Page 2 of Mr. Wrong
My cat tolerated him.
What more could I possibly be looking for?
“HeisMr. Right,” I give my own drink a stir to wake up some of the whiskey resting on the bottom of my glass. “He’s just not Mr. Right forme.” Lifting my glass, I drain it while telling myselfthat I mean it. “I don’t want to talk about Derek anymore.” I lean out of the booth to signal our waitress. “How’s work?”
“I’m a secondary character on a cheesy soap.” She shrugs. Six months ago, the part was her big break.Demi Moore started out on a soap,you know?Now, the part of a lifetime barely warrants more than a shrug. “I’d rather talk aboutyourbig break.”
“It’s just a teaching job,” I remind her. Catching the waitress’s eye, I lift my glass and smile. She pretends she doesn’t see me. Probably because my jeans didn’t cost as much as a used car and my sweater is from Target. “And I haven’t even started yet.” Five months ago, I was a newly minted college graduate with a plan:
Graduate college a semester early.
Move with Derek to New York.
Get teaching job at uppity private school.
Patiently wait for Derek to ask me to marry him.
When he said, “Elle, we need to talk,” I was sure the proposal was coming ahead of schedule. Seventy-two hours later I was crying in my parents’ basement and wondering what I did. Where I made the wrong turn that brought me to Loserville. Why I got left behind while Derek made the move to New York to start his new job at a management firm without me.
“No.” She sets her glass down and shakes her head at me like I just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “You’re a private homeschool teacher forLandon Trask’s daughter.” She leans forward, her perfect dark brows lowering over brilliant blue eyes. “Landon. Trask.” Her voice is raised enough so that more than a few people at nearby tables glance in our direction.
“Can you keep your voice down?” I scowl at her. I had to sign a confidentiality agreement. I could get sued for justtellingher I work for him.
“Sorry.” Her tone says she’s not really all that sorry. “But seriously—holy shit, Elle. LandonfreakingTrask,” she says in a stage whisper. “How does this shit happen to you?”
Objectively, I understand why she’s flipping out. Landon Trask is at the top of Hollywood’s A-list. America’s favorite leading man. He’s juggling three major movie franchises and with over six-billion box office dollars under his belt, he’s the highest-grossing actor in Hollywood, moving seamlessly from Rom-com heartthrob to dangerously sexy action-star and back again without a hitch. It’s even rumored that he’s slated to be the next Marvel superhero.
His perfect, boy-next-door good looks and matching Oscars are only rivaled by his very public and very tragic personal life. He fell in love with his wife in high school and when Hollywood came calling, instead of leaving her behind, he took her with him.
Their life was like a fairytale. Insanely in love. Hopelessly devoted. She was eight-months pregnant when she and Landon were in a head-on collision, trying to get away from the paparazzi. Landon survived with barely more than a scratch. She lived just long enough to see their daughter born before dying.
Ever since, Landon’s been obsessed with his daughter’s privacy. Which is why he made me sign a confidentiality agreement the size of a telephone book. If I so much as say her name in public, he can sue me.
And he made it very clear that he will.
I know what you’re thinking, Ms. Pierce. ‘He can try to sue me if he wants but I don’t have anything worth taking, so it doesn’t matter anyway.’ Trust me—you do. You havesomethingworth taking, and if you eventhinkabout bending so much as the paperclip holding this agreement together, I’ll spend every dime I have to find it and rip it away from you.
It was a heart-warming conversation, straight out of one of his rom-coms.
Spotting our waitress again, I try to wave her over, but she turns her head before I can lift my hand. I really,reallyhate LA. “I went to one of my professors and asked for a letter of recommendation.”
“For your ill-fated, fancy private school job,” Dani reminds me. I’ve told her this story no less than a hundred times in the past forty-eight hours—she probably knows it better than I do by now.
“Yes.” I nod, giving her a quick grin to cover up the fact that losing out on my chance to teach at one of New York’s most exclusive private schools bothers me more than I’d like to admit. “For the fancy private school.” Shrugging, I sit back in my seat. “She went to high school with Mr. Tr—my new bossand kept in touch with him over the years. She knew he was looking for someone to tutor his daughter for the summer and thought I’d be perfect for the job.” I’d told her thanks but no thanks because New York with Derek was the plan. Suddenly, my plans changed—as in I didn’thavea plan.
For the first time in my life I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. I grabbed onto this job for Landon Trask out of sheer desperation, telling myself it would be perfect. Three months in the California sunshine. Dani and the beach on my days off. Room and board. An obscene amount of money. At the end of it all, I could go anywhere and have enough money to keep me comfortable while I figured out my next move.
I could even afford to move to New York on my own if I wanted to.
“I totally hate you,” Dani sighs, leaning her chin on her hand before propping her elbow on the table. “What’s he like?”
“I don’t know. We’ve Skyped three times, Dan.” I don’t want to tell her that he was cold. Intimidating. Nothing like I thoughthe’d be. The waitress flounces past me on her way to the bar without so much as abe right back. “Where the hell did you bring me?”
“I dunno.” Dani looks around and shrugs. “A bar. Someone on set mentioned it and I thought we should check it out.”
That’s Dani code forI heard famous people hang out here and I wanted to network.
“And don’t change the subject,” she says, narrowing her gaze at me. “Three Skype sessions with Lan—you know who—isexactly three more thanI’vehad, so spill.”
