Page 46 of Forget About Me

“Will Bianca be upset?”

“It’s probably fine. She thought this might reach a different audience. They’ll review the play when it opens.”

I pull the paper closer to me and trace Puck’s cute little face. I bump Ben’s shoulder with mine, savoring this closeness. “If Puck’s appearance in the show means that more people keep their pets, it’ll be worth it. At least to me.”

When he meets my gaze, everything melts. All my reasoning, all my defenses, all my willpower just puddle on the floor. I’d do anything for this man. Even at the risk of my status with the man upstairs.

Then a door slams upstairs, and he flinches away from me like I’m as dangerous as bacon. After setting his empty glass on the counter, he heads for the door. “I have to get going. We have rehearsal all day.” He takes another look around the kitchen again, a hand on the doorknob. “I guess we won’t see you for a bit since Nick cut you off.”

I make air quotes as I say, “No more new bits.”

“No more new bits,” Ben echoes. Unlike me, he does a good imitation of Nick’s accent. “He’s right, though. We have to perfect what we’ve got. But you’re coming to the opening, right?”

“Opening?”

“A week from Friday? There’s a party afterwards. Lots of donors will be there so lots of potential clients.” At the sound of big feet clomping down the stairs, his face drains of color and he practically runs out the door. “I’ll see you then,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Okay then,” I mutter as I stick his glass in the dishwasher.

Picking up the paper, I study the front-page photo. I don’t look that bad. The grin on my face is real, anyway.

The one on Ben’s is too—so different from how he looks in the magazines.

Before I can get lost in a fantasy world, reality crashes into the kitchen in the form of my two brothers. My two loud, ravenous, very much alive little brothers.

BEN

“Ben, what the fuck?” Kirk Vancouver’s voice grabs me by the collar and shakes me as if he’s across the room rather than across the country.

“What did I do now?” I knew I shouldn’t have answered the phone, but I didn’t think my agent would call me on a Sunday night. I’ve been dodging his messages for a few days now. You just never know which Kirk you’re going to get: supportive counselor or cutting bully. Thus, the avoidance. Plus, my gut says he has news I don’t want to hear.

“What’s with the huge photo of you with the mutt and the fat girl in theBoston Globe? And what the hell is that beard about? You’re as scruffy as the damn dog.”

“Thatgorgeouswoman just happens to be the love of my life.” As soon as the words cross my lips, I regret them. Kirk will somehow leverage this knowledge and probably not in ways I’ll be happy with.

He groans. “Oh my god. It’s worse than I thought. First you’re wasting your time with some two-bit theater, and now you’re in love with some girl you just met? Jesus. You need to get back here.”

I drop into a chair. Kirk’s an asshole, but he isn’t a complete dick, especially as agents go. When I needed to get back here for my dad, he moved heaven and earth so I could make a clean exit from work obligations. He gets that family is a priority. I guess it isn’t his fault that he grew up in Hollywood and has absolutely no idea that a world exists outside of it.

I take a deep breath so I can speak to him in a calm but forceful voice, like he’s just a big, naughty puppy. “Listen Kirk, this is a girl I’ve known since I was nine years old. I’ve always loved her. It’s a long story, but I am happy here. I’m happy to spend time with her while doing challenging and rewarding work, even if it is on a small professional theatre contract.”

He snorts. “What’s that, a theater for small professionals?” He laughs at his own lame joke. “Come on, Ben. You’ve got a career here. You just said it. You’re a real actor. I’ve been trying to get you to see that for years. Now is your time. You can transition from modeling to movies while the iron’s hot. Serious movies, not just any old crap. We’re talking Oscar-worthy movies. Maybe even a Broadway play. You need to get back here and get your head on straight. Bring the girl if you have to. She’ll love it.”

His rapid-fire attack has me up and pacing. “I get what you’re saying?—?”

“Great. So when are you coming back?”

“I told you I’d be back for the shoot on November eighth.”

“The shoot’s that day.”

“I know. I already have a flight booked on the sixth, which is closing night. I’ll go straight to the airport after the last performance.”

“You seriously have to stay till then?”

“Yes, I do.” Like a little kid, Kirk thinks that if he asks me to do something enough times, I’ll just give in. Sometimes it works, but not this time. “I believe I’ve stated very clearly that I’m not leaving the show. There are no understudies.”

“Jesus. What kind of a rinky-dink joint is this?”

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