Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)(59)

I already know I can't do the shoot. I'd be trading fifteen grand for unemployment once the show opened.

But I also don't have another way to earn the money really fast. It's not like I have the money in investments. After all, I'm the girl whose checking account is feeling warm and full and happy if it tops four hundred after I've paid the mortgage, utilities, and all the other necessary bills.

I've got some savings, sure, but it's mostly retirement accounts through my school that aren't vested yet, so I can't get to the money. I already pulled out five thousand from savings for the initial cost of getting him into the program, and now I have just enough in my account to cover a month of living expenses if I lose my job. Which I won't since I'm not posing for Wyatt.

And I can't take out an equity loan against the condo I bought at the height of the real estate market because that bubble burst, and I'm upside down.

A bad financial decision on my part, maybe, but I do love my little place in Valencia.

I could borrow from Nia, but I don't know when I could repay her, and I firmly agree with the adage of not mixing money with friendship.

Working more can't save me either. I did the math, and even though I've rearranged my summer so that I can offer two extra children's dance classes and one adult Zumba class, that won't earn me anywhere close to the money I need.

Which means I'm out of luck.

Or, rather, Griffin is.

I just don't quite know how to tell him.

"Hey," he says. "Where'd you go? I just took that curve at lightning speed, and you didn't even yell at me."



       
         
       
        

I smile. "Maybe I'm becoming a daredevil."

"Yeah, that'll be the day." He glances up at the cloth roof. "We really should have the top down."

"I love this car, and I love that it's a convertible. But I spent an hour on my hair, and you're crazy if you think I'm going into some big producer's mansion looking windblown."

"You look great," he says, because as brothers go, he's the best. "As a navigator, though, you're crap. Are we even close?"

"Oh, sorry." I'd been navigating until his Speed Racer tactics had thrown me off task. I open the app on my phone and figure out where we are and where we're going. "There," I say, pointing to an upcoming stop sign. "Turn right, and then it looks like we're going all the way to the end of the road."

The map doesn't lie. We end up at a gorgeous multi-level mansion perched at the end of a street that dead-ends over a canyon. Which means that the entire back side of the house more or less hangs off into space. Mildly terrifying, but I can't wait to get inside.

I turn to Griff. "This is your producer's house, right?"

"His name's Tim Falcon, but everyone calls him Bird. I know, it's stupid, but he's brilliant, so he gets away with it."

"And the movie's called Warhol, Women, and the Great White Whale?"

Griffin nods, and I give myself a pat on the back. I pay attention to movies once they're out, not when they're still in production. But now that Griffin's in the biz, I've been trying to get educated. Apparently this is a coming of age film set in the sixties with a protagonist who's fascinated with Moby Dick and pop art. Griffin is his adult voice of reason looking back on the teenage wackiness and angst.

"Ready?" he asks as he gives the valet his keys.

I nod, and one of the uniformed men opens the car door for me. I walk the short path to the house, step inside the already open front door, then gasp at the view.

I'd expected stunning, but this blows me away. There are no walls. Or, rather, there are, but they're entirely glass. So it really does seem as though we're floating in space.

I'm dying to get over to the far wall-I'm curious to know if the illusion is shattered the closer you get-but we get waylaid by a tall, skinny man with wiry, ginger hair and purple-tinted John Lennon glasses.

"Griffin! The man behind the curtain! The voice of the future! I am so glad you could make it." He grabs Griff's shoulders, then leans forward to deposit air kisses on either side of my brother's face while Griff endures this absurdity with an expression that resembles polite civility. But I know him well enough that he's wishing he could bolt. 

"And who is this lovely creature?" The man turns to me, then glances back at Griff. "Your wife? Girlfriend? Mistress?" he adds with a wink, as I force a smile and tell myself that I can suffer through this party because I'm here for Griffin.

"Sister," Griff says. "Kelsey, meet Bird. My director."

"Oh!" I reach out to shake his hand, grateful I hadn't made some snarky comment earlier. Instead of shaking, he pulls me close for my own air kisses, followed by a rib-crushing hug.