One
BRANDON PAUL COULD ALMOST SMELL THE MONTANA AIR. IN A month or so he would fly to Butte to film his next movie, two hours out of the city, and lately that was all he could think about. Leaving Los Angeles and clearing his head. Especially since Bailey planned to join him for some of it. But for now thoughts of his April movie shoot outside Butte would have to wait. He stepped into the glass elevator at West Mark Studios and rode it to the twenty-sixth floor — the top of the Century City Plaza building, just outside of Hollywood, California.
Where every day saw the biggest deals in Hollywood go down.
He tugged on his canvas messenger bag, aware of its contents — two copies of the red-lined copy of the West Mark contract and a letter from his attorney. As he did, he caught his reflection on the elevator wall and noticed the slump in his posture. If Brandon had seen a mountain growing on his shoulders he wouldn’t have been surprised. The contract carried that much weight. And today’s meeting would only make the burden greater.
A deep sigh rattled from his lungs as he stepped off the elevator and faced the double glass doors at the end of the gold-carpeted hallway. The team at West Mark was expecting that this week or next they would ink their biggest contract ever. A seven-picture deal with Brandon Paul. The announcement, the red carpet event, the after-party — all of it was in the works.
The only detail they’d overlooked was this: Brandon’s personal attorney— Luke Baxter.
Brandon opened the heavy door and approached the front desk. The woman taking calls and messages blushed the sort of red usually reserved for apples. She had been midsip into a cup of coffee, and now she coughed a few times and wiped her mouth. Brandon smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Hi. Jack Randall is expecting me.”
The woman was maybe in her midthirties, blonde with a spray tan. The sort of hopeful actress-still-waiting-for-her-break look that came a dime a dozen in Hollywood. “Yes, Mr. Paul, right away. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Whether it was the influence of Bailey Flanigan or his growing faith, Brandon wasn’t sure, but more often lately he was struck by the reaction people had around him. Sure he had filmed a lot of movies. But he’d been born into an average family in a suburban neighborhood. If he’d wound up driving a bus at the airport, no one would clamor for his attention or want his autograph. There would be no blushing at his arrival. So why were movies different?
Brandon leaned against the nearest wall. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.” The blonde coughed again. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong.” She uttered a nervous laugh. “Didn’t expect …” She shook her head, clearly trying to get a grip. “Sorry. You’re on the calendar. It’s just … yeah. Never mind.”
“Hey.” He held his hand out and shook hers. “I’m Brandon. Now we’re friends, okay?”
The woman visibly exhaled and settled back into her chair. “Okay.” She laughed again. “Thanks. I’m new. Everyone says you’re like this. So normal.”
“Good.” He grinned at her. “I like that. ‘Normal’ is a compliment.”
Wasn’t that what Bailey wanted most? Plain old normal. It was what she’d told him the last time they walked along the beach. That when she looked ahead she wasn’t always sure what she wanted to do or where she wanted to live, but she knew this much: she wanted a normal life. The ability to come and go without wondering whether a posse of paparazzi was lurking in the bushes.
That kind of normal.
Behind her desk, Mary made a few quick calls to alert Jack Randall and his team that Brandon had arrived. As she did, Brandon felt his phone vibrate and he pulled it discreetly from his jeans pocket. A text from Bailey.
Hey, I’m at NTM Studios … Can’t believe how much I want this part now — thanks to you! Hope all the weird meetings before this amount to nothing. Getting ready to head inside. Pray for me! ILY
Brandon smiled and read the text again and shot a quick answer back. You’ll be amazing. Everything will work out. ILY2
NTM was where he’d gotten his start starring in half a dozen movies for teens. In the last few years, NTM had produced movies with more drama, more conflict. Unlocked — the movie he and Bailey had starred in together — had been one of those. Now Bailey had been cast as the lead in a film about a young teacher who convinces her gang-member students to care for each other. Her production meeting was set to take place at the same time as his.
She’d had a few strange meetings with the producer of the film, but even so her time today figured to be a whole lot more positive than his.