Page 87 of The Best Wrong Move

I nod, forcing a smile.

“Sounds like you’ve been workingall your anglesto make this introduction happen.”

I try not to react, keeping the smile frozen to my face. Sometimes powerful people have a need to make others feel small. Especially when trying to put them in their place.

“Sometimes I forget how lucky we are, Quinny. What seems absolutely disgusting to us seems like God’s gift to others.”

Damn, Selma.

“Are the veggies done, Olive?” she asks. “Or should you maybe go in to check on them?”

I look to see Dom placing a lid on the wok, keeping them warm until the fish is ready.

“No, it looks like Dom has it all in hand.” I don’t bother to correct my name again. What’s the point? She’ll forget I exist by the time her head hits the pillow tonight. I turn my attention back to Quinton. He’s the one holding the key to what I want.

“What are you planning to do with the pool?” I ask him. “You obviously have an eye for beauty and design. That last film you did about the orphan family from the Congo was incredible. I think I went through an entire box of tissues at the end.”

Selma shifts off his lap, looking bored. She grabs the bottle and dumps the remaining inch of wine into her glass.

“Looks like I’m out.” She looks directly at me.

When I don’t move, Quinton pipes up. “I know Dom stocked the cellar with your favorites, honey. Why don’t you go pick out your next bottle or three?” Quinton hands her the nearly empty wine glass to finish his point.

She glares at me but takes the glass from him as she rises from the table. Then she marches inside.

With Selma out of earshot, Quinton’s smile slowly returns to his face. I can feel him watching me, so I force a grin. I came here to play ball, and in order to do that I need to be able to sit at the table with the big boys. He leans forward with his hands clasped in front of him.

Dom is watching us from inside. Purposefully hanging back a moment to give us this time alone.

“She hates talking about work on vacation,” he tells me. “Selma has started to, um, age out of the industry, as they say. It puts her on edge to discuss my success right when hers has started to fade.”

“Oh, I don’t know how that can be,” I mutter. I’m shocked he’s telling me this about his wife. We barely know each other. But, besides that, I’d be horrified if my husband were to speak about me like that to another woman. “Sure, she’s not twenty-four anymore, like she was at the peak of her career, but she’s every bit as stunning now.”

“Some women age like fine wine. I knew that she would when I married her. But there’s also nothing quite like plucking fruit, fresh from the vine, before it’s had a chance to age.”

I shift in my chair. The way he’s looking at me is making me feel uncomfortable. But I manage to hold my ground, deciding I need to change the subject before Selma gets back if we’re both going to make it out of here alive.

Chapter 59

The last thing I need is Selma overhearing her husband pick apart her career while hitting on me in the same breath.

“Speaking of fresh fruit, what’s your next big project?” I ask. It’s hardly subtle, but Selma will be done picking out wine within minutes. I get the feeling she’s not going to let our conversation return to the subject of work once she returns.

“So you’re a fan of my films?” A cocky smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Which one is your favorite?”

I rewatched every one of Quinton’s films recently, staying up way too late the last few weeks to memorize their plot structures. Twists and turns expertly worked into every sequence. Picking out the similarities in characters, and playing out how my film script might work its way into his treasured collection.

“The French Notebookwas my absolute favorite,” I tell him.

He slaps the table with this palm.

“Of course it was!” he says triumphantly. “Every woman tells me that was their favorite. I should have predicted that one would top your list.”

I get the sense that he’d rather I chose a lesser-known film. Perhaps one he doesn’t get the same accolades for, one that he loved making nonetheless.

“I also lovedForget Me Evermore.” It was one of his first films to put him on the path toward success, but it didn’t make the mainstream cut of turning into a cult classic, like most of his other films that followed.

I study his reaction carefully, to see if I’ve hit on some soft nerve that will take me from an everyday fan girl to perhaps something with more depth.

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