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He shook his head.
“Polly could negotiate a sizable signing bonus.”
“Nice try, but I can’t be bought,” said Nick.
“And I can’t support this decision.” Blinking her feathery false lashes, Kiki snatched the full drink. “It’s reckless and catastrophic. You better be prepared for the fallout.” She stared above Evie’s head and took a lengthy sip.
“What fallout?” Nick shoveled a spoonful of lumpy porridge between his lips.
“What do you think? You haven’t acted in four years.”
This tastes like paste. Cringing, he maffled through the gluey gruel. “Not for a lack of trying.”
Kiki scoffed. “I wouldn’t call ignoring all the scripts Polly sent your way the past eleven months trying, Nikolai. You haven’t returned any of her calls or emails, let alone stepped foot inside an audition room.”
His concern flew to Evie. Eyes questioning, she poked her barely eaten breakfast with her fork. Shit, I wish she wasn’t hearing this.
“Polly’s been breaking her back for you for years and THIS is how you repay her, being flighty and unprofessional, scurrying off to uni?” Kiki tilted her head. “Do you realize how badly this reflects on us?”
Us? Nick scrunched his face.
“I could let you burn all the bridges your pretty little heart desires, but I refuse to stand by and watch you do irreparable harm to our Balfour name.”
“Me causing harm?” Nick bit his tongue, holding back a verbal onslaught about her numerous affairs and the hush money paid (under the table) to London’s unscrupulous tabloid editors.
“Yes, you! Agents talk, you know. I cannot imagine why you haven’t called Polly back.”
“I needed a break!”
“From what?” his mother spit back.
“From non-stop rejection. It’s doing my head in!” Abandoning his spoon, Nick whisked his hand through his hair. “Every audition it’s something ridiculous: my brows are too arched or they don’t like my chin or I remind them of their brother. Christ, one of them said I looked ‘too Londony’ to be riding a horse!”
“This is about Plunder the Crown, isn’t it?” Kiki huffed. “Nikolai, it’s been a year. Grow up, get over it, and get back to work!”
A loud clank arose from Evie’s plate. Nick glanced over. Knife and fork splayed across her French toast, his girlfriend scowled at her breakfast, silently fuming.
He picked up a slice of five-grain toast (plain, no butter), another inedible breakfast request by food cop Kiki. “She said the same thing after my first panic attack.”
“Allergic reaction,” Kiki corrected, frantically eyeing the room.
“Told ya.” Turning away from Evie, Nick bit into the rock-hard toast.
“Well, maybe you don’t care about being called a has-been, but I do!”
Has-been? Nick choked on his breakfast.
Rushing to his aid, Evie rubbed his back as he sputtered. “You okay?” She grasped her water. “Drink this.”
“Who called me a—?” Nick croaked, unable to say the belittling word aloud. He accepted Evie’s glass with a heavy heart and took a slow sip, his eyes watering.
“Producers, casting agents. At this point, though, you’re not even part of the conversation.”
Nick swallowed hard. Is she lying?
“I know. It’s an outrageous cheek!” said Kiki. “But you and me, we can FIX it with this film. Marty and Frances at Pinewood think it could be as successful as Pirates of the Caribbean—you know, that other film based on, oh, what did you call it? A stupid theme park ride?”
Lost in the water glass, Nick refused to give his mum the satisfaction of an emotional reaction, but his pulse was so frenzied, pounding in his chest and ears, he was surprised no one could hear it.
