B.A.B. strikes again.
The others jump on board except for Miss Masters, but she's outnumbered.
“Miss Montgomery, thank you for your submission. We’ll keep you on file for future opportunities. You’re welcome to submit for future positions.”
I rush out of the room, throwing my script in the trash. Denzel screwed me, and there goes my chance. I just sat there with my whole kiss-my ass speech remained lodged in my throat. I'm disappointed, but unfortunately, I'm not surprised.
“Miss Montgomery… Miss Montgomery.”
I turn around, and she's walking over. "Miss Masters."
"Please call me Violet. May I call you Rachelle?" She glances over her shoulder, and I do the same. We're alone.
Violet stares at me, and I'm in The Matrix. All the advice from this month shuffles around in my head.
“I’d prefer Quanesha.”
“Quanesha it is.” She holds up my script. “Is this the best you got?”
Violet is a thirty-three-year-old veteran in the industry. She’s an A-list actress known for film, but she starred in her first TV series at five years old.
"It is for the structure they gave me. But I have another script in progress. It's Girl’s Trip meets The Holiday in New York City.”
I glance at my office. Last night, thoughts of Carson wouldn't let me sleep, so I wrote about him. This is one benefit of writing daily for almost a month. The blinking cursor doesn't stump me, and Carson served as the perfect subject for my inner muse. I jumped out of bed and ran to my computer. I started at the beginning…
Drunk texting my bestie.
Sneaking out of Los Angeles with a bitch-ass-boss on my heels.
Unknowingly meeting a sexy billionaire in a noisy business center.
The dare that leads to a Christmas fling.
"I'm looking for material like that." Her eyes shine, and she passes me a card. Violet Masters, actress, producer, and director with V Masterpiece Films. "When can I expect your call?"
“Will late January, early February work?”
"I'll fly out, and we'll meet for lunch. I don't need perfection. Give me something I can work with."
“You got it.”
I'm not sure how all of this works, but I have six to eight weeks to figure it out. We stop outside my office, and Carson stands.
“Violet Masters.” Carson smiles.
"Surprised to see you outside of New York. What brings you here?" She steps in, and they hug.
“I’m visiting my lady. What about you?”
My lady. Why do I feel like a teenager with a crush on the popular guy?
"I started my production company, and I'm making rounds. Looking for talent, financing, the works. I'm hoping Quanesha's script is the first of many. How long are you in town? I'd love to get your support."
Carson looks over at me. "How about I take you, beautiful ladies, out for lunch? I'm sure Quanesha has a few questions."
I could kiss him.
“Perfect,” Violet says. “Let me make a few calls.”
“My car is waiting outside in the guest parking lot. Can you leave in thirty minutes, babe?”
They both look at me. Oh, I’m babe. “Works for me.”
Violet leaves us alone.
“This is happening,” I whisper, closing the door behind her. And I look over at Carson.
“Congratulations!” He scoops me up, spinning me around in my little office.
“But I didn’t get the job.”
His confused expression is hilarious. “You didn’t get the job. But she wants to join us for lunch.”
I fill him in, and I can feel the heat coming off his body. “Stop growling, Carson.”
“I’m not growling.” He barks. “He did that shit on purpose.”
“I know.” Carson steps around me, opening the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I just need a man to man with him.”
“Carson...”
He groans, looking at the ceiling. "As your man, you need to let me handle this. I can't leave you here, working for this asshole."
“As your woman, I need you to trust me.” One day, I’ll tell Carson how I met Denzel, but not today. It will only add to his anger.
"I trust you." He looks over, and I see the war on his face. Carson is a silent giant, and it feels incredible to have someone in my corner. "Can you break away for lunch?"
"Yes, let me print this letter, and I'm all yours."
"I'll wait in the car. Because if I run into that dude, I might get both of us tossed out."
“All right, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Can you take that box with you?”
He picks it up and glances inside. “What’s this?”
“My personal belongings.” I arrived early to clean out my office. I knew the end was near and that meeting with the producers was all the proof I need. The only way I can see a promotion is by moving to a new company, but that means starting from the bottom.
It’s time to end this chapter of my life. And if I have to start over, I might as well start over with the man I love.
“You’re quitting.” A smile stretches across his handsome face. Then he sits the box in the chair and gathers me to his chest. “I’m proud of you. Every opportunity isn’t the right opportunity. But you had to be in that room to meet Violet.”
I think about his words. “You’re right. I might enjoy having you around.”
“You better because I don’t plan to let you go.”
"Aren't you a little scared? You've known me for one month. I could be a crazy whack job."
He licks his lips.
“Focus. Carson. Are you concerned about me moving to New York? That we’re moving too fast?”
He kisses me, and I could do this all day. "A little. I don't want to disappoint you again. I think about all the ways I could fuck up. I'm a workaholic. I eat cereal in bed. I might snore."
“Might?”
“Might.” He kisses my nose. “Then I realize I also thought I couldn’t share my personal space with someone. But the moment you left, I felt the void. It was a hole for a special, crazy, cussing woman with some tasty cookie.”
I slap his chest. “Aahhh…” I kiss him, holding him tighter.
“Let’s get moving. Sounds like we need to lean on Violet for some tips.”
“My thoughts exactly. I told her I’d have the new script by February.”
“What new script?”
I tell him my pitch, and he laughs. "That sounds vaguely familiar. Can you get Ryan Reynolds to play me on the big screen?"
“I need a script first. So, you know Violet?”
"Yes, she's a regular at the lounge. I don't work in your industry, but I know some people, and I got you."
I wrap my hand around his tie, bringing his lips to me. “You got me?”
“Damn right.”
We kiss and not a smack on the lips, but the Carson special. He holds me tight, and I know this is the real deal. It’s scary and right.
And I lean in while he does that thing he does so well. He kisses beyond my worries, strokes his tongue past my doubts, and he deposits a fresh wave of possibilities for us.