“Right. That’s my concern for you, too. It seems like you’re already in deep with this guy. You’re giving up all your work shifts to see him, and there’s no potential for a future. Also, you’re sad every Monday when the weekend is over. We hate seeing you that way.”
I hate that she’s right.
“I mean if you love the kinky sex, go for it. But do you have to see him every weekend? It seems a little intense. What if you just saw him once a month or something?”
It makes perfect sense. I do miss working the promotions with my friends. I’m not exercising as much as I should because I skip all weekend, and I’ve lost focus on my career. Pavel has become my focus.
My extremely hot, very dominant focus.
One that I’m not willing to give up, even for one weekend.
9
Kayla
I drive through the gates and park my car in front of Director Blake Ensign’s Hollywood mansion and pull my mirror down to check my make-up again. This is it—the biggest audition I’ve ever had.
Apparently Ensign is leaving for Europe soon and wanted to get this part—a leading role—cast before he left. The casting director scheduled twenty-seven call-backs, all at his mansion for his convenience since he’s leaving town. The simple fact that I get to see the inside of Blake Ensign’s house makes it feel like I’ve finally arrived.
And I’m auditioning for a leading role!
It finally feels like things might be happening for me. Maybe Pavel was right—my dreams will come true.
I head to the door, where I’m met by an assistant with a clipboard. “Name?” She doesn’t even look at me.
“Kayla Winstead.”
She finds my name on her clipboard and makes a checkmark. “You can wait in the living room. Mr. Ensign is seeing people in his office one at a time. He’s running about two hours late.”
Gah. Two hours late. Pavel will be waiting for me at the Four Seasons.
“Can I get you some water?”
“Um, yes, please. Thanks, that would be great.”
My heart is already pounding, and I’m only meeting the assistant.
“Water,” she calls out to what must be her assistant and ushers me into a giant living room area. The floor is some kind of expensive tile, and the domed ceiling is vaulted—at least forty feet high. Great marble pillars define the perimeter.
“Hi,” I say nervously to the six other women waiting. Two I recognize from other casting calls. Only one answers me with a “Hello.” All of them look like I do—petite, blonde, early twenties.
My looks aren’t enough to land this job, not that they ever have been here in L.A. Back in high school, in Wisconsin, they got me every acting and modeling job I tried out for. But here—I’m the proverbial small fish in a very big sea.
I pull out my phone to text Pavel. I’m so sorry—I’m at a casting call that may run late.
He doesn’t reply, but he’s probably in the air already.
I put my phone away to do some deep breathing and get centered.
Nearly three hours later, I get called in. I’m the last one for the day, and it’s already 5:30 p.m. Pavel will already be waiting for me at the hotel—not that I can think about that now.
I draw a steadying breath and walk in.
Blake Ensign is not behind his desk, but on a loveseat. He’s in beachwear—shorts and a Tommy Bahama type shirt. One bare foot is crossed over his knee.
“All right, come in. You’re the last one, right?”
“Yes.” I look around, not sure where to stand. Or do I sit? I have no idea how this works.
“Read the lines,” he commands with a wave.
I stand directly in front of him and hold the script. I had enough time to memorize the part while I was waiting, but I’m afraid I’ll screw up, so I keep it at the ready, my trembling fingers making the papers shake.
He reads the male part in a monotone voice, and I pick up my lines. They don’t come out nearly as well as they sounded rehearsing in my head in the living room. Nothing like the way they sounded at the first casting call.
Still, I give it my best, making it through a couple pages before he stops me.
“All right, Kayla. That’s enough.”
I screwed the pooch on this one.
“I’m sorry—I’m just nervous. I did a much better job at the first audition. Can I try it again?”
“Come here.” He crooks a finger at me.
I walk closer, but he keeps beckoning. I stop when my toes hit his, then sort of look around, trying to figure out where he wants me. To sit beside him? Kneel at his feet? “I’m a very hard worker. If you give me a shot, I will do everything it takes to please you.”
As it turns out, my choice of words were all wrong.