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“That’s good. Do you think he can make me a cheeseburger and some fries?” I ask. He takes out his phone from the inside pocket of his suit. Typing in something, he proceeds to show me the rest of the suite. “If there is anything else, I will let you know.”
He puts the phone back in his pocket and grabs a business card and hands it to me. “This is my direct line,” he tells me. “I’m available whenever you need me.”
“Thank you.” I grab the card in my hand and watch him leave the room. As soon as the ivory door closes behind him, I toss the card onto the table before shrugging off my leather jacket. I grab my phone and text my assistant.
Where can I go buy clothes in Dallas?
I look at my watch, seeing it’s only 11:00 a.m. in LA, but I know she’s still jet-lagged since we just spent six months split between Turkey and Croatia. It was hands down the biggest part I’ve ever had, and from what everyone said, it was going to put my name on the map. I worked my ass off from sunup to sundown, making sure I gave it my all. I see the gray bubble with the three dots come up right before her answer.
Kristina:
Do you even know what size you are?
I need clothes.
How did you get there so fast?
I took off as soon as we landed.
You staying at the Ritz?
How do you know?
I have your credit cards linked to my phone.
I’ll make a few phone calls and get back to you.
I kick off my motorcycle boots, walk over to the couch, and flop down. Putting my head back and closing my eyes, I see Gabriella’s eyes right away, and I can hear her voice. “Yes, let’s go for dinner. Why don’t you go and grab a table, and I’ll meet you there when hell freezes over and pigs fly.” I laugh at the last part while I run my hands over my face and into my hair. When my phone rings, I jump up, rushing toward the table. Somehow, I’m hoping it’s Gabriella, but I know deep down in my gut it isn’t her. There is no way she would call me ever again. The last time I spoke to her was the day she told me it was over. The pain fills the pit of my stomach, and it hurts even more when I see it’s my father calling.
I press the green button to start the FaceTime call and wait until his face fills the screen. “Hello,” I greet, smiling at him as I walk past the living room and straight into the bedroom, where I collapse on the bed.
“Hey, son,” he says, his face filling the screen, and I can see he’s sitting outside on his deck. The sound of soft waves hitting the shore in the background can also be heard along with the sound of birds chirping.
“Hey, Dad,” I reply as he brings a white coffee cup to his lips. “You look relaxed.”
“I am relaxed.” He smirks at me, and it’s the same smirk I have. My father is the Tyler Beckett. Biggest Hollywood star to ever be on screen. His last seven movies crushed the box offices, and he is the reigning king of Hollywood, but he’s been off the screen for a while, opting to enjoy life. He’s always been an actor, even when he met my mom, Jessica, who was an entertainment reporter. From what I’ve heard over the years, it was definitely not love at first sight. Truth be told, they hated each other, only to grow closer when they went on some movie tour and they fell in love. “Where are you?” He pinches his eyebrows together as he puts his face closer to the screen, trying to see where I am.
“I’m in Dallas,” I inform him, turning on my side and letting out a deep breath.
“For what?” he asks, confused. “I thought you were coming home to Malibu.” My father splits his time between Malibu and Montana, where he has his ranch. It’s where he’s happiest.
“I am coming home,” I assure him. “I mean, I did come home, but then I left right away.” In a matter of minutes, I jumped from one plane to the next, making a beeline straight to Dallas.
“I thought you were taking a break between movies.” He picks up his cup again to take a sip.
“I’m not here for work,” I tell him, and I know I have to tell him the real reason I’m here. “I came to see Gabriella.” The minute I say her name, the pain in my chest comes back. For the past eight months, every single time the pain kept getting worse and worse. I had work to take my mind off it, but she was never far away from my thoughts. Every single day I was one step closer to her.
“Gabriella?” he asks. “The girl you brought to dinner last year?”
“Yes,” I admit to him. “That one.”
“I thought the two of you went your separate ways,” he reminds me, not that I told him, but when I didn’t bring her up anymore, I assumed he got the memo. I mean, I never really brought anyone around because I was never serious about anyone, and I wasn’t ready to open myself up. But with Gabriella, it just felt different.
“We did,” I confirm and turn to my back, my head sinking into the feathered pillows. “Dad, I fucked up.” The pain in my chest tightens, and a burning creeps up the back of my neck.
He just stares at me. “What do you mean you fucked up?”
“I mean, I fucked up, and I know I fucked up, and now here I am.” I can’t even begin to tell him how I messed up, knowing he would probably not be okay with it, and the last thing I want to do is to have him think less of me. It’s one thing when your parents are mad at you. It’s a whole different story when they are disappointed in you.
