Page 22 of My Charming Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 1)
“Give me the good news,” he said, not bothering with hello. The man really took crassness to a new level. “Are you getting the intel?”
“I’m working on it,” I said. “I’m getting some good shots.”
“Shots? I need more than shots. Shots aren’t good enough, kid.”
“Yes, of course. That’s all part of the plan. More than shots,” I added, bristling at the condescending name he used for me. Kid. For some reason, it bothered me more than noob.
“When will these ‘more than shots’ be coming? Because you did fine managing the records, but if you expect anything more from me, I’m going to need more from you,” he said. “That’s the way it goes here.”
James, an American, had married my mum’s sister many years ago, a pairing that sent her out of merry old England and setting up home here. He’d been running his firm for more than a decade and had built a respectable business in Southern California. But even though I’d been in the States for nearly two years and wasn’t just job-hungry—I was job-starving—he’d refused to send me work for the longest time. I didn’t want to beg him for help; I wanted to be my own man. But finally, Matthew called our mum, who called her sister, who narrowed her eyes and told James to stop being a prick and help out her nephew. After all, James was in the rare position of being in charge of hiring for an American company, so that made him a prize as far as my American job-hunting connections went. He begrudgingly hired me for a little work here and there doing computer maintenance, then handling the databases, then managing a long list of names for an upcoming project, and I’d been fortunate enough when he moved me into field work. I crossed my fingers that the field work would turn full-time, and that he’d sponsor me for a visa. But there were no promises. There never were with James. He’d always been a bit of a dick. But he was family, so he was the family dick. At least he wasn’t a Harrigan. Some small solace.
“Soon, very soon. I promise,” I said.
“I am a fan of very soon. I am not a fan of soon. That clear?”
I bit back my annoyance. “Very soon it will be,” I said.
He said goodbye and I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, the warm California sun reminding me of all that I loved about this town.
Every day, every second, the clock was winding down on days like this.
I paced down the block, then back again, then once more as I pondered my options.
But it came down to this—Jess was my only in. I ran a hand roughly through my hair, racking my brain for the limited information I had on her. I had to try again to see her, but to do so, I’d need to break down those walls she had.
I snapped my fingers when it hit me. Though I barely knew her, she’d already given me the necessary clues.
Jess
When my final class ended for the day, I caught up with Anaka and walked to the scooter parking.
“I have a plan to get some wedding deets for you,” Anaka said, brushing her nearly black hair off her shoulders. “My mom emailed earlier to remind me about a charity dinner thing we have tonight that the studio is sponsoring. They want me with them to present the whole perfect family united front—”
“But it’s not a front. You are the perfect family,” I pointed out.
She nodded. “True. It’s kind of ridiculous that I actually like my parents.”
“And it’s equally ridiculous that I like mine.”
“We will remain ridiculous together. Anyway, so I’m going to weave in the wedding questions while we’re driving to dinner.”
“Brilliant.”
“Right? It’ll be casual, car chatter, blah blah blah. It won’t seem like I’m angling for something.”
“Again, why have you not shown your father any of your fabulous screenplays?” I asked as I turned on my phone to see if J.P. had an assignment for me. I had it powered down during the day so I wouldn’t be tempted. If I knew there was an assignment coming through at noon, a chance to snag proof of a clandestine lunch date or to catch a midday shopping trip, I’d race out of class and chase a picture, and Tuesdays were my busiest days for classes. I had to avoid the tease, and I did that by going dark.
Anaka gave me a quizzical look. “What does planning to talk to my mom about the Bowman and Belle wedding have to do with screenplays?”
“Because this is my point. You plot everything. You plan everything. You’re always mapping out the next scene, the next thing, the way to solve the problem. You’re like the bald guy who ran mission control in the aborted Mars landing movie,” I said.
