The Fame Game

Why does it bother me so much?

I hate that it does, but I can’t help feeling jealous, which is downright ridiculous.

He’s not yours, Willow.

No good can come from kissing my client.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Willow

I sit across from Nico at Dolce, in a private booth in the back of the restaurant. A few people noticed Nico as we passed through the main dining room, but it’s like we’re in our own world back here. Our waitress appears with two wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot. Nico wanted to celebrate the last day of filming The Fallen with a meal at his favorite restaurant.

Nico raises his glass, and I do the same, my smile mirroring his. “To us.”

I tap his glass. “And to a long and successful partnership.”

“I have a good feeling about us.”

My heart pounds in response.

“We work well together.”

We order salads and the main course—steak and baked potatoes with steamed asparagus. The air between us has a palpable tension I can feel on my skin. There’s an awkwardness between us. After kissing Nico, I’m still jealous of his costar, even though their kiss meant nothing. Maybe it’s because our kiss meant something to me. I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and Nico has to be my client.

“What’s next for us?”

Nico speaks of us like we’ve known each other for years, like we’re a couple. And I love it.

“I put in a few calls to indie studios. Dean Patterson called me earlier to say he’s glad he took a chance on you. You’re welcome at Liberty Studios.”

He smiles. “I think you’re my lucky charm.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Vinnie’s supposed to be the best in the business, and you’ve done more than him in a short time.”

“He focuses more on big studio productions.”

“Maybe he didn’t give a shit about my career.”

I roll my shoulders. “Vinnie tried to get you jobs. Even Ash made calls to studios on your behalf.”

“You must have the magic touch.”

“I make my own luck.”

“How did you end up in Hollywood? You don’t seem like the type.”

I laugh at his comment. “What’s the Hollywood type?”

“You know, vain, superficial, full of shit.”

“Are you all of those things?”

He shrugs against the leather bench. “When I need to be.”

“You know how to play the game.”

Nico nods. “Fame is a game.”

“How did you become an actor?”

Nico bites his cheek and turns his head away.

“If it’s personal… you don’t have to tell me.”

His eyes meet mine with intensity in them. “No, it’s okay. I want to tell you.” He sighs. “My mom has issues.” He speaks as if chewing on glass, his words painful. “My dad died when I was in high school, and she kind of fell apart. I became the man of the house when I was fifteen. Few people wanted to hire a kid except for Marshall Gibbons, the owner of the playhouse in town. He gave me a job cleaning after shows. After a few months of watching the actors on stage, I repeated the words. I knew the scripts verbatim.”

“They say most people find their passion in their pain.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. That’s how it started for me. Pain. I love acting. When I get the chance to work through more dramatic scenes, I can connect to the characters personally.”

“Are you still close with your mom?”

“Not as close as we were when I lived in Rochester. But, yeah, we still talk on the phone every Sunday.” He runs his hand through his black hair, pushing it off his forehead. “She will like you.”

“Have you told her about me?”

“She asks me about you every time we get on the phone.”

“Does she live in LA?”

He shakes his head. “She hates it here.”

“Allergic to all the sunshine,” I joke.

He laughs. “Nah, she’s a small-town woman. The city is too much for her. Plus, she won’t leave my childhood home. She says it has too many memories of my dad for her to leave them behind.”

“Who takes care of her with you living across the country?”

“My mom’s much better now. After I paid off her house, she didn’t have to worry about money. That seemed to stabilize her erratic moods. She has a friend who lives down the street and takes her food shopping and eats dinner with her a few times a week.”

“That’s nice. At least she has someone local.”

Balancing a tray in her hand, the waitress sets our salads on the table in front of us, promising to check on us before she walks away. We dig into our food, the silence between us somewhat comforting. I’ve noticed this about Nico. I can sit in the same room with him for hours, watching television, or reading the newspaper without uttering a single word. He’s been a good roommate and has proven to be an enormous asset. I will miss having him around when he finds another place to live.