Before A Perfect World: Movie Trilogy, Book Two (The Movie Trilogy) (7 page)

Big, bold letters. Even and commanding.

Directing.

“I like the way that you write,” I said softly.

He reached for my face, tipping my chin to look up at him again.

“He’s a friend of mine. This shouldn’t be a long drive for you, right?”

“No, it’s less than tw
enty minutes.” My pride prickled under his scrutiny. “Is this… standard practice? To have an acting coach? Do you feel like I need the extra help? I feel like such an amateur.”

“Confidence,” he
encouraged.

Startled, I narrowed my eyes. “I’m confident, Keaton.”

“Not when you act.” He downed the dark liquid in his glass, and my brain tried to piece together the time of day with his behavior.
Not even noon, and he’s drinking?
“You’re all in here.” He leaned forward, his mouth pressing to the side of my forehead, near my temple.

I felt his lips all the way through my body,
suddenly remembering his mouth between my legs.

“Where should I be?” I murmured, closing my eyes and turning my face slightly toward his.

His lips were so close to mine. I exhaled sharply at the wave of wanting that rolled through me.

“In here
, V.”

His hand began at my neck, sliding excruciatingly slowly down my chest. His palm settled over my left breast, over my beating heart, and I gasped, trying to stifle the moan.

“
Keaton…
”

“Act with your heart. Perform with your soul. Your brain is irritating the hell out of me.”

My eyes snapped open, and he caught my face in his hands.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded. He grinned suddenly, his
grin hovering just over my lips.

“
It means you think too much, goddamnit.”

His Clint Eastwood impression forced a smile
out of me.

The phone jarred us from the moment. He pulled away, and I could see him take a deep, steadying breath near his desk. “Yeah, Kath.”

Her voice sounded through the phone. “Mr. Fowler is here.”

“Thank you,” Keaton answered, his eyes meeting mine.

K

To his credit, Fowler stalked into my office as though he had every right to be there. He moved to Vivian like I wasn’t even there, reaching for her.

“You’re okay? What did the doctor say?” he asked worriedly.

“Everything looks good. I’m fine, the baby’s fine,” she assured him, her eyes darting nervously to mine.

“She has a series of appointments set up over the next few months. I’ve also arranged for an acting coach, and I’ll be communicating the set schedule and flight information by the end of the day.” I walked toward them, keeping an even distance.

Fowler stared me down, and I ignored his aggressive stance.

“Thank you, Keaton.”
Vivian’s soft voice eased the tension between the three of us… a little.

“I asked you to come here because I have one thing to tell you.” I locked my jaw, keeping my own confident gaze. “I’m going to keep my distance. On the set, in private, in general. I’m respecting the fact that you and Vivian have unresolved issues. And I won’t get in the way.”

Fowler nodded once, not even pretending to be impressed. “Good. Vivian, let’s go, okay?”

She nodded, those big, blue eyes trained on me the entire time. I knew that I’d made an impression on her, at least.

And that was all that mattered.

“Wait.” I tucked my hands in my pockets. “Listen. I can’t stop what the paparazzi will create. They know that we’re engaged, and that she’s having my baby. I want to be sure that you won’t take your irritation with the press out on V.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, glancing down at Vivian. “I don’t blame her.”

Shrugging, I turned back to my desk. “Good.”

“Thank you Keaton,” she repeated, giving me one more fleeting look before following Fowler out the door.

And then s
he walked out, taking my baby with her.

I spent the rest of the morning working on the set schedule, meeting with Max
, and finally agreeing to skip the screen test for Ash Salter and cast him opposite of Vivian in
Round-Up.

And then,
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my apartment, re-watching Vivian’s audition recordings while drinking a fifth of whiskey.

And staring at the ultrasound picture.

My baby.

I sat back on the couch, closing my eyes and listening to
her voice on the flat screen. I wanted my daughter to have Vivian’s big, blue eyes. As much as I wanted a boy, I wanted a girl even more.

That was unexpected.

I imagined holding my baby in my arms. In almost twenty-seven years, I’d never held a baby.

Ever.

I opened my eyes to watch Vivian on the TV.

By letting her go, I was trying to ‘set her free’ and all that bullshit.
By eleven PM, what I guessed was the prime screwing hour for domestic couples in suburban Ohio, I couldn’t stop imagining her in bed with Fowler.

Though my booze-filled haze, I texted her.

Me: Are you awake?

I waited.

And then I passed the fuck out.

...

Banging
.

On my door.

Dragging myself off of the couch, I scratched at the two days’ worth of growth on my jaw and cringed at my thick, cotton tongue.

“
What!”

“Kid! Open up.”

Frank.
Fuuuuuck
.

I threw the door open, turning for my bedroom.

“
Keaton
. We have to meet with her agent in an hour. What is this- Jack? A fifth of Jack fucking Daniels?”

I ignored his muffled voice through the door, flattening my hand on the wall above the toilet. I had never wanted to simultaneously take a piss and drink a gallon of water so bad in my entire life.

“Give me ten minutes,” I called, shaking my dick twice before moving to the shower.

Fumbling with the faucet, I finally got the cold water to stream directly into my mouth.

“You see the news?” he demanded, and I flinched at his nasally voice. The acoustic assault in my spacious bathroom was like a blade to the brain.

“No. I just woke up.”
I used the single bar of soap to wash every part of me as quickly as possible, and my head began to pound by the time I’d reached my calves.

“
Star. OK!, US,
even
Entertainment Tonight.
All you and Vivian. They’re calling you the ‘Hollywood High School Sweethearts.’ They printed your baby news, and even got their hands on a snapshot from the two of you at that amusement park last month.”

“
High
school? I’m almost twenty-seven years old.” I slammed the faucet off, grabbing for the towel. Frank was just outside my door.

“They’re about five seconds away from
calling you two either Kivian or Veaton, they can’t seem to decide.”

I tucked the towel around my waist,
reaching for the celebrity rag in Frank’s hand.

Sure enough, there I was, down on one knee, proposing to Vivian right in front of the Round-Up at Idlewild Park.

“What in the
hell
, kid.” Frank punched me in the gut, and I tensed just in time, glaring at him. “Is that a six-pack, or just your fucking liver?”

I
narrowed my eyes at him. “Frank, I’ll dry up for a while. Yesterday, letting her leave… was hard. But I know I need to focus. As much as you piss me off, I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Someone’s gotta,” he
quipped, moving to the kitchen. “You’re the son I never had. Thank fucking God for that,” he mumbled. “You drive me crazier than Jan does, most of the time.”

I heard him open the refrigerator while I prayed that my housekeeper had picked up my dry cleaning.

Three suits. Thank God.

“Do you nag the
hell out of her too?” I pictured Frank’s wife, a few inches taller than him and full of piss and vinegar half the time. Over the years, I’d gotten used to Jan’s brash attitude.

“
Suck a dick. Red Bull, vegetable juice, and… oh, a lemon. Nice. Kid, you need groceries.”

“We’ll get something on the way. Come on.”

I adjusted my watch, and he closed the fridge, shaking his head. His beady eyes gave me a once-over, and he smoothed his slick, black hair.

“Fucking youth. Go to bed with a bottle of Jack, wake up looking like a million dollars. Enjoy it while it lasts,
Keaton.”

I ignored his comment, following him out the door.

Three hours and two Red Bulls later, I had contracts and an offer ready for Vivian. “Would you like me to overnight them to her, Mr. Thane?” Marcus Tate, her newly employed agent, reached to shake my hand.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Frank and I spoke at the same time, and I gave Frank a long, sideways glare. “No,” I repeated, accepting the contracts. “I’m planning to fly out to Ohio and deliver them
personally. I want to be able to answer any questions she may have, and I want to sit in on her session with the acting coach that I hired for her.”

“
Well.” Marcus glanced down at her headshot, giving a resigned nod. “You’re a lucky man. When I spoke with Miss Hale on the phone this morning, I was impressed by how genuinely professional she was. Very articulate, too.”

“
Yes, she is,” I agreed, gathering the last of the paperwork. “You’ll meet her this weekend. I’m flying with her here for the Sundance Charity Ball.”

“Ah,
her first official public appearance.” Marcus winked, reaching for his bag. “I’m sure Emmet is having a field day with this.”

I nodded, remembering the three unanswered messages from Emmet Hastings still waiting in my voicemail. He was my public relations
boy wonder, and had somehow managed to douse the fires of my publicity nightmare after I’d found Kelsey in bed with her boss.

Knowing Emmet, I expected him in my office within minutes.

“Emmet knows what he’s doing. He’s the one who suggested the ball for Vivian’s official premier.”

He paused at the door, grinning. “Does Vivian know?”

I smirked. “Not yet.”

Frank sighed deeply, and
shook his head, leading Marcus out of my office. They attempted to close the door behind them, but sure enough, Emmet slapped his hand against the wood.

He pushed
past a frustrated Kathy in a rush of silk scarves and dramatic curses. “Keaton! If you weren’t so pretty, I’d have left your ass a long time ago,” Emmet snapped, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. “Really?
This?
”

He slapped the
OK!
magazine down on my desk, his painted fingernail tapping the photo of my smiling face expectantly. “‘
Keaton “The Kid” Thane proposing to newcomer actress Vivian Hale last month in Pennsylvania. Rumor has it that Vivian Hale will be starring in Thane’s upcoming film,
Round-Up.
These Hollywood High School Sweethearts are expecting their first child in April.
’”

“March,” I corrected, arching one eyebrow.

“April, March, who in the hell
cares
, honey? Jesus, I need a drink.”

Emmet fanned his face, his oversized
sunglass and gaudy rings reflecting in my sunlit office.

Shrugging, I turned to stare out at the Los Angeles skyline.
“I love her, Emmet. Let them print what they want. The more press, the better. I’m casting her in
Round-Up
with Ash Salter.”

“Lord have mercy.” Emmet dropped to the couch dramatically.

I’d told him long ago that he was a southern woman trapped in Bruce Willis’ body, and I was pretty sure he took that as a compliment.

“
Everything is fine. She’ll be perfect at the ball.”

“Except she lives with some s
chmexy teacher in small town Ohio.” He ran his index finger over both of his manicured eyebrows, still stretched out on my couch. “Yes, I did my homework. Part of doing good PR is doing better PI.”

Stiffening, I looked down at the contracts. “
Yes, she’s there. But not for much longer.”

“And he is…?”

“Her former fiancé.”

“God in Heaven.
”

“She has some baggage, but so do I.”

“Ah, baggage.” He snorted. “How
is
the blond train wreck of Rodeo Drive, Kelsey, that bitch?”