Page 10 of Come to Me

"Well, Mr. Lawrence. I do believe you have a promise to live up to."

I turn at Alyssa's low voice.

She brushes her lips against mine, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

Fuck.

No more waiting.

Chapter Three

Alyssa

An urgent message from my agent greets me when I finally get to my dressing room. "Darling, call me back. Trust me. You will die when you hear this."

Corine is always going on about some terrific opportunity.

I don't want to complain too much. It's good. She's doing her job, earning her 10 percent. But her opportunities are usually awful parts as the sexy wife or the naked murder victim in the newest blockbuster that's in the works.

I know a 100-million-dollar movie is a big step up from a cable comedy. But she should know by now that I'm past the point in my career where I'm willing to play the hot chick.

I check the time--just after seven. Corine left this message three hours ago. She's probably still at work.

I better get this over with so I can spend my night with Luke interruption free.

Even if we're not going to do much more than watch TV.

I take a deep breath.

It's a weeknight. We're supposed to be relaxing. And I'm the one who always insists on TV. I'm too tired for anything else, and I have lines to cram.

I close my eyes. I'm almost done. Eight more days and we'll be done shooting. Eight more days and I'll be in San Diego with Luke, doing something much, much more exciting than watching TV.

Alright, I need to just do this. It might really be a great opportunity.

I sit down before calling her back, already preparing how I'll say no to this one.

"Darling," Corine purrs. "How is everything? Are they treating you well over onModel Citizen?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Hmm, that is to be expected with a project like that." I can almost hear her deciding that's enough with the niceties. "Do you remember what you said when you met me?"

"You remind me every time we talk," I sigh, tilting my head back. "I said I wanted to play Ophelia inHamlet."

"Yes, well, Ophelia is pathetic. Killing herself over an indecisive loser like Hamlet." She makes a disapproving noise that makes me smile. "I've got a much better opportunity for you."

"Better than Shakespeare?" I drawl.

Yes, I'm skeptical. But she's given me reason to be.

"You grew up on the East Coast. I'm sure you dreamed of New York City."

That catches my attention.

My throat goes dry.

Of course, I grew up dreaming of New York City. Everyone around me dreamed of getting an apartment in the village and "making it."