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“God,” I mutter, checking my phone. The battery has run out, so I plug it in to charge and go downstairs.
Mum’s in the living area, watchingAfter Hours, a talk show presented by a man called Patrick Howard, who I recognize from billboards around the city.
“Darling, you must have needed that sleep.”
She holds her arms out and I sink into them.
“I must have.”
The two of us sit in silence, watching as a pretty young actress is introduced and Patrick interviews her.
Mum jabs the remote and the screen goes black.
“That’s enough of that,” she mutters, tossing it down onto the cushion beside her.
I rub the arm she has draped around me. “Is that the actress they gave the role to the other day?”
“So young and pretty.” She sighs. “I’ll never be able to compete.”
“You don’t need to. You don’t want those roles if they can’t see how amazing you are. You need big roles in hard-hitting stories. Ones people will talk about for years. Inspiring ones. Not just your regular movie that’ll be forgotten about when another ten exactly the same are churned out within a few months.”
“Thank you, darling.” She rests her head against the back of the sofa and gives me a weak smile. “You’reso like your father.” She tucks a lock of my hair back over my shoulder. “He’d be so proud of you.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“Do you want to order takeout and eat ice-cream in our pajamas?” Mum’s eyes light up like she’s just suggested egging the sports car of every casting director who’s ever turned her down.
“I do want that, Mum. I really do.”
I adjust the waistband of my jeans before the elevator dings. Then I walk out into the reception area of the skyrise’s top floor.
The pearl strands feel cool against my skin. I can’t wait to see Jet’s pissed off face when I tell him I’m wearing the bodysuit he bought. It will be a tease. One I’ll pay the price for later.
My pussy clenches at the thought.
“Good morning.” I smile at the immaculate receptionist sitting behind the long shiny desk that’s shaped like a wing and has Atlantic Airways’ logo on it. “I’m Ava Roberts, here to see Mr. Grant.”
“Mr. Grant doesn’t take visitors without an appointment.”
“Can you tell him Ava Roberts is here, please?”
“Does he know you?” She makes no effort to move.
“He should. I’m his girlfriend.”
I bet he keeps his personal life completely separate from work. I’m not his girlfriend—I’m not sure what I’d label our relationship as—but this woman is starting to get on my last nerve, the way she’s looking down her nose at me like I’m dirt.
“Girlfriend?” Her unimpressed gaze sweeps over my jeans and T-shirt. “Really?”
I rest my elbows on the desk, leaning forward.
“His bratty sugar baby. If we’re going to be technical.”
I hide my smirk at the way she gasps and grabs her desk phone. She taps the buttons, eyeing me with a terse frown. Then she holds up a finger, silencing me, and spins her chair so her back is to me.
I roll my eyes and pull my ringing phone from my purse. I don’t recognize the number calling.
“Hello?”
