Page 19 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
“Did you put in the order for the—”
“Yes. Yesterday.” Mercer quirks an eyebrow like a challenge.
“What about the—”
“Joe took care of the issues with the grounds crew. Yes.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Yes, you were.”
I hang my head.
“I promise we’ve got this. You gotta let yourself have fun, for once. Let your hair down.”
I frown at her. I have fun all the time. When I tell Mercer as much she laughs right in my face.
“I say this with all of the love of someone who has known you since elementary school: No, you don’t. You’re always worried about everyone and everything, which is a great quality until you take it too far and try to control everything. Let go. Be selfish for five minutes. The world won’t explode.” Her grin is suspicious. “You might even get to first base with a handsome movie star.”
Anders’ face flashes through my mind—specifically his angular, stubbled jawline—and I swear I can still feel the weight of his arm that was slung behind me on the couch last night. “Oh my gosh, keep your voice down!” My face is burning, and I’m grateful for the unusually empty reception area. I whisper in a rush, “Besides, the odds of that happening are nonexistent since Oliver threatened me with financial ruin if I come within five feet of Anders.”
“I was talking about Micah.” Mercer’s knowing smile makes me want to whack her over the head with a pool noodle. When she props her feet on the desk again I smack them back to the floor.
“You know what I meant! There will be no canoodling with Micah or Anders or any number of the handsome men staying on the property right now, capiche?” I practically shriek.
“Glad to hear it,” Oliver’s robotic voice echoes from the end of the long corridor. He marches down the hall, somehow typing on his phone and not running into any furniture. Meanwhile, I’d like to dive under a sofa. A woman I don’t recognize is walking with him.She’s kind of gorgeous in that white blonde, fluorescent teeth, Hollywood way.
“Ugh, what does he need now?” my friend gripes under her breath, smoothing her shirt. She straightens some already-straight papers on the desk.
“Who’s that with him?” I whisper. My curiosity is holding me in place.
“Oh, that’s Frankie. Micah’s assistant,” Mercer says, tightening her high, blonde ponytail like she’s preparing for battle.
When they’re a few feet away, Frankie swipes the screen on her buzzing phone. “Good morning, Mr. Wats—” whoever cuts her off on the other end has plenty to say. “I-I know, Mr. Watson. I’m getting it for you as quickly as I can, but we’re fairly remote here, and—” Now the voice on the other end of the line is loud enough I can also make him out. It’s definitely Micah. He’s not happy. His tone is off-putting, but I bet he’s so tired from these long days of filming, and they have such an early start today. I can hardly believe I’m hearing his voice in real-time. “I’ll get it as soon as I can,” Frankie says, pulling the phone away from her ear to stare at it, then tossing it into her huge bag. Did he hang up on her?
Oliver rolls his robot eyes and makes his way toward us.
This is my cue to leave. I put a hand on Mercer’s shoulder and whisper, “You got this. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Don’tleavemewithhim!” Mercer grinds out rapidfire, without moving her lips.
I cuff her shoulder with my loose fist. “Let your hair down. Have fun for once.” I enjoy rubbing her own words in her face. What are best friends for? “Good luck!”
8. Anders Honks for Service
Irush away from set, antsy to get back to my suite for the night. We finished ahead of schedule and it feels like cheating to go home so early. But I don’t care. This way Sunny and I can watch our movie and I won’t be as dead tired as I was this morning. I have another one of my movies picked out and I think I can work my charm to steal another inch or two of Sunny's personal space. And let's not forget I have a Snack waiting for me. These thoughts put a spring in my step.
I walk into the suite to find Sunny obsessively vacuuming the same three square feet of area rug like she’s caught in a loop. I can’t tell if she’s cursing at the vacuum or the carpet, but clearly she doesn’t know I’m here. She has her back to me, and the commercial vacuum that she must’ve borrowed from housekeeping sounds like a mini jet engine. I don’t want to repeat the mistake I made yesterday and end up with a carpet sweeper thrown at my face, so I wave my hand like a white flag.
“Sunny?” I try to call over the sound of the vacuum and her ranting, but she aggressively vacuums a few more passes and I know she hasn't heard me.
She stomps a switch on the machine to turn it off with her foot. “...like someone launched a confetti cannon full of dog hair in here,” she grouches as she winds up the cord. She has a lot of rage today.
“Sunny?” I say as gently as possible from my position behind the couch I’m using as a buffer.
She startles and gasps. “Anders!” she complains, like I’m solely responsible for her lack of trust in humankind. Luckily, she doesn’t have anything to throw. "You scared me to death! Again!"
Hairy immediately gallops into the room with a nightgown-clad Immy running behind her. “Dad!” she squeals, wrapping her skinny arms around my legs.
