Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
My mom texts me to check in, offering to drive up and take me to dinner that night. I instantly agree. I need to see her and Emily more than ever.
That day I try like hell to zone in on the job as I safely ferry Haven past the photographers waiting for a shot they’ll never get of her and Chris.
The money shot.
A picture like that? It’s a hell of a payday. Paparazzi would do whatever it took to get a pic of them touching, kissing, hugging. Something unposed. Something unexpected. Something real.
All day I think of photos. The first one that Silas snapped of Ripley outside the market. The picture a tour group might have tried to take of her the next day. The photo of Ripley and Chris in the produce aisle the day the movie began shooting, captured by some random person we never saw. The actual publicity photos of Chris and Haven, and of course plenty of pics of them separately.
During a break, I scroll through my phone and return to the photo that got me in this mess—the one outside Prohibition Spirit before Ripley and I went in. I study the angle, remembering the group of people outside the bar, trying to place Ripley’s ex there the other night. Was he walking past the group? Behind them? And when did the paps arrive who took the inside shot, the one that wound up on VIP Vibes? I do some more digging on Eric Patrick Waterstone. Not only do I find endless shot after shot of the dishes he’s made—the dude is understandably into food porn—I find pics of him posing with local celebs in New York.
My jaw ticks, and I begrudgingly admit the guy knows how to work it.
When I get a break, I lob in a call to my friend Tyler in Los Angeles, since he keeps close tabs on the comings and goings of paps as well.
“Aww, you must need something,” he says when he answers.
“Yeah, a cold beer. I’ll owe you one when I return to LA,” I say, though the thought of leaving twists my gut.
“Deal. Now what can I do for you?”
I ask him to check on who’s working for VIP Vibes these days.
“I’m on it,” he says, then I hang up and get back to work.
47
LANGUAGE, YOUNG MAN
BANKS
When the final shot is in the can that afternoon, the whole cast and crew whoops. Haven hugs Sam, Chris hugs Vega, Wanda hugs Tabitha, and on and on and on. I can’t hug Ripley because she’s off in the fields, busy tending to her lavender and her dog.
I watch Ripley as the cast and crew make plans for an impromptu party at Prohibition Spirit. Vega says she needs to stay at the farm and finish up some work, but she hands Sam her credit card, telling him that drinks are on her.
Haven appears beside me, asking in a low but hopeful voice, “You’re off tonight. Want to come?” She nods toward the faraway fields, where her sister works with Cyrus by her side. “We could…plot.”
Haven wiggles her brows, and I consider the offer as I stare at Ripley. I can’t stop wondering. Can’t stop asking what-ifs.
But it’s over with Ripley, and I don’t know what there is to plot with Haven, so I smile and say, “Thanks, but I’m having dinner with my family.”
“Have fun.”
She returns to the group, chatting with Chris, his hand on her arm, the two of them laughing. It seems so platonic to me, but I’m on the inside. From the outside, it could look like something else, and that’s why I’ve had a job for the last few weeks.
But the job ends when the cast and crew leave tomorrow. So the rumors about Haven and Chris aren’t really my problem for much longer.
I leave and hit the gym at The BookHouse. Afterward, I shower and head to meet my mom and sister at the tapas bar in town.
I’m more relieved to see them than I ever thought I’d be.
“Hey,” I say, and I can hear the gratitude in my voice as Mom pops up from the table and gives me a hug. Can she hear it too? I wrap my arms around her for longer than usual.
Emily gives me a curious look as she comes in for a hug as well. I take it, finding comfort in family.
When we let go, I pull out their chairs and sit once they’re settled.
“Okay, you’re a nice man and all,” Mom says, cutting to the chase, “but you’re not Mister Affectionate. What’s going on?”
I sigh, but I don’t want to burden her with my situation. “Just glad the job is finally over. It was…a complicated one.”
Emily eyes me suspiciously over the menu. “Lies. Tell me sweet little lies.”
“I assure you, the job was very, very complicated.”