How did Devon see this ending? I just had to know.
The end of the script was a load of garbage about sexual healing. I hated him for the scene in the forest with the waterfall. That had been personal. The story ended with a scene of the girl and the movie star amicably parting ways, too different to stay together, but maybe they’d keep in touch, be lifelong friends. Again written in the margin were several big question marks—the ending wasn’t set in stone, yet.
Well, I could help clear that right up for Devon.
The girl and the movie star would split, all right, but it wasn’t about to be anything near amicable. She’d kick his ass on her way out for betraying her trust in him, then she’d give an exclusive interview to one of his biggest critics, revealing in very personal terminology just how big of a jackass he really was.
America’s boyfriend? Hardly. It was more like America’s bastard.
Seething with anger, I punched Devon’s number into my phone with shaking fingers. I had no idea what I was going to say—what a person even would say in the face of such a betrayal—but this couldn’t simply be ignored.
“Hi, June, this is Chaz on Devon’s phone.”
“Put Devon on immediately,” I said. I was sick of this bullshit, sick of the constant presence of Chaz, of the idea that a person was so busy that they had someone else answer their phone for them. That wasn’t how real life worked. I would’ve preferred to just leave an angry voice mail and let Devon panic about it.
“Devon’s unavailable at the moment,” Chaz said, smooth as silk. “Is there something you want me to tell him?”
“There’s nothing I want you to fucking tell him,” I raged. “I want to talk to him, Chaz. Where the hell is he?”
“He’s filming a late-night show right now,” Chaz said. “You sound upset, June. Is everything all right?”
“No, everything’s not all right,” I barked.
“Talk to me.”
I paced through the study, eyeing the sheaf of papers on the desk, too angry to even attempt to put it into words. This was indefensible. It was unbelievable. The fact that Devon would take advantage of my situation, exploit even Nana, sent me into a blind rage.
I’d trusted him. I thought he was a good person. But he’d betrayed me.
For the first time since it had happened, I was glad Nana was dead. At least she wasn’t here to see her idol turn into her enemy.
“June, if you can’t explain to me what’s going on, I can’t help you,” Chaz purred, cool as a cucumber.
I inhaled once, then exhaled heavily. “What do you know about this new project of Devon’s?” I asked.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” he said. “Devon’s getting proposals for new projects all the time.”
I bit my tongue to keep myself from lashing out. This was Devon’s problem, not Chaz’s.
“The one with the script,” I offered. “The one in the study. About the girl and her dead grandmother.”
“Ah, I was afraid this might happen,” Chaz said.
“Afraid what might happen?”
“Devon’s been e-mailing me all these notes he apparently took when he met your—what did you call your grandma?”
“Nana.”
“Oh, yes, Nana,” Chaz said quickly. “Adorable. Anyway, he contacted me a while back, when he was in Dallas, that he had an idea—an award-winning idea—for his next project, and started sending me all these messages. A little old lady in a wheelchair with a sense of fashion that never grew old. A saintly granddaughter roped into taking care of the little old lady, forced to ignore her dreams, the famous celebrity who swoops in to rescue her from mediocrity. He said it was gold, and had it developed into a script. I think he’s looking to shop it around, but I secretly suspect he’s going to try to direct in it and star. It’s probably a shoo-in for at least one trophy.”
“It’s my life,” I hissed, too appalled to shout it. “He mined my life for this thing.”
“Is that what you’re upset about?” Chaz asked. “This thing is box-office money. A sure thing.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the doorbell rang.
“This better be Devon,” I muttered angrily, marching to the front of the house.
“What? Who better be Devon? Devon’s here with me. I have eyes on him. He’s giving a really great interview. You can catch it tonight, when it airs.”
But I didn’t process any of that. I fumbled with the locks for a few long, painful moments before ripping the door open.
My mouth fell open and I nearly dropped the phone.