Now a Major Motion Picture (2 page)

“That’s weird. It’s Andrew.” She glanced up. “My agent,” she explained, as if Reese needed an explanation. “I wasn’t expecting him to call.”

Panicked, her mind flitted back to her blank computer screen.

“Well—” Reese stared at her. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I…uh, yeah.” She clicked “accept,” barely getting out half a hello before Andrew Hamling’s lilting British accent cut her off.

“Mel! I’m glad you answered. You’re not going to believe
the news I have for you.”

Her stomach lurched as she imagined the worst. Her deadline pushed up? Plummeting sales? Or worse—skyrocketing sales? The more books she sold, the better the chance Noah Bradley would find out she’d written them. And Noah Bradley
could not
find out she’d written them.

“Hello? Amelia, are you still there?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I’m here. Wh-what news?”

Her shoulders were rigid as she waited out Andrew’s pause. Whatever this was, it was big. She could feel Reese’s eyes boring into her from across the table.

“The movie rights,” he said, drawing out the syllables. “Remember? Universal took the option? Well, they’ve chosen to exercise it.”

He uttered the words with relish, and Amelia’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She knew she should say something, knew she should feel ecstatic, not horrified. For several excruciating seconds, she didn’t say a thing.

“You mean—”

Andrew let out a mirthful laugh. “
Yes.
That’s exactly what I mean. Your book’s being made into a movie. A blockbuster, from the sound of it.”

He paused, and when she still didn’t respond, resumed talking, a note of confusion in his voice. A flush spread from Amelia’s neck into her cheeks.

“It’s just your first one, see, for now. They’ve only made a commitment on the one, and we’ll have to wait and see how it does before they decide on the others. But I can’t imagine it won’t do well, especially with the money they’re throwing into it. I’ve only had a brief chat with the studio, but a meeting is in the works. Elaine will be calling soon about your schedule.”

None of what he was saying made sense…until suddenly it did. In no way could any of this be true. Relief flooded over her in a wave.

“Oh, okay. You’re just kidding,” she said.

He was silent for a moment.

“Kidding? No, Amelia, this is no joke. I’d never do that to you.” He laughed again, and this time the sound was incredulous. “You’re more surprised than I thought you would be. Honestly, I’ve been expecting this for months. Your story belongs on the big screen. It’ll be brilliant.”

Reese was leaning forward in expectation. She looked like she wanted to reach out and snatch the phone from Amelia’s hand. Amelia met her eyes across the table and repeated, “The big screen. I really don’t know what…to say. Wow.”

Reese’s jaw dropped. As Amelia thanked Andrew and fumbled for the “end call” button, Reese began to screech, bouncing up and down in her chair. Amelia looked around, mortified, but nobody so much as glanced in their direction.

“I knew it!” Reese said. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. Your books are being made into movies. Oh my gawd, Mel! Do you know what this means? You’re going to be on a movie set. You’re going to go to premieres and be on the red carpet and meet famous people.” She gasped. “You’re going to
be
famous. This is so freaking awesome. It’s a dream come true.”

Amelia stared at her as the full weight of Andrew’s words sank in. Her mind flashed again to Noah, to the montage of scenes that until now had seemed no more than a vague threat: Noah catching a glimpse of her name in a newspaper or magazine…picking up a book and seeing her photo on the back cover…walking into a theater, out of nostalgia or idle curiosity, to watch a movie version of the book—and realizing with a shock that it was about him.

Realizing that all of it, everything, was about him.

Comfort Zone

Amelia leaned into the long bar and surveyed the crowd packed in around her in the Beale Street club. The air was thick with smoke and the hum of a hundred different conversations. Even more deafening was the music blaring from a stage in the corner, where a cover band blasted out a raucous version of Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun.”

She felt oddly detached from the scene—still in shock from Andrew’s news, though the cocktail in front of her, her third, made it all seem fuzzy around the edges.

She eyed a group of college-age girls dancing close to the stage, trying to get noticed by the guys in the band. As she watched, a leggy blonde in a skirt so short it practically showed cheek hoisted herself up and sashayed over to the lead singer. He looked more flattered than annoyed until she moved in front of him and tried to wrestle away his microphone. Seconds later she was hauled off by a black-shirted bouncer who’d suddenly materialized onstage.

Amelia chortled, shaking her head. The rush of movement made the room spin, and she put a hand down on the bar to steady herself. Even with her buzz, she’d need a lot more vodka to reach that point of inhibition.
Who am I kidding? I’d never reach that point.
She’d pass out well before she got there.

“Those were the days, right?” Reese yelled into her ear.

Amelia grinned at her. “Did you have days like that? Because I don’t think I did. Maybe I should have—”

Reese grinned back. “I don’t think you have it in you. That’s okay though. You’re classy. That chick’s not. It’s not a bad thing.”

She groaned. “You make it sound like I’m about ninety-five and boring.”

“Nope,” Reese said, her eyes sweeping down Amelia’s halter top and skinny jeans ensemble, not stopping till they reached the floor. “No boring person would ever own shoes that hot.”

She looked down at the pewter peep toe heels she’d bought a few hours earlier, her periwinkle blue pedicure popping against the shimmery patent leather. She let out a self-conscious giggle, thinking
if only
she had Reese’s perspective on life. She lifted one stilettoed foot for Reese’s benefit and twirled it around.

“They are hot, aren’t they?”

“He thinks so,” Reese said.

Amelia followed her gaze to a man she didn’t know. He was standing next to David—probably one of his “guys from the office.” When he caught her looking at him, he tipped his glass and winked. Amelia felt the flush rise into her cheeks as Reese grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the dance floor. They’d taken just two steps when Reese stopped in her tracks and reached back to grab Amelia’s half-full glass from the bar.

“Get drunker,” she said, thrusting it into Amelia’s hand. “And come on, let’s dance.”

Before she knew it, she was dancing not with Reese, but with the winker, who picked a slow song—a tinny version of Foreigner’s “Waiting for a Girl Like You”—to make his move. His name was Jake and he was, in fact, a lawyer at David’s firm. He had straight, caramel-colored hair that was a little too long, and he was very tall, at least six-three. He told Amelia he’d moved to Memphis from D.C. six weeks earlier, and it wasn’t until the song ended and Reese dragged her to the ladies’ room—the card Jake had pressed into her hand with his cell number on the back now warming in her jeans pocket—that she learned he was also married with a pregnant wife at home. David had warned Reese while Amelia was on the dance floor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her jaw dropped as she looked at Reese in the mirror. “What a prick. Surely he knew I’d find out?”

Reese grimaced. “Maybe he didn’t think you’d care.”

She shook her head.
No wonder I don’t get out much.
Men couldn’t be trusted. Frowning at her reflection, she glanced over and caught a glimmer of that worried look Reese had given her earlier in the day.

“I don’t care,” she said. “This is how much I don’t care.” She yanked the card out of her pocket and ripped it into four pieces before tossing it in the trash.

She forced out a laugh and opened the door to the loud, pulsing rhythm of the nightclub.

“C’mon.” She tugged on Reese’s hand. “Let’s get back out there.”

As they threaded their way through the bar, Amelia spotted her old work friends. They’d staked out a table near the door, which stood wide open, encouraging the partiers outside to commit to a location. Katie Anderson, Amelia’s old boss, waved her over and patted the chair beside her. She slid onto it as Reese rushed off to find David.

“Congrats, Mel,” Katie said for at least the fifth time that night. “I still can’t get over this movie thing. This is
so huge
.”

She leaned over in her chair and gave Amelia a sideways hug, pressing their cheeks together and in the process snagging a thick strand of her unruly red hair in Amelia’s earring. Extracting it proved difficult after three hours’ worth of liquor. It involved several minutes and a lot of giggling.

“Have I told you how awesome it is to see you?” Katie said once she’d separated her wavy, auburn locks from Amelia’s stick-straight, chestnut-brown ones. She wiped her eyes. “We’ve missed you at the office.”

Amelia ignored her pointed look. “I’ve missed you guys, too. A lot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you think about us nonstop while you’re lounging around in your PJs, knocking out bestsellers,” said Becca Strazinsky in a dry voice.

Amelia plastered on her best Southern transplant smile. Becca had been vying for her spot at Katie’s boutique PR firm ever since Amelia had taken an extended leave to write. So far Katie hadn’t promoted her, and Amelia knew she didn’t want to. Her creative director position remained unfilled, her old office empty.

“I’ll bet she does think about us,” said Carrie Stockton, an account manager who deserved the promotion more than Becca, in her soft Memphis drawl. Amelia’s smile reached her eyes as she turned from Becca to Carrie. “I bet she misses all the drama.”

“Yeah, seriously. What’s going on? I’ve been seeing the news on Maxwell. You guys have had your hands full,” Amelia said, eager to shift the subject away from herself before Katie, or especially Becca, could ask her how the book was going. She didn’t want to lie.

Katie’s eyes sparked, and she launched into a five-minute description of the old, familiar client crises. Amelia was completely drawn in, forgetting how removed she’d been from the office in the past few months as she slid into her old role of problem solver.

“I really miss this,” she said, her voice wistful and her chin in her hands.

Katie shot her an expectant look, and she cringed.

“Weeeell, you can come back any time, you know. I’d love it if you came back. And if you’re thinking about it…that must mean you’ve finished the book, then?”

She blanched. Luckily Reese and David chose that moment to appear beside her, Reese drooping against her fiancé’s side in a dramatic display of exhaustion. Amelia pushed her chair back in relief and hugged her friends good-bye before following Reese toward the door.

* * *

Out on the street, she glanced at her phone—it was just after midnight. She ambled down the cobblestone blocks of Beale with one arm linked in Reese’s. David followed behind, cheerfully indulgent as their voluntary DD.

The air was warm, but the breeze coming off the river had a slight chill in it—the faint hint of a fall that hadn’t yet appeared. Amelia shivered and quickened her step, lost in thought and oblivious to the cars and lights and people surrounding them. The clang of a trolley’s bell jolted her out of her daze, and she almost crashed into Reese, who stopped short at the curb to wait for it to pass. The long red-and-green car clattered by on its track, the driver dinging her bell every thirty seconds as a warning to preoccupied, and drunk, pedestrians like her.

As they walked, Reese kept up a constant stream of chatter, but Amelia didn’t hear a word of it. Her mind skimmed over the conversation she’d just had with Katie, then the call from Andrew, and she realized suddenly the impact one would have on the other. She had no idea what kind of pressure would be added to her schedule now that a movie contract was in her future, but the prospect of returning to her old job seemed unlikely.

She stared ahead at the trail of moonlight glistening over the broad, rippling expanse of the Mississippi and thought about her old job, her old life, comfortable as a broken-in shoe. She glanced down at the pewter heels that a few hours earlier had held such promise. Suddenly they were offensive—a symbol of everything she was giving up.

As if in answer to her thoughts, her right heel snagged a jagged edge in the sidewalk. She lurched forward, avoiding a face-first plunge onto the concrete only because Reese squeezed her arm tighter, hauling her up yet again.

“Whoa, Mel. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, feeling the full weight of the lie.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, David inched his Land Rover over the jagged lip of Amelia’s driveway, and she cursed herself internally for not flipping on the outside light before she’d rushed out several hours earlier. She fumbled for her keys as she made her way up the dark steps. The house was a classic 1920s bungalow, deceptively small from the outside with a façade spanned by a deep porch with battered stone columns—a characteristic of its Craftsman roots. The original, arched front door was deliciously dinged and gnarled. She’d spent an entire weekend stripping layers of old paint and then staining it a deep walnut that matched the rest of the trim.

Just before she put her key into the lock, she heard the faint whoosh of a window being rolled down. She turned to see Reese’s head leaning out of it, her hair a blue-white glow in the light of a nearby street lamp.

“You all right?” Reese called out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Amelia said with a surprised laugh, pausing as she slid the key into the deadbolt. She opened the door and turned to face them before crossing the threshold into her dim foyer. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Oh…kay,” Reese said, watching her in a way that made Amelia feel discomfited. “I’ll call you in the morning.” She didn’t roll the window up until David had shifted the hulking vehicle into reverse and eased it back down the narrow drive.