“Uh…a villain?”
“Yes, a villain. A complete makeover. Major transformation. That would get him a fuckin’ Oscar.”
His lips curved on the side. He seemed amused by the thought. “You gonna enter?”
“No fuckin’ way.”
“Why not?Dark Hopesis perfect.”
“I can’t just put my name in there and expect unbiased results.”
Amanda shook her head. “Hello? Ever heard of pen names? Besides, these things are judged anonymously.”
I stared at her for a second, considering the idea. This could jumpstart my directing career. The industry loved directors who could write. But then I shrugged. “Nope. It’s a long shot, but what if I get picked? He’ll know it’s me. The whole credibility of the contest will be tarnished.”
“If I’m going to submit, your name will be there anyway,” Raoul said.
I cocked a brow. “Don’t you dare.”
“What? It’s your script, too.”
I couldn’t just risk it. This contest was so important for Mike. There would be more to come for me, but for him, this was it. He was putting everything at risk, taking chances for the first time ever, and it needed to go right. Otherwise, he’d lose faith in himself, in the opportunity, the possibility to finally have it his way.
To shine.
Andrea and James would win. Would sink their claws back in him, and he’d never find a way out.
I held Raoul’s gaze. “You’re gonna use your name.Onlyyour name.”
“Not in a million years.”
“Then submit something else!”
“What the fuck? You know the stuff I wrote alone isn’t as half as good.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. “You have my full permission and my blessing and whatever the fuck you think you need to submitBlack Sheep. Just please, Raoul, don’t put my name in there.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I patted him on the shoulder as my phone rang. Tapping the green icon, I grinned. “Congrats, Superstar.”
“Thanks. You like?” Mike asked.
Suddenly, all the exhaustion and the crappy mood disappeared when I heard his voice. “It’s awesome.”
“It’s been like five minutes and submissions are already coming. Can you believe it?”
I wandered aimlessly around the apartment. “Bet your ass I do. You’re Mike fucking Gennaro. Everybody wants to write for you.”
“Thanks for the new middle name.”
“Prego.” I teased as I stopped at the bay window, my gaze traveling with the shaking palm trees. Another feeling was sneaking under my skin, deep in my chest when I was talking to him. “When are you coming home?”
“I’m afraid there was a change of plans,” he muttered.
“Oh.” I bent my head, puckering my lips. I so fucking missed him. More than I ever should.
“Don’t pout, Kiddo.”
