Page 47 of Faking the Pass
“But you’ve done a lot of live theater, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, but that’s different. It’s someone else’s words that I’ve memorized and practiced. And no one’s shouting questions at me. When it’s me just answering questions, I’m always afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. It’s like that old saying, ‘Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt.’”
I wanted to reach over and still her busy hands with my own, but I had to keep a grip on the wheel. Her honesty and vulnerability slayed me.
“You’re not a fool, Rosie.”
“Oh really?” She let out a desperate sounding laugh. “Tell that to my five hundred non-wedding guests.”
We pulled into the stately mansion’s semi-circular drive and parked right in front of its tall marble facade. A few photographers waited at the entrance to snap photos. There were bound to be dozens more inside.
Suddenly Rosie looked very small to me.
Hand on the passenger side door handle, she turned to face me. “Thanks again. Wish me luck?”
She made a valiant attempt at a smile, but even with all her talent, she couldn’t pull it off. She looked like someone about to walk down death row toward an awaiting lethal injection.
For a second, I sat in indecision, chewing on my inner cheek.
Then, instead of wishing her good luck and saying goodbye, I opened my own car door, got out, and went around to her side.
Pulling the door wide, I offered her my hand.
Rosie’s eyes went round with shock, though she did put her hand in mine and allow me to help her up.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m not letting you go in there alone. I’ll walk you to the conference room door.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she argued.
“I want to. Consider it moral support.”
She didn’t argue further but allowed me to escort her inside as cameras clicked around us.
A woman Rosie appeared to know, met us just inside the mansion’s enormous front doors. Barely glancing at me, she handed Rosie a printout of the script Randy had sent last night.
The woman’s face was tense, and her tone seemed overly harsh.
“I don’t have to tell you how much money is riding on this movie’s success. And your NDA is in full effect—it covers every conversation you’ve ever had with Randy. And everything you’ve ever seen him do.”
“I remember,” Rosie said. Her voice sounded airy, like she was fighting for breath.
She took the paper from the woman. It shook in her hand.
And as I walked her down the hallway with my hand on her back, I could feel her trembling.
Heat blazed from my neck to my scalp, and my jaw muscles clenched, teeth grinding together.
I wanted to charge into that room and breathe fire at all those predatory reporters, like a dragon defending a mythical princess.
Better yet, I wanted to grab Rosie and throw her over my shoulder to carry her off somewhere far from here.
Instead, when we reached the closed conference room doors, I turned her to face me.
Looking down into her wide, frightened eyes, I took her icy fingers inside mine.
“You’re smart. You’re charming. You’ll have them all eating out of your hand. You got this.”
