When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,37
past five. No wonder it had been so quiet. Gathering my things, I walked out of my office into the darkened suite, which would have been even darker if not for the light coming from Phineas’s office. A quick peek inside confirmed what I’d already more or less expected. He was still in there, his back turned to the door, working diligently as always.
“You’re aware you’re allowed to go home every once in a while, right?” I leaned against the doorframe, smiling when he appeared to jump slightly upon hearing my voice.
“You know,” he replied, turning his chair around to face me, “I would be more inclined to take that suggestion to heart if not for the fact that you’re still here, too.”
“I lost track of time.”
“As did I.”
“Except I don’t lose track of it every night.”
“You got me there.”
“It sucks being a success, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, but on nights such as this, and all the others, I remind myself how lucky I am that I even have projects to work on, people to market, and staff members to concern myself with.”
“That is a very Phineas Drake response. Just remember to take care of yourself, too. Go out occasionally, give yourself a break, bask in your success.”
“I’ll keep that in mind … some other night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Goodnight, Phineas.”
“Oh, Mena,” he called out to me after I’d already taken a few steps down the hall.
I backed up until I was in his doorway again. “Yes?”
“I was wondering whether you would accompany me to the premiere of Soldiers of Atlantis? I was given two tickets with my invitation and, quite frankly, I have no idea what I’m going to do with the second one.”
“S-Sure, but that’s like five months from now. Surely, you could scrounge up someone to take before then.”
“As you’ve so perceptively noted, I clearly don’t have a life, and I don’t anticipate that will change much by March. Besides, even if I did manage to scrounge someone up before then, I wouldn’t feel right taking someone I just met to an event like this over someone who puts in almost as much time as I do into making sure we’re even invited to these things at all.”
“That’s very generous of you. Of course I’ll go. But you do realize who you’re asking to attend this hoity toity event, right? I mean, I’m still me no matter where I’m at.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.”
*****
“Let me see if I’m understanding this,” Elle took a sip from the complimentary, small tulip glass of champagne we were served at La Bella’s while we waited for her other bridesmaids to arrive, “you’re going to be walking the red carpet at an actual movie premiere with not only Kira Capucci but Preston Paul?” She shook her head in disbelief, her hand gesturing wildly, practically spilling her champagne in the process. “My God, what is your life?”
“It could be your life, too, if you would finish the book you started.”
“I write poetry. You don’t see many movies based on haikus and sonnets.”
“And that’s a crying shame, because some of Shel Silverstein’s works would make for one hell of a show, or one hell of an acid trip, depending upon your perspective.”
“Shel Silverstein is literally the only poet you can name right now, isn’t he?”
“Why do you have to personally attack me like that?”
“That’s okay, I know plenty of people who couldn’t even name one.” Sighing, she sat back against the cushioned settee.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing her attention, “just because I or a few other people aren’t that well read in the poetry genre doesn’t mean you should abandon your dream. You’re talented, Elle. I’ve read some of your stuff; mainly while I was drunk, but even sober, it’s apparent you have serious talent.”
“High praise.” She smiled, clinking her glass against mine. “Thanks, Mena.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve reached my pep talk limit for the day, so don’t expect anything else uplifting to come out of me.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. You know what? Maybe I will take up writing again. I mean, what do I have to lose, right? And I know just the editor to send it to.”
“Sure. I charge two hundred an hour and am booked for the next four to six months.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m kidding. Sort of.”
“Oh, there’s Kirsten.” Elle handed me her glass of champagne and leapt up from the settee to greet the cute, tall, blonde woman who’d just entered