Pulling the visor down, she flipped open the mirror.Crap.The cold sore was still there, staring back at her, the visual metaphor for uninvited guests in her life.She hit the gas when the light turned green and screeched into the parking lot at the studio, running inside.
The cast and crew were all standing on the set and every head turned when she burst in.She caught a glimpse of Joel, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze stony.
“You,” Antonio shouted, striding up to her.“How dare you show up late again?”
“I know, I’m soooo sorry,” she said.
“You’re sorry?That’s it?After ruining yesterday’s shoot, you have the nerve to show up late today and not at least try to tell me you were in a car accident, or your mother died or something?”
She spread her palms.“I don’t have an excuse.I messed up.But I’m here now, and I’m ready to go.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning into her personal space.“What’s on your face?”He pointed a fat finger at her, his lip curling in disgust.“A cold sore?”His face tensed in brutal lines.“You are finished.”He drew a line across his throat.“Fired.Get off my set.I can’t wait for you to stop acting like a spoiled diva while I’m trying to make a movie, here.”
“Please, Antonio—I know this looks bad, but?—”
He walked away, holding up his hand.
She ran after him.“Listen, it won’t happen again.Ever.I promise!I’m really sorry?—”
He left the set and slammed the door in her face.
She pushed back the wedge of emotion that threatened to erupt.Do not fall apart here.Not here.Unable to think of what to do, her legs carried her back outside to her car.She climbed in and sat in the driver’s seat, unseeing and motionless.
No thoughts passed.No emotions.She checked out completely, just sitting there in her parked car with the top down, because the mechanism to close it was broken.She probably sat there forty-five minutes before the sound of a door slamming started her out of her stupor.
Emotion flooding back, she put the key in the ignition and started the car, tearing out of there before she made an even bigger fool out of herself.
Rain poured down,running off his windshield in rivulets.Joel had spent most of the day in an emergency meeting with Antonio and the other producers discussing the fate of the movie.Two of the producers were ready to scrap it and walk away.Joel had too much invested in it to be willing to take a loss.Unfortunately, he didn’t have the additional funds to invest to hire a new actress and start over.The filming was two-thirds complete, after all.
Despite Antonio’s adamant protest that he’d never work with Sparks again, Joel had advocated trying to salvage the movie by putting the screws to Marissa and basically forcing her to perform in her contract.The studio’s lawyer had put in a call to her mother and her agent, letting them know she’d be sued for breach of contract and demanding the return of her advance, plus damages.He hoped she’d hire a lawyer and they would negotiate for the completion of the movie.
Antonio had insisted he would quit if they brought her back, but eventually, Joel made him see reason.The director wanted this movie—his baby—finished as much as Joel did.
He pulled up to the front gates of his Venice Beach mansion and stopped.There, sitting in an open convertible Porsche, getting soaked in the rain, sat Marissa Sparks.What the hell was she up to?
He threw the car in park and opened the door, standing up in the rain.“Most people put up the top when it rains,” he called out to her.
“It won’t go,” she said.
He waited, but she didn’t explain her presence.
“What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?Please?I just want to talk to you.”
He nodded and stepped back into his dry car, hitting the remote to open the automatic gate.It swung open and he motioned her inside ahead of him.He followed her up the drive to where she parked in the circle in front of the house.Opening the garage door, he drove in, then got out and beckoned to her.
She arrived like a drowned rat: shivering and dripping wet.She wore microscopic shorts and a tank top and both were soaked through, clinging to her curves.Mascara streaked her face.It was hard to tell if the tears that caused the tracks were still flowing or if it was just rain on her cheeks.
“Come on in,” he said, holding his arm out to her and escorting her in with a light touch at her low back.“Wait here,” he said, leaving her on the tiled floor of his kitchen.He retrieved a giant fluffy orange towel from the bathroom and returned, wrapping it around her and blotting her hair and face.
“Thanks,” she said, looking as small and forlorn as a lost child, her blue eyes huge in her face.
He raised his eyebrows in expectation.
“Joel,” she said, sounding breathless.“I came here to beg you—please—to give me another chance.I know I screwed up.I screwed up big time.I’m not going to offer you any excuses because I know you don’t want to hear them.I just want you to know that I’m sorry.Really sorry.As sorry as a person can be.And if you let me back on the movie, I would work every minute of every day to prove to you I can do the job you hired me for.”
He looked at her a long time.“What makes you think I can get you back on the movie?The decision isn’t just mine.”
