Page 11 of Endeavor

Andy laughs again. “Emma, welcome to Hollywood, where it’s who you know, not what you know.”

I laugh. “I’m learning that, slowly.”

Chapter Six

Grady

That dress should be fucking illegal. I certainly didn’t need to catch up with Colton or his sister, but when I saw my mom and Emma heading over here, I knew it was my chance. Call me a glutton for punishment, but I love the chase, always have.

Emma had no idea that her “fuck you” eyes were gonna unleash the beast in me, but damn it if they didn’t. I need a taste of her, now that I’ve touched her soft, warm skin, smelled her lavender perfume that smells like the South of France, or witnessed up close just how plump and perfect both her lips and tits are.

I’m half-listening to Colton. He’s talking about some charity thing. I nod and pretend to listen while stealing occasional glances at Emma, who is talking with my mother and Andy. Mom worked on a film with Andy years ago and they’ve remained good friends. Andy and his wife, Dorothea, are good people, which is sometimes hard to find in a town that can be as fake as the movies it makes.

Colton asks me a question, pulling me away from my thoughts. “Sorry, what was that?”

Colton glances over at Emma. “She’s rather attractive. Don’t you think?”

I shrug, trying to deflect his statement. “It was great to see you, but I need to head out.”

“You’re not coming to the after-party?” Quinlan interjects as she stares over at me.

“Probably not. I need to be in the studio tomorrow.”

Hawk looks over at me. We’re friendly and have played some of the same music festivals. “You should come. Just for a bit. Hang out, it’s been a while.”

I shrug again. “I might stop by.”

“Emma and I will be there,” Quinlan interjects. I want to roll my eyes.

“Cool,” I reply, attempting to sound aloof. I pat Colton on the shoulder and give them a nod as I head over to the bar to grab one last drink. Some D-list celebrity grabs my attention and starts talking to me. I pretend to listen while strategically placing him between me and Emma so that I can watch her.

She’s cute. Her hands are aminated as she speaks. Her nose scrunches up as she laughs. And not a fake laugh, a real laugh. She has Andy and Mom laughing, too. I sip my beer and enjoy the show. A few minutes later, she shakes hands with Andy and rejoins her date. I can’t even remember the guy’s name. I’m still trying to figure out if they are together or not. She’s not putting out signals that she’s with him, but she’s not shying away from him either.

My phone pings with a text and I use it as an excuse to end the conversation with the guy whose name fails me at the moment.

It’s Rhett.

Rhett: Dude, sorry I missed your mom’s thing. I hear there’s going to be an after-party.

Me: I guess.

Rhett: Max and I will be there. And Jackie, of course.

I shake my head as I move across the room. My mother is now schmoozing with a big producer. I text her that I’m heading out and congrats on a successful gala. I add something about getting together for lunch to appease her. She means well, but what can I say? I’m sort of a shitty son. I should be grateful. I should spend more time with her. But being with her is a constant reminder of everything I lost.

I head for the doors and summon the valet. Two minutes later, my 1969 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of me. I can tell the valet kid has a boner just from driving it a mere 500 yards.

“Nice car, dude,” he says as he opens the door for me.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I’m well aware of how nice the car is. It was the last gift my dad ever gave me. We worked on it over a summer and restored it, piece by piece. And then Dad had to go get himself killed. And with his last breath, my dreams of being a race car driver died. I never raced competitively again.

Emma

“You guys really should come to the after-party,” Quinlan urges as she looks over at Will who is busy talking to some guy near the bar, and then over at Grady who she already announced to that I will be there.

“Uh, where’s the after-party?” I ask.

She grins and pulls out her phone, texting me an address. “It’s at Blythe’s house in Malibu. She invited some of us back there afterward.”

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