Without wasting any time, I hop out of the car and head through the back doors of the Capo Brothers Studios. Just before I slip my phone and keys into the pocket of my jeans, my phone pings with a text.
Luca: Be nice to my future sister-in-law, or I’ll murder you.
I stare down at the screen and tilt my head to the side as I read the message.
What is he talking about? I’ve never even met Luca’s sister-in-law. Have I?
Jesus. Please don’t tell me I boned her by accident. I generally try to avoid shitting where I live.
One of the first friends I made when I moved to LA all those years ago, Luca Weaver is still one of my best friends to this day. Even despite the fact that he took an eight-year sabbatical from all things Hollywood to live off the grid like a fucking lunatic in Alaska.
The last thing I want to do is piss him off.
I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but I can bullshit an appeasement with the best of them. I type out a quick message and hit send.
Me: Of course, bud. Wouldn’t dream of being any other way.
But that’s it. That’s all I have time for. I have a meeting to get to and a potential costar to meet.
Birdie
True to my name, I’m about to take fucking flight. At least, I would if I could.
In this moment, it really would have been helpful if my trainer hadn’t successfully eliminated all the extra flappy meat on my upper arms. Surely, if I got them going fast enough, the wind beneath those bat wings could have carried me up and through the ceiling of this place.
C’mon, you big baby, I coach myself. You can do this.
One cavernous breath into my lungs and then another and another, and eventually, just before my vision turns tunneled, I will my feet to move away from the door.
Gleaming marble floors, golden statues, and a freaking fountain in the center, the lobby of Capo Brothers Studios is everything I should have expected and more.
If everything is bigger in Texas, then everything is most certainly richer in LA.
I check in with security quickly, my voice only a little croaky thanks to the frog in my throat, and head for the elevator bank at the far side of the lobby.
I’m to head to the fifteenth floor, I’m told, and then go straight down the hall to the glass doors on the left at the end. There, I’ll find William Capo’s office—the head honcho and only surviving brother of Capo Brothers.
My cowgirl boots are noisy on the marble floors when I do as instructed. The sound you make when you walk is such a small detail—one I don’t normally think about—but the echo of their clack today makes my heart feel like it’s knocking into my rib cage and each step across the ornate floor is merely a sound effect.
Fifteen floors eclipse quickly—clearly, they’ve spared no expense on their elevator—and the hallway that leads to William’s office seems strangely one-directional. Like once I go down it—once I take this step—there will be no going back. Which is probably why, after forcing myself to go the distance to the end, I pause at the open door, the points of my booted toes just shy of crossing the line.
“Good morning.” A pretty assistant dressed in a white power suit greets me before I’ve even cleared the threshold of the door, and all thoughts of escape are dashed. Like it or not, I’ve just been shoved over the line. I will my feet to do the same as she continues to speak. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Birdie Harris,” I answer and have to swallow hard against the dryness threatening to close my throat. “I have an audition.”
My nerves are so obvious, the assistant offers a sympathetic smile.
If she were from my childhood hometown in West Virginia, she’d most likely be thinking Bless her heart.
She taps something across the keyboard of her iMac and places her hand to the Bluetooth at her ear. “Mr. Capo, I have Birdie Harris here.” Immediately, she looks away from the computer and meets my eyes. “They’ll be ready for you shortly. You can take a seat over there.” She points behind me, back through the door and across the hall to what I’m assuming is a fancy-schmancy waiting room of some sort. I haven’t encountered a place in the building that doesn’t have some