TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,9
day going?”
I pause and force myself to set aside my panic long enough to reevaluate my approach. Birdie loathes when people unload their shit onto her. She claims there’s too much transference when you accept someone else’s anxiety and stress into your world, and as a result, she responds better to people who aren’t about to lose their fucking minds. “Um…it’s…not too bad. Uh…how was rehearsal this morning?”
“It was great. Everything is coming together nicely for our tour.”
“That’s great! Really great!”
Jesus, calm down. Go too far in a positive direction and she’ll see through your shit for sure. You aren’t that chippy base case.
“All right. What in the Sam Hill is wrong with you? You sound like you’re on speed, but I think that’s a drug of the past, so I’m going to guess that’s not it.”
I can’t help but pause long enough to make fun of my sister’s innocence. It’s sweet, really.
“Speed is meth, Birdie. Seeing as there’s a rapidly growing epidemic of deaths due to overdose from psychostimulants, I don’t think it’s in the past.”
“Billie, what’s going on?” Birdie challenges, seeing through my drug-fact ramble with the X-ray vision only a sister possesses.
“I just promised my boss a man I can’t deliver,” I blurt out in a rush.
“You promised your boss a hooker?” she questions, confusion evident in both her voice and her comprehension.
“God, no! Not a hooker, you lunatic!”
“Lunatic?” She laughs. “Pretty sure you’re projecting right now, sweetie.”
I sigh. “I will never, ever forgive you for dating that psychologist and soaking up all his bullshit.”
“Billie, what did you do?”
“I just told my boss I could get the impossible! We’re talking, a blind man just walked into my office, and I told him I could make him see. Like, holy shit! What is wrong with me?”
She laughs, the sadist. “Slow down, sis. You’re talking so fast, I can’t keep up.” She transforms her voice quickly, though, in a way only Birdie can do. One second, it’s cold and mocking, and the next, it’s like the warmest of blankets. “Just relax,” she coaches. “Take a breath, and slowly tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay.” I shut my eyes. Take a deep breath. “I might have…sort of…kind of…maybe…told Serena I know Luca Weaver.”
“Like, know his movies? Or, like, know him, know him?”
I cringe. “Both.”
“Lord Almighty, Billie!” she shouts so loud, I have to pull the phone away from my ear for a beat. “I’m pretty sure this is not how you go about breaking in to Hollywood.”
“I know!” I whine. “Trust me, I know!”
“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, but damn.”
“Wait a sec…” My eyes pop open if only to be able to narrow. “What do you mean, you shouldn’t be surprised?”
“C’mon, sis. You know you have a tendency to make big promises under stress.”
“I do not!”
She laughs. “When Granny got pissed at you for crashing the riding tractor into the old oak tree, you told her you already had someone lined up to fix it for an insanely low price, even though you had no one.”
“That was one time!”
“On my sixteenth birthday, you told me Reba McEntire was going to be in town and that she was coming to my party.”
“Because you loved that song “Fancy”! And excuse me for wanting my big sister to have the best birthday ever.”
“I never said you had bad intentions, Billie. I said you make too big of promises.”
“Yeah, well, no matter what I do, I’ve pretty much fucked myself.”
The line goes silent, and I groan.
“Birdie! This is when you’re supposed to say everything is going to be okay.”
She laughs again. “But I can’t.”
“Well, a little white lie never hurt anyone.”
“Yeah, but a little white lie coming from my mouth isn’t going to make you feel any better because you and I both know your current situation is a big ole rock inside a very hard place. Although, if it helps at all, I did read a story in the paper about some artist guy getting his sight back through the first ever eye transplant in the US. So, maybe if you’re lucky, it’s not impossible. You just have to find the right angle.”
I shut my eyes and slam a palm against my forehead. “You’re right. There has to be a way to find him. I mean, he’s not Tom Hanks in flipping Castaway. No one is completely unreachable, right?”
“What the hell do I know? I don’t know Luca Weaver.”
Oh my God! Just like that, it hits me. She doesn’t know him, but someone