He propped his head on three fingers. “That’s a…pretty good idea.”
“I know. It’s a great idea.”
“But what about production? Who’s going to take a chance on a debut writer or director?”
“If you look hard enough, you’ll find one. And even if you can’t, Mike can produce it himself. What’s the point of having all that money if it doesn’t buy you the freedom you need to go after what you want?”
Mike returned, carrying a small tray of rolled joints, a bottle of vodka, and a couple of glasses. “Sorry I took so long. That Greg guy wouldn’t shut up.” He placed everything on the table and sat. “Shit, I forgot the ice.” He looked at James. “Could you bring some?”
James stood. “Sure.”
When he exited, Mike stared at me. “So…what did I miss?”
Scene 7
Mike
After the guests left, except for the two brunettes waiting in the bedroom and his manager, Mike flopped into the first chair in the living room. He rested one foot on top of the other on the empty chair next to his, staring up at his manager. “Did you hit on her?”
James half-smiled, his drunken eyes now alert. “Who?”
“You know who.”
James chuckled. “The kid?”
“Don’t fuck with me. The way you’ve been ogling her all night says she’s no kid to you.”
“Yeah. Have you seen that ass? That girl has got meat on her bones. One fine Italian—”
“James!” Mike’s feet dropped to the floor.
“What?” He glowered.
“You can’t talk about her like that.”
He frowned at Mike for a while before he took a step forward. “Why the fuck do you care?”
“I care because…she’s Andrea’s daughter.” Mike stood, his voice rising. “When it comes to Maggie you need to keep your fucking eyes, hands, and dick to yourself, do you hear me?”
“All right. Jeez.” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Wow.”
Mike placed his hands on his hips. “What now?”
James tilted his head at him. “I didn’t think…” He held his hands up. “Never mind, Mickey. I get it.”
Mike approached him. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
James eyed him, a smile twitching on his mouth, and then he nodded to the bedroom. “Enjoy your short-haired girls tonight, my friend.” He lurched to the door, waving goodbye.
The sound of the door closing made Mike flinch. Had James just figured it out? Was it that obvious? Fuck.
Mike shouldn’t have shown that. The jealousy. The weakness. His feelings for her had to remain a secret. Even from the keeper of his secrets. From everybody.
But how? When Maggie told him James might have hit on her, he contemplated smashing his manager’s face and that of each of those fuckers at the party who had so much as looked at her. However, Mike just laughed with her, his emotions hidden behind a decade and a half of practice. Or had he not?
His heart dipped at the possibility. He failed to hide it from James; he was reckless for a second, and his manager noticed. What if she’d noticed, too?
No. He was too careful—as he had been for years. When he looked at her, he shifted his gaze every seven seconds, so his eyes wouldn’t give him away, so he wouldn’t mash his lips against hers. When he hugged her, he made sure no parts under belt level got in contact. Sometimes—he knew it was crazy—he even held his breath around her, because God forbid what happened if she found out what her smell did to his dick.
