Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

His brows raise knowingly.

“Okay, so I chuckled. Maybe snorted. I snuckled.”

He tilts his head, and low and behold, those full lips twitch at the corners the slightest bit. “So what made you snuckle?”

I shake my head and hope he’ll let it go.

He doesn’t.

“Tell me,” he says, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

Incidentally, that blazer and hoodie really is a very good look for him.

“Oh, good grief,” I huff. “It was the look on your face.”

“When I was talking to . . .” He tips his head in Janie’s direction and I nod. “What was the look?”

“It wasn’t impatience exactly.”

“Are you sure?”

“And not irritation.”

“It may have been.”

“It was more this kind of . . . forced tolerance.”

His almost-smile deepens a little. “That does sound accurate.”

We stare at one another for a few seconds, the plumes of our breath mingling in the cold night air. And then we grin together. It’s the first full-fledged smile I’ve seen from him. It’s dazzling, sketching grooves into his lean cheeks, and I feel such a sense of accomplishment, winning that smile. I retract everything I thought about him not really being handsome.

Because when he smiles, he is. He so is.

“Dude, you ready?” Wright asks, walking up beside us.

“Yeah.” Canon breaks our stare, his smile disappearing as quickly as it came. “I’m whipped. Let’s go.”

“Neevah, so good to see you again.” Wright pulls me into a side hug and squeezes. “Congratulations.”

I look up at him, offering a smile. “Thank you again for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. You were great. If you’re ever in LA, don’t hesitate to hit me up.”

“Will do.” I studiously train my eyes on Wright’s face, and do my best to ignore his taciturn friend.

The two men turn and take the few steps that lead them away from me and this extraordinary night. I’m about to join my friends and head toward the subway when I feel a light touch on my arm. I look up and shock rolls through me. Shock and a thrill. It’s Canon.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, my breath refusing to push in and out as per normal respiratory patterns.

“You were exceptional on that stage,” he says softly. “The best in the show.”

Vines sprout from the sidewalk and wrap around my ankles, trapping me where I stand. Immobile. I should say something, not just stand here like I’m starstruck, though there is a part of me that is.

“What you said tonight about making people feel when you perform,” he says, his eyes never straying from my face. “Keep that.”

And then he turns and walks away.

5

Canon

“You were especially pleasant tonight,” Monk says when we climb into the Uber that met us at the corner.

“I was, wasn’t I?” I settle back into the seat and close my eyes. “Thank you for noticing.”

“You were on your phone the whole time.” His voice holds little sting because he knows I don’t respond to that guilt shit, especially not when it comes to being social.

“I was convincing Mallory to fly out to New York as soon as possible. Lots of protests and texting back and forth.”

“Your casting director? Why does she need to come to New York?”

“I want her to see some auditions out here.” I open my eyes and grin crookedly. “I found my Dessi.”

“What?” Monk’s brows shoot up. “When? Who?”

“Tonight.” I hesitate, watching his face for a reaction. “Your friend Neevah.”

Flabbergasted.

“The fuck?” he says after a moment of his mouth hanging open. “Neevah Saint?”

“Yeah. The one we watched perform. The one we had dinner with.”

“First of all, we did not have dinner. I had dinner with them folks. You were the same antisocial bastard you usually are, and they still were all up your ass.”

“They’re actors. I’m a director. They want work, so the forecast is always partly fawning with a high chance of kiss-ass.”

“Second of all, you barely looked at Neevah, much less spoke to her. When did you decide she’s Dessi Blue?”

“Pretty much as soon as she stepped onstage.”

“It’s the way she looks? That’s why you want to cast her?” Censure, though unspoken, lurks in his voice.

“Get the fuck outta here. You know me better than that. You think I find the story of a lifetime, put my whole ass career on the line to tell it, take almost a year to fund it, then search for the right actor for six months only to cast a girl because she has a great ass?”

“Oh, so you did notice her ass.”

And every other part of her, but that’s not pertinent.

Her ass. Her tits.

Her flawless coppery skin. A face so expressive it’s like a blank canvas she paints every emotion across in vivid color, in broad strokes. Big brown eyes that in one moment offer everything and in the next seem to hoard a thousand secrets. A man would ransom his soul for those eyes, for those secrets.