Page 12 of Take 2

Chapter Ten

L ast chance to back out. Is meeting my dream director really worth spending more than five minutes with Preston? But it’s a trip to the Mediterranean.

But it’s with Preston. His incoming call vibrates in my hand.

Lisa could probably get my script in front of Rafael herself. But she will be so proud of me for taking an almost-not-work-related trip.

My phone is still ringing. I tap the green button. “You here?”

“Yeah.”

“Be right down.” Lights are off. A/C is in vacation mode. Cat is at Ashleigh’s. Purse has my wallet, passport, and sunglasses. Suitcase probably has more stuff than necessary. Laptop bag has all the work things.

It’s time to go.

Preston waits outside my building. He smiles when I come through the door, and I wonder if it was the ocean and the hypothetical dolphins that lulled me into agreeing to this.

Now that he’s in front of me, the bright afternoon sun makes my motives look as suspicious as James made them out to be.

Because even I cannot look at him without mentally cataloguing the perfect sweep of his hair, broad shoulders, and infuriatingly green eyes.

A voice in my head reminds me, unhelpfully, that our rivalry is not the only reason I avoid him.

“Hi, Mira. I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.” He takes the handle of my suitcase and leads the way to a black Navigator with a driver in a suit and tie holding the back door open.

“Yet,” I say.

“It’s a little late for that.” He passes the bag to the driver and gestures for me to get in. I settle into the leather seat and fish my sunglasses out of my purse. Preston gets in on the driver’s side, and the chauffeur introduces himself as Sam as he slides into the driver’s seat.

“It’s not too late for me to change my mind,” I say. “You can’t drag me onto a plane kicking and screaming. People will think you’re human trafficking me.”

“Human trafficking—together—is not a verb.”

My chin drops, and my eyes narrow at Preston as we set off. “I’m not writing an academic paper. I’m a millennial. I can verb any noun.”

“Such as the word ‘verb.’”

“Exactly. And I’d prefer not to get any grammar tips from you, even if you are an Oscar-winning writer.”

His green eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re in the movie business?” Sam asks from the front.

“Yes, he is.” I give Preston a wide smile. “He’s filming a movie in Monaco right now. Hence our trip.”

“Wow,” Sam says. “I have my headshot and resume in the glovebox.”

As I suspected he might.

Getting to LAX is always a nightmare, but watching Preston forced into conversation about Sam’s acting experience makes it quite pleasant. After we’re left at the curb, Preston sighs as he slides Sam’s stuff into his laptop bag. “He has my phone number from the reservation.”

“That’s so convenient.”

We go inside, and I almost feel guilty for getting to skip the line with our first-class tickets. Almost.

“Are you going to be a pain in the ass the entire time?” He takes his passport out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Maybe.”

A woman in a purple dress suit checks us in and gives us boarding passes even though we’ve already got them on our phones.

In line for TSA, I say, “I promise not to say something stupid to sabotage your security screening.” No, having him strip-searched only sounds funny in theory.

Realistically, I need his clothing to stay on.

“How very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, I don’t know if my name is on my hotel room or if you put them both under yours so I can’t leave you here.”

Preston puts his bag on the conveyor belt behind mine. “Can’t leave any loopholes open. You’re too clever.”

“I’m glad you’re aware of that.”

On the other side of security, he says, “I could have let our driver know that you’re also a screenwriter.”

“I don’t think he gave you enough time to get the words in.”

“Oh, I could have slipped it in. But I didn’t. Because I’m being nice to you.”

“Hm. Do you think not retaliating will make me reconsider being a pain in the ass? Because it’ll just make me up my game.”

He opens the door to the lounge for me. “You have a limit.”

The lounge is—oddly—the first thing that makes me realize I have transcended from my life as a girl in Wisconsin.

It should have been the quick agreement to first-class tickets halfway around the world or the car service.

But it’s not until I settle in front of the wall of windows while Preston gets us a round of free drinks that I realize I don’t recognize my life anymore.

I guess that’s because it’s been happening gradually.

I’ve met movie stars, been on film sets, and attended two Oscars.

That all made more sense than a spur-of-the-moment trip to France with Preston Greene, though.

He sets two rocks glasses on the table and sits across from me.

“Thank you.” I take a sip of the vodka and soda. He watches me. His attention has mass and weight, but he doesn’t explain it. So I have to ask what’s on his mind. “What is it?”

“Can you be open-minded?”

“I’m a writer. Of course, I am.”

“About me?”

I swallow more of my cocktail. “It would be easier if I understood your motives here.”

Now, it’s his turn to use alcohol to buy time for thought development. “I want you to meet Rafael. I want you to be as successful as you’ve ever wanted to be.”

Does he feel guilty for winning both Oscars I was nominated for? Is this trip another pity gift like the vodka after the last awards? I’m so pathetic for accepting both.

“I … appreciate that.” Even if I don’t fully understand or maybe believe it. “Us being friends just seems unlikely.”

“No kidding.” He holds eye contact with me like a dare.

Of course, he’s too full of himself to think that means I think he’s an asshole and just don’t like him.

Most women probably can’t be friends with him without jumping his bones.

I can be the exception to that. It would be good to take him down a peg.

My eyes drop to his hand and follow the circles his finger traces in the condensation on his glass. I cross my legs, imagining that movement taking place—okay, well, this is fine. I am perfectly capable of surviving torturous circumstances. I’m a writer.

“Can I get you anything to eat?”

My attention snaps back to his face. “I’ll nibble on anything.” I close my eyes and will myself not to blush as he stands and goes to get us some food. That only sounded sexual to me, right?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take out my phone.

Me: I’m screwed.

James: Already? Aren’t you still at the airport?

Me: You’re the worst.

James: That’s why you love me.

He’d enjoy saying I told you so but wouldn’t actually judge me if this trip follows his predictions. I, on the other hand, would judge myself harshly.

When it’s time to board, I put away my stuff and ask if we get Wi-Fi included on the plane. This many hours restrained to a seated position will need to be put to good use.

“Nope.”

“That was a lie.” I swing my bag onto my shoulder.

“Not at all. The plane doesn’t have Wi-Fi. Also, the entire European continent no longer has Wi-Fi.”

“That will make it rather difficult for you to work while you’re there,” I say as we make our way to the gate.

“Not really. The work we’re doing now can mostly be settled in person.”

“What is this ‘in person’ thing you speak of?”

“Oh, you remember human interaction, don’t you?” he asks.

“I don’t think I liked it.”

“It has its perks.”

We get onto the plane, and my eyes go wide. “Oh, this is more than I thought first-class was.” The boarding door is behind our section of the jet, which is wide enough to space out the four seats per row with aisles between each.

“Well, it’s an eleven-hour flight to Paris,” Preston says. His seat is ‘next to’ mine, which doesn’t really feel like we’re traveling together at all.

“I can’t believe my first time in Paris is only for two hours in the airport.”

“We could always extend the trip to include Paris on the way home.”

I glare at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Guess you’ll just have to settle for three weeks in Monaco.”

People with seats in the few rows in front of ours pass between us, and I wiggle myself into a comfy position. A flight attendant offers us champagne, which we both accept.

“Disappointed you won’t get to fall asleep on my shoulder?” Preston asks.

“Not even a little bit.” We both hold our glasses up but don’t reach across the aisle to tap them together. “Are you going to work in flight?” I ask.

“No. Unless you consider watching movies to be work, which it sometimes is.” He scrolls through the movie options on the screen in front of him. “Oh, here’s a good one.”

I lean over the aisle to see When Stars Fall on his screen. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to know you’re watching my movie right next to me. I’ll be trying to watch for your reactions.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

The information shouldn’t surprise me, but it’s kind of strange. I talk to strangers all the time who’ve seen my movies, and of course, everyone I know in real life has, but Preston is this strange category unto himself. Not a stranger, not a friend.

“Not with me present. That’s as bad as being at screenings and waiting to hear laughter and sniffles when you expect it.”

He leans on his armrest conspiratorially. “I pop in AirPods at those so I can’t listen to any of it.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I’ve already seen it at that point.”

“But you … God, are you so …”— play nice, Mira —“ confident that you really don’t think you have to worry about what anyone thinks?”

“I care about what some people think. Those people aren’t at the screenings. Want to make it a fair trade? You can read the screenplay you’ll be watching the filming of while I watch your movie.”

I press my lips together. “Um, that seems weird. I’ve never read one of your screenplays.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve had three screenplays in For Your Consideration.” Should I be grateful he failed to mention they all won best screenplay?

“I’m aware.”

“You’re a screenwriter.”

“Yep.” I drink half the glass of champagne as the flight attendant comes to clear them for takeoff.

“I didn’t think you were that stubborn.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“Have you seen any of my movies?”

I tap my teeth together before answering. “I saw Choking in the Dark because James was in it.”

He scrunches his lips to the side. “You should watch Missed Opportunities. ” That first movie propelled him into the limelight. I’ve never been able to bring myself to see it. He doesn’t wait for a response, just lets the topic drop.

In the air, we’re served dinner, and then Preston does indeed put on my movie.

I want to watch him watching it, but that would be wildly creepy.

The idea that he’s judging it or comparing how his own are better gnaws at me.

It’s probably ridiculous since he’s seen it before. But the thought remains.

A jump into the writing rabbit hole distracts me.

Not in a direction I was supposed to go.

Mostly, I daydream about things that don’t fit into the script Ashleigh and I had planned for me to work on.

Eventually, I go to sleep, then I adjust the throne back up from the bed position to be fed again. I’m basically a jelly person in Wall-E.

By the time we get to our hotel, I’ve been with Preston for basically a whole day, and we are both somehow still alive.