How To Wed A Billionaire (How To... Book 3) Page 2

  One thing I never get tired of out here is the heat. Summer is my favorite season, and I’m all too happy to bask in the extended one that Southern California provides.

  “I parked this way,” Molly says and points.

  “Me, too.”

  “Did you see who was here earlier?” she asks as we step away from the restaurant.

  “Crystal Shea.”

  “She’s shorter than I thought she would be.”

  My tongue is numb. Right along with my heart.

  “Hey.” Molly bumps her shoulder against mine. “I know it can be hard, you know, but don’t…there’s no point in comparing yourself to other people.”

  “I’m not,” I’m quick to lie.

  She clearly doesn’t buy it.

  “I don’t want to be other people. I just want to be the best version of myself. The version that I’ve envisioned.”

  “You will be.” Molly squeezes my hand.

  “Thank you for mentioning the show.”

  “Does that mean you’re thinking about it?” she asks with a grin.

  “Maybe,” I say with a teasing voice, completely joking. “If nothing else, at least it could help me catch a man.”

  “Oh, God, Rachel. You don’t need any help there.”

  “What about…” It’s painful to finish the question.

  “JT was an idiot.”

  “Yeah.” I stuff my hands into my skirt’s pockets. This skirt having pockets is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. Sad, right?

  We’ve reached my car.

  “See you at home,” I say.

  “Great. I picked up mint chocolate chip ice cream, by the way.”

  I press my hand dramatically to my chest. “My favorite.”

  My smile continues as we wave goodbye and I get into my car. As soon as Molly can’t see me, though, I fall apart.

  Closing my eyes, I drop my forehead against the steering wheel.

  Setbacks are a part of life.

  Everyone goes through periods of disappointments.

  All I have to do is keep hanging in there.

  I run through every self-help quote I can dredge up from the recesses of my mind. None of them stop the tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Chapter 2

  At our two-bedroom Echo Park apartment, Molly pulls out not only ice cream, but a bottle of whiskey.

  “That’s fancy,” I say, hanging my purse on the coat rack by the front door and nodding at the bottle. “Whatever happened to tequila?”

  Molly snorts and takes down two shot glasses we got at an amusement park from the cupboard. “Tequila is for teenagers. I’m a big girl with a real job, now.”

  She doesn’t seem to notice the pain the word “job” brings me, and I’m glad. I’m happy for her. I only wish I could be equally thrilled for myself.

  “You’re having one, right?” Molly’s already pouring a shot.

  “Hit me.”

  We take a shot each, and then another. Sometime after that, we end up on the couch, sprawled out and eating ice cream right from the carton on the coffee table.

  “I never want this to end,” Molly says. Whether her slight slur is from the alcohol or the ice cream filling her mouth is debatable.

  “What, exactly?”

  “You. Me. Here.” She waves a spoon around. “I want it to get better, sure. Maybe one day, we could upgrade.”

  “To a place with two bathrooms?”

  “To a house.” She drops her spoon on the carton’s lid and hugs a pillow, her gaze dreamy.

  “Now you’re shooting for the stars,” I laugh.

  “Shouldn’t we all be?”

  Not knowing how to answer, I take another bite of ice cream. Maybe going to bed would be the best idea.

  “Oh!” Molly throws the pillow to the floor. “I forgot to post about my new job! Where did I put my phone?”

  “Uh…the bathroom?”

  Don’t ask me why, but she’s always leaving it in there.

  Molly runs across the living room and checks. “Nope!”

  “Retrace your steps.”

  Walking backward, she moves her arms like a robot and makes computer sounds. “Searching…for…phone.”

  “Watch out for—”

  “Ow!” Molly bumps into the coat rack.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She rubs the back of her head. “Yeah, and I think I just remembered where I put my phone.”

  “Where?”

  Instead of answering, she rushes into the kitchen—which is really more a part of the living room, except with appliances and linoleum, than its own room. Throwing a cabinet door open, she reaches for something in the dark.

  “Ah-ha!” She withdraws her phone. “I put it with the whiskey.”

  “Because where else would it go?”

  “Exactly.”

  Typing away, she walks for the couch. “What should I say? Something about how grateful I am?”

  “Only if you really are.” Reaching for the remote, I turn the TV on and flick through several channels in a few seconds.

  I already know I won’t be able to settle on something to watch. My anxiety level is too high. How can I calm down and relax when my career has been run off the tracks?

  It feels like I need to go, go, go. Something has to be done. The problem is, I don’t know what that something is. I’m absolutely stuck.

  “I’m definitely grateful.” Attention still on her phone, Molly curls up next to me.

  The TV falls on a reality channel. The show that’s on isn’t familiar. Two girls about my age sit across from each other at a coffee shop, talking about how one of them feels betrayed and the other feels like she didn’t do anything wrong. It looks like I’ve missed the details of whatever the big drama was.

  “Annnd…post!” With a sense of accomplishment, Molly hits the button. She starts scrolling through her feed, and I change the channel yet again.

  I’m idling on a cooking channel, a craving for lasagna building thanks to the layers of cheese and sauce the host is spreading, when Molly inhales sharply.

  “What?” I ask.

  She frowns. “Nothing.”

  “You gasped.”

  “Did I? Oh, I guess it was over this, uh, video.”

  She’s such a bad liar.

  “Molly.”

  Her lips twitch, and she slowly lifts her gaze to mine. “Have you been on social media at all today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I guess you were bound to see it, anyway.”

  She hands over her phone. It’s a post from JT, my ex.

  “You still follow him?” I ask before I even process the photo or read the corresponding text.

  “He doesn’t post that much. I forgot to unfollow. You really think I want to see what Douchebag of the Year is up to?”

  “No,” I say at the same time as the phone screen tugs at my attention.

  It’s a picture of JT standing in what—judging by the big table behind him—is a boardroom. He shakes a gray-haired man’s hand, a giant, shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

  The text reads, “Thrilled to announce Spark Podcasts’ merge with Grayson Publishing. This is sure to be the start of a thrilling adventure.”

  My stomach turns. I can’t look at the picture anymore. Passing the phone back to Molly, I reach for the ice cream.

  But, no. That won’t do it. I need something stronger.

  Jumping to standing, I grab the whiskey bottle from the counter and take a firm swig.

  “It’s nepotism,” I say with a growl. “That’s what it is.”

  Molly makes a noise to show she’s listening.

  “JT only got that merger because his dad is best friends with the CEO of Grayson,” I think out loud.

  Molly makes another noise, this one completely neutral. It’s impossible to tell whether she agrees or disagrees.

  “Podcasts,” I sneer. “JT only decided he was going to get into them last year, and now he’s worki
ng with one of the biggest companies in the country?”

  The next drink of whiskey stings like hell. I collapse onto the couch, my eyes closed against the brutality.

  Molly takes the bottle from my hand and gingerly sets it on the coffee table. “I’m so sorry, honey. This sucks balls.”

  “Whatever,” I huff. “I just…he broke up with me because he said I worked too much on something that would never pan out.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “And he acted like he was busting ass all the time on his projects, but that wasn’t even true. He had a new one going every three months, and he never really committed to any of them. Not like I have with acting.”

  “Yep. Totally unfair.”

  “Even once I got the Record Time role, he still said that. He thought the film wouldn’t go anywhere.”

  And he was right.

  Nausea rolls in my stomach, but it’s not half as bad as the anger heating my skin. Is there any justice at all in this world?

  I reach for the whiskey again, but Molly pushes it out of the way.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Rach?” she asks.

  “I definitely have,” I sigh.

  I’ll also be feeling it tomorrow.

  Hiding my face in my palms, I shake my head. Jealousy is the worst. Especially when it’s felt for someone who doesn’t warrant it. JT doesn’t deserve another thought from me, yet here I am, obsessing over him. Well, not him. Screw him. But I sure am practically green with envy over his success in the industry.

  “It sucks, you know?” I peek through splayed fingers at Molly.

  “I know.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Today was rough, but tomorrow will be better. It has to be. I mean, what can be any worse than today was for you, right? Chin up, buttercup.”

  “I wanna do it.”

  I sit up straighter, my heart beating like a war drum.

  “Do what?”

  “The audition for your reality show.”

  Molly’s eyebrows shoot halfway to her hairline. “You don’t have to commit to something just because—”

  “It’s an audition. Not a commitment.”

  Even though I really want the job, now. It’s time to face the facts: the exposure the show could bring me would be invaluable. As long as I properly conduct myself in front of the camera, I should be able to use the opportunity to my advantage.

  “True,” Molly says, though she’s worrying her bottom lip. “How about this? We discuss it again in the morning. If you’re still on board, I’ll talk to Adrianna about getting you an audition slot.”

  Since Molly’s not the kind to budge once she’s made up her mind, I nod. I already know I don’t need to think about this any further. It’s not the booze talking.

  I’m beyond tired of doing everything the way I always figured I needed to and not having things pan out. It’s time to think outside the box. Time to embrace the unexpected.

  “Sure.” I stand and ignore the slight tilting of the room. “I’ll sleep on it.”

  We say goodnight, and I shuffle into the bathroom that we share. My racing heart hasn’t calmed at all.

  I’m really doing this.

  And I know it’s only an audition. I’ll give it my all, like I do each and every one, but that doesn’t mean it’ll lead anywhere. Still…the possibility has me feeling like I’m about to run a marathon.

  What if I get the job? What will shooting be like? I’ve heard that sometimes reality scenes are staged, so they can involve more acting than expected.

  What will I tell my parents? They’ve always been hesitant about me pursuing acting in the first place. I can’t imagine they’d have anything good to say about me doing a reality show.

  And then there’s the matter of the guy. My…gulp…possible husband.

  If I do match up with someone, what will that mean? Say I’m really into him? Or, say I hate him?

  There are too many questions and not near enough answers. The only thing to do is take a deep breath and jump into this new opportunity.

  Here’s hoping I land on my feet.

  Chapter 3

  The universe must be on my side today, because the light turns red and I get an extra minute.

  Digging into the makeup bag sitting in the passenger seat, I pull out a tube of black mascara.

  “Do you have to do a scene or anything?” Annie, who’s on speaker, asks.

  My stomach curdles. “No. I wish. It would be more comfortable that way. I’m not used to being myself in auditions. I mean, that’s why I like acting. I get to forget about myself for a while.”

  “That makes sense,” my sister says.

  There’s a barking on her end.

  “Is that Dude?” I ask.

  “No, it’s Biscuit.”

  “Biscuit?” I frown and finish swiping my right eyelashes.

  The light is still red. Thank God this is a busy intersection. I didn’t have time to finish my makeup before leaving the apartment, on account of misplacing my phone, which I couldn’t leave without, because the address for the audition was on it.

  “I didn’t tell you? We have a new dog.”

  “No. You didn’t tell me. Since when?”

  “The Andersons moved and they couldn’t take their dog with them. They, uh, they got foreclosed on and had to move in with family in Dallas.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah,” Annie whispers.

  The light changes to green. No time to do my left eye.

  Unfortunately, foreclosure is a reality in the area that I grew up in. Seems like every other time I hear about what’s going on in the countryside where my parents own their ranch, this person or that person has lost their land.

  Luckily, my family’s ranch is still kicking. There have been bad years, though. Those times never helped bolster my decision to move out of state and abandon any ranching legacy my folks hoped for me.

  I love my family. Where I come from, blood and land are everything.

  Oh, and football. Can’t forget about that.

  Wanting more than to raise cattle and keep the family business that my great-grandfather started has always been something I’ve struggled with. I love my mom, dad, and little sister, but I’m still my own person.

  At least Annie, who’s five years younger than me, is a country girl through and through. She doesn’t want to be anywhere but in the saddle or on the ground, digging irrigation trenches or mending fences.

  “Turn left,” my GPS instructs.

  “Huh?” Annie asks.

  “Sorry. That’s the GPS. I, uh…shoot! I missed my turn.”

  “Come here, boy,” Annie says to the dog. “Get on out of the stable. Stop scaring that old horse. She wants nothing to do with you.”

  The anxiety that’s been gripping me all day loosens its hold, and I smile. It’s nice to hear my little sis talking to the animals. Even though I want to be here in LA, a taste of home does the heart good.

  The GPS starts routing a turnaround. Catching sight of the time on the dashboard, I huff out a breath.

  “How you doin’?” Annie asks.

  “I’m late.”

  “You’re always late,” she laughs.

  “Yeah, well, this audition was supposed to be me turning over a new leaf. Hey, did you…did you mention this to Mom and Dad?”

  “Naw,” she says. “You want me to?”

  The thought makes me cringe. “No. I don’t even know if I’ll get the job.”

  “What if you do?”

  The GPS beeps, telling me I’ve reached my destination.

  “Then I’ll figure that step out when I get there. I’m at the audition.”

  “Okay. Good luck! Let me know how it goes.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  The audition is at a small production studio. It’s not the office that Molly works at, which is at least a fifteen-minute drive from here. Pulling into the driveway in front of the long, white building, I scan the area for a parking spo
t.

  There isn’t one in sight.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  I’m already ten minutes late.

  Idling in the entrance to the parking lot, I glance up and down the street. Its sides are packed with cars.

  There’s nothing to do but drive around until I find an open spot. I edge my car further into the studio’s lot, thinking my best bet will be driving around the block.

  Right before I can turn around, a woman comes out of the studio and gets into a car. I nearly gasp with joy.

  Driving up close to her car, I put my blinker on. There’s no one else driving around the lot, but just in case someone shows up, I want to make sure they know I’ve staked my claim.

  It’s a good thing I do. The woman has barely turned her engine on when a black sports car enters the lot. Its top is down, giving me a perfect view of the driver.

  Considering my profession, I see a lot of attractive people. Most of them are pretty in the stereotypical way, and not really my type. My personal taste leans more toward a rugged man—I am still a country girl at heart.

  Like the one right in front of me.

  It’s his hazel eyes that catch my attention first. Even with yards between us, his green-and-gold-flecked gaze draws me in. The wavy, dark hair; square, stubbled jaw; and playful grin are what make me want to stare at him forever.

  Something tightens low in my abdomen. Heat rushes through me.

  The man’s still looking back at me, holding my gaze. It feels like a standoff. Who’ll look away first?

  It’ll be him, for sure.

  I can be shy or uncertain until I see something—or someone—I really want. After that, watch out.

  He’s still grinning cheekily at me when the woman pulls out of her spot and drives off. Shaking myself from the daze this strange man has brought on, I tap my foot against the gas and head for the vacant parking spot.

  The black sports car jerks forward and whips into the space.

  My jaw must hit my lap.

  “Are you kidding me?” I yell.

  Not that he can hear me. Unlike him, I’m enclosed completely in my car.

  Fighting the urge to flip the guy off, I turn my car around and drive into the street. Late as I already am, I can’t afford to get into an altercation.