Page 94 of The Best Wrong Move

I like this version of him. I don’t know what type of air he was putting on for me earlier, that whole act of the stereotypical drunken film director taking the innocent doe-eyed scriptwriter down to the pool.Thisversion of him seems decent.

“Why aren’t you drunk anymore?” I ask him suddenly.

“Ah. Well, that was all part of my show! I wasn’t drinking as heavily as I let on. Right before you showed up, Dom was telling us that you were renting his place for two months, and you’d quickly befriended him. Selma and I quietly guessed you were using him to get my attention. We didn’t mention it to Dom, but it didn’t sit very well with either of us. It seemed too contrived that you’d be renting from him for the eight weeks leading up to our vacation.”

“So it was all an act.” Part of me thinks everything about him is twisted, and the other part finds it somewhat endearing that Quinton would be so protective over Dom like this. To risk his own reputation just to save his brother some future heartache.

“Guilty,” he confirms. “I do enjoy putting on a great show.” Then he winks at me, his smile growing wider, and I finally feel myself relax. “You’re living a very interesting life lately, aren’t you?”

He’s listened closely to every word I’ve said. “Interesting doesn’t begin to describe what my life has been lately.” I crack a smile. “Which brings us to today. Me pitching you. Something Dom insisted I do, against my better judgment, considering what happened with Taryn.”

I wait with bated breath, hoping that he’s going to tell me he loves it, now that he knows I’m genuine.

“Olivia, I like you. I really do.”I have a sinking feeling that this is starting out like the sweetest rejection letter I’ve ever gotten. “The pitch on your script was fine. I could give you some pointers on how to present it to the next director. Places to tighten it up here and there. Maybe an additional plot twist you could add in. However—”

He continues on, but I don’t hear the rest of what he’s saying.

After all the hell I’ve gone through to get here, what I’m getting right now is a very heartfelt rejection.

Chapter 66

It’s close to midnight when I walk back into the townhouse. After crying as quietly as I could in the backseat of my ride — so the driver didn’t feel the need to make small talk about my night — I didn’t even bother checking my makeup before I got inside.

Dom and I didn’t exactly end things well tonight.

He’d come outside to wait for the driver with me after I’d gotten nicely rejected by Quinton. Dom said he’d almost followed us out to the pool after dinner, but decided to give us the time alone so I could finally make my pitch to Quinton in private. But when he saw me coming back up to the house alone a half hour later, he knew from my face that Quinton had turned me down.

“Did he give you any feedback?” He’d hugged me while we waited on the front porch for the driver.

“Some.” I’d shoved back a tear. “Though I hardly heard a word of his advice after he told me no. Basically, the script wasn’t strong enough. Not fresh enough. He suggested I find a better plot twist, or start from scratch. These last few weeks, working like I did to get it to a place I was happy to pitch it, just seem like a waste when I could have just been spending all those hours with you.”

“It wasn’t all a waste. Just come back inside.” He’d gently pulled my arm toward the house. “I’ll tell the driver you changed your mind and don’t need a ride anymore. Stay here with me tonight. You don’t have to go back to the rental all upset. It’s your last night here. Maybe we can all have breakfast in the morning and you can try again.”

“I’m sorry.” I’d crossed my arms. “I can’t stay here in this house with them. Or wake up to them. I just need to think.”

“Then let me come with you,” he’d pleaded. “Or stay.”

“I just feel like reality is crashing through me right now,” I’d told him. “I’m about to fly back to New York tomorrow and face everything I ran from. Everything that nearly destroyed me. I’m about to go back to the station that made me a laughing stock. To a life I don’t recognize myself in anymore. I thought that if tonight worked out with Quinton and this script, there was a chance I could stay. I hadn’t really let myself think about what I’d do if it didn’t work, and now it means that I don’t have a backup plan. The only thing I can do while standing on my own two feet is to return to UBN. Which means turning back into the girl you won’t even recognize anymore.”

“Then stay,” he’d pleaded. “I’ll take care of you. You’ll want for nothing. Why won’t you let me do that for you?”

“Because I can’t let you. I can’t rely on you. Not yet. I was so blind in my last relationship that I proposed to a guy, in front of millions of people, who didn’t even want to be with me. What if I can’t trust my gut yet, even with you? What if everything about us falls apart without warning like my last relationship did? I won’t have a career to fall back on if I walk away from it without another plan in place.”

“But I’m not Rex.” He’d lowered his voice. “I’d never do that to you.”

“There was a time that he wouldn’t have either. I just feel like I’m in a bit of a free-fall right now. The station won’t give me any more time. I just need to think about what to do before I get on that plane.”

Then he stepped back toward his door and watched me go.

“Please understand,” I’d told him as I climbed into the car, feeling gutted. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning. I need time to think.”

He’d nodded, just once, his eyes like two raging storms, before closing the car door with me inside.

Now, walking into the rental again, the first thing I notice is the patio light on outside, and Rex sitting in a lounge chair with a book. Two glasses of red wine sit beside him, meaning Juju is probably somewhere around here, enjoying the balmy midnight air. A mostly empty bottle sits beside him on the deck.

Wonderful.

I walk over to shove the blinds closed, but he turns and jumps up from the chair, grabbing both glasses of red wine, like he’s been waiting for me.

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