She’s waiting for me to respond, but I’m taken aback by her odd question. When Rose asked me this question, I laughed it off. Then ten minutes later, my world completely falls apart. I don’t want to take that chance—Karma’s watching me with a magnifying glass.
“A wise person once asked me if I believe in karma. I don’t, but five minutes later, it bit me in the ass,” I say honestly.
She arches her brows. “What do you mean?”
“We all have a past, don’t we? Mine just collided with my future.”
“I see,” she says quietly. “So, shall we continue?”
I go back to my notes. Distracted by our change in subject, I move my cursor over the next point, trying to grasp some professionalism. Why the fuck does she make me feel so uncomfortable in my own skin?
“Her first three movies were blockbuster hits. What insight can you give me into that?”
“She loves acting. It distracted her from her mother passing away. Her sister gave up college to take over her career and made sure she stayed with the right people.”
“I guess you hear these horror stories that come from being in Hollywood. How does she manage to stay grounded?”
“The right support networks.”
Morgan talks about the team Scarlett works with, from her makeup artist to wardrobe assistant to her PR team and her newly created social media team. She has sixteen people working for her, not including her housekeeping staff and multiple chefs. I can’t believe one person can have so many people surrounding them. It shows how in-demand she is, and why directors are throwing scripts at her left, right, and center.
“Is there anything you can share that perhaps isn’t public knowledge?” I ask openly.
Keeping my gaze, she answers, “That’s a question best directed at Miss Winters.”
“Right, and that would be when?”
She shakes her head, keeping her smile at bay. “You’re very keen to meet her, aren’t you?”
“Well, it is the point, isn’t it?” I question her back, annoyed by her uninteresting question.
She doesn’t respond and avoids my persistent stare. I wait patiently, wondering what comeback she’ll have to that.
“I’m going to make something clear, in case it isn’t already. Can you please stop recording?” she demands.
I press stop, unsure why I’m following her request.
“Scarlett’s relationships are well monitored by the tabloids. Despite some of the trash you may read, Scarlett’s team tries extremely hard to protect her personal life,” she informs me. “Now, given your display of… what’s the word I’m looking for… interest in the waitress, I’d hate to think that your fascination in meeting Scarlett is anything but on a professional level.”
My jaw is clenching, biting down to stop me from saying the words I want to say. The nerve of this woman! How dare she question my integrity based on some harmless flirting with a waitress. I can feel my blood boiling and the vein on my forehead ready to burst at any moment, creating an ugly display of the hostility between us.
“I’m many things, Ms. Bentley, but unprofessional isn’t one of them. I work hard, and yes, I play hard,” I insist with a bitter tone. With my anger contained, barely, I veer in the opposite direction. She’s made me uncomfortable this entire meeting, and so now, I’ll turn the fucking tables on her. I’ve done this over and over again. I’m good at reading women, and this bitch just needs a reality check.
“Tell me, Morgan, do you get much of a social life given the hectic schedule you have?”
Her body stiffens, taken aback by my forthcoming question. “That’s a personal question, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, it depends on your answer.”
Without saying a word, she starts packing up, answering loosely, “Not much. I’m busy. I don’t need a social life.”
“Everyone needs a social life,” I tell her, leaning slightly closer. “You’d be surprised how much fun you can have.”
I watch her sit in awe of my comment, and the way her legs twitch as she crosses them under the table.
Wow, way to go. You got through to the prude’s legs. Now what?
“I have fun, but perhaps my idea of fun is slightly different than yours.”