Page 34 of Take 2

Chapter Thirty-One

O ut of the next five days, I’m his girlfriend for four. The position of Preston Greene’s girlfriend consists of movie sets, sunshine, amazing food, and even better sex. On Wednesday, I asked to be the woman he left alone all day and then ravaged before bed. He accepted that option.

Kisses on my neck are my new favorite alarm clock. “You know the best way to spend a Friday?” Preston’s breath curls around my ear.

“No.” The sleepy, mumbled word is as clever as I can be at the moment.

“Being my girlfriend.”

A laugh puffs out through my nose, and I stretch, pressing my back against him. “Again?”

“Mhmm.” He trails kisses down to my collarbone.

“Aren’t you bored of that yet?”

“Nope.” His fingers spread over my hip. “Are you?”

“Hmm, remind me why I like being your girlfriend?” I circle my hips, pressing my ass against his growing hard-on.

“That reminder is only available after agreeing.”

I gasp and look at him over my shoulder. “Withholding sex now?”

“Free samples are just to get people to buy.”

“So, if I say no?”

“I’m going to get out of bed and take a shower. Then it’s too late to change your mind because you’re not allowed in the shower without consuming food.”

“You never got me sex cookies. That’s not my fault.”

“But we could have sex before the shower if you decide to be my girlfriend now.”

I tap my nose. “Decisions, decisions.”

“Take your time.” He slides away from me and stands. “There’s always tonight.”

The blanket and sheets fall away from me as I get up to my knees. We’re just two naked people staring each other down. Of course. “Are you really walking away from me?”

“Apparently.” He takes a step back, and I launch myself forward. My arms and legs wrap around him like a sloth on a tree branch.

“Fine,” I say. “You drive a hard bargain, but I will be your girlfriend.”

He falls forward, pinning me to the bed. “For a day?”

“Obviously.”

The first hour of the day sets a high standard for the remaining twenty-three.

Espresso goes down smoothly from my spot across from Saint Nicholas Cathedral.

Only the bare minimum of crew can be in there while they film.

Preston’s espresso is getting cold next to me since the texts with Rafael resulted in him stomping off like a parent having to deal with a fussy toddler.

Gray clouds have rolled in, and somehow, this place is even more stunning without postcard blue skies overhead.

When Preston comes back out of the church, Rafael is with him. “You owe me caffeine for that,” Rafael says.

Preston grins and stops to ask me if I want anything.

“No thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.” He continues into the café, and Rafael sits next to me.

“The scary thing is”—his hands dance as he speaks—“he’s easier to work with now that you’re around.”

I smile and sip my espresso. “Do I get credited in the movie for that?”

“You should. But more importantly, I read what you sent me.” His eyes widen a moment, but it’s long enough for me to think every terrible thing I’ve ever thought of my writing.

It’s not technically done, but we’d spoken a bit more since our dinner, and he wanted to see for himself what I was worried about.

“Mira, it’s incredible. It’s going to be so beautiful.

I could see it in my head, and I’m in love. ”

“Thank you so much.” Don’t squeal. Don’t squeal. You’re a professional. You’ve done this before.

“Honey, thank you for letting me see it. Let’s schedule a meeting with Danny and Lisa when we get back. I’m sure it’ll be done by then, and even if it’s not, this is ready to pitch.”

“Yeah, of course,” I say as if I’m at the point in my career where I try to pitch unfinished screenplays.

He claps his hands together. “Excellent. More for another time, but have you thought about how some of the consequences could circle back to the main character’s emotional hurdles more if …”

Preston returns while Rafael and I are discussing ideas to revise my screenplay.

He nods along but doesn’t add anything to the conversation.

It validates my excitement for the story to dive into it with someone who can offer a fresh perspective.

When Rafael excuses himself to check some raw footage and update the schedule, Preston and I weave through the streets of Monaco in the general direction of the hotel.

“You know,” he says, “you don’t have to take all of his suggestions.”

“Are you trying to get me the same reputation as you? I kind of like the idea of people finding me pleasant to work with.”

“You’ll always be nicer to work with than me, but the point remains. It’s your story. You know it best.”

“Yes, but it can always be improved. Rafael made some great points.”

“I know.” He laces his fingers with mine. “I just want to make sure you won’t compromise what you want for it.”

A sigh slips out of me. “It’s certainly not my intention, but remember, it’s easier for you to put your foot down. You’re the golden boy who can do no wrong.”

“Mirabelle,”—he stops against a wall and pulls me to face him—“you’re thirty, and you’ve been nominated for two Oscars. People will listen to you.”

It’s a mind-blowing achievement, but the reason it doesn’t feel like enough is staring me in the face. I can’t shake the chip from my shoulder, no matter how childish and embarrassing it is. “I guess I still feel like I’m trying to prove myself in Hollywood.”

“You’ll be running Hollywood. Why do you think I’m trying to secure my place on your good side?” He winks, and my shoulders relax.

I drop my forehead onto his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. Forget being on my good side, what I need is for him to be on my side.

Which he is, unwaveringly. Still, Rafael being lovely about all this doesn’t mean that’s how it would always be.

I don’t want Hollywood to know me as Preston Greene’s girlfriend.

He’s confident I’ve already made my own name for myself.

I’m not so sure. Even though I’ve been doing this longer, he’s got notoriety I don’t.

I love having his arms around me, but I cannot live with people thinking he carried me to an Oscar.