Annoyed, I pull the phone away from my ear. I can still hear Stan speaking, but the bulk of my attention is on the woman. I remember her from that night at the club.
I sat up in the VIP section ofVibrationsnightclub, not wanting to stay for too long, but Michael Keith—along with some of the producers of the film—had wanted to have a meeting with me and Ron Stokes, the second lead inLate Nights.
Really, I knew it was because the producers wanted Ron and I to be seen out in public. Being a Hollywood actor not only requires acting on screen but also playing the part in public.
Guest appearances at Los Angeles’ latest hotspots come with the territory.
I had been there for almost an hour when I was preparing to make my exit and then I saw her, on the dance floor. She wore a sequined blue dress that moved in rhythm to the sway of her hips. I spotted her from behind at first.
After ten minutes of watching her, I swear I willed her to turn around so I could see her face.
And she did.
The smile she wore knocked me out almost immediately. Words can’t describe it, but it looked like that smile had been hard won.
The urge to keep it on her face overcame me.
“Andreas, where are you going?” one of the producers had asked me.
I didn’t even realize I’d stood up, my body moving before my brain could catch up.
“Bathroom,” I told him before excusing myself. Unfortunately, it took too long for me to make it past the throngs of clubbers, many of whom had to be held back by security. By the time I reached the dance floor, she was gone.
I cursed myself for not just having someone from the security staff tap her on the shoulder for me to invite her to the VIP section.
Why the hell hadn’t I done that?
The disappointment I felt that night fades away as renewed hope sprouts in my chest while watching her only a few feet away from me.
From what I can make out of the conversation, there’s something wrong.
“That’s not what we ordered,” she’s saying to the girl who doesn’t look much older than nineteen.
“That’s what Rebecca told me to order,” the girl replies.
“The color is all wrong, and this sizing isn’t going to fit Andreas Knight correctly.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, hearing her say my stage name. Her voice is magnetic.
“Well? What do you think?”
I look toward my phone. I’ve never spaced out on a professional meeting in my damn life. Not even as a teenager completely new to Hollywood and this type of lifestyle.
“What?” I ask Stan.
He takes a beat, which tells me he’s annoyed.
I shrug, uncaring as I put my attention back onto the woman in the room. What is her name? She knows mine, it’s unfair that I don’t know hers.
“This deal with Amber and her team,” Stan continues.
I know what he’s referring to and I tell him flat out, “I’m not interested.”
“Andreas, it’s the perfect time for something like this. We can?—”
“I’m not hooking up with Amber again,” I tell Stan.
“You don’t really have to hook up with her if you don’t want, but?—”
