this thing.” I touched the pages of the still-untitled screenplay.
“The work never ends, does it?” he said. The way he looked at me, playful with an undeniable dose of want in his eyes, made me want to race back to his house—or anywhere private—and press my lips and body to his and never let go.
“Tough life,” I said, and within moments, the check was paid, and we were out the door.
Chapter Eleven
“Oh, I get it now,” I said.
We walked through the interior of his Malibu home, and across the open living room was a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall picture window that looked out on a deck and the ocean. When we’d pulled up outside, all I saw was a shortened driveway directly off the busy Pacific Coast Highway, and had thought his place was a small, charming little bungalow. But the way it dropped down and spread over the hill and sand and was more spectacular than I thought.
