Under the Lights

Dahlia Adler Under the Lights

To Yoni and to Maggie,

for holding my hands through the best and the worst, both behind the scenes and under the lights

~~~

Summary: The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Advil, American Express, American Idol, Bacardi, Band-Aid, Bang & Olufsen, The Beatles, Ben Sherman, Beverly Hills 90210, Beyoncé, Bikram Yoga, BlackBerry, Blu-ray, Botox, (Los Angeles) Clippers, The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, Coke, Cosmo, Diet Coke, Entertainment Weekly, Escalade, FaceTime, The Foo Fighters, Fred Segal, Fresca, Grand Theft Auto, Gray’s Papaya, In-N-Out, Instagram, iPod, Jack Daniels, Jacob the Jeweler, Jeep, Keurig, Korea Times, Louboutins, Louis Vuitton, NIN, Nirvana, Oreo, One Tree Hill, Patrón, Ping-Pong, Pinkberry, Post-it, Pumas, Radiohead, Rage Against the Machine, Range Rover, Screen Actors Guild Awards, Skinnygirl, Skype, Sherlock, Snow Queen, Stella Artois, System of a Down, Taylor Swift, Thermos, Transformers, Twitter, Yoda, Yves Saint Laurent, Vanity Fair, Victoria’s Secret.

Cover image by Jen Grantham

Chapter One Josh

Either my best friend or my assistant is about to punch me in the face. As usual, the fact that they’re dating really isn’t doing me any favors.

“You barely even looked at any of them,” Ally Duncan complains through gritted teeth. She’s been working for me for over a year, but her patience hasn’t grown any in that time. I’d assume she just needs to get laid, but given she’s been with Liam Holloway for almost as long as she’s been with me, I’m all too nauseatingly aware that’s not an issue.

“Josh, can you stop being a dick and just pick a script so she can get out of here?” Liam sounds pissed, like he’s the one responsible for finding me a new project. Which, maybe he should be. If he’d convince his damn girlfriend to stick around LA instead of running off to college, I wouldn’t have her shoving scripts in my face, desperate to make sure I’ve got one last job before she abandons me.

“How about you stay, and I let you pick one for me?” I suggest to Ally, handing back the pile of scripts. “There. Problem solved.”

She snorts. “Sure, I’ll just tell Columbia I’m turning them down so I can spend another year getting your dry cleaning and picking out jewelry for every girl you nail.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I remind her.

“Yeah, because my deferring last year was so obviously about my desire to be your slave.” Her phone beeps with a text, and I catch a quick roll of her eyes as she checks it. “It’s Van. Again. I gotta go.” She presses a kiss to Liam’s mouth before getting up from the pool chaise they’re sharing and muttering loudly enough for me to hear, “Get him to pick one already, will you?” She drops the pile in his lap.

He squeezes her hand briefly, and we both watch her ass as she walks out to her car.

Liam turns to me as soon as she disappears. “Dude, you have to stop that.”

“What?” I ask innocently, taking a sip of beer from the bottle on the table next to me.

“She’s going to New York, period. Refusing to pick a script isn’t gonna keep her here.”

I raise my eyebrows and take another sip. “For someone who’s supposedly in love with her, you’re pretty damn chill about letting her go.”

“I’m not letting her do anything,” he says tightly. “This is her dream. She makes her own choices, and I respect them and want her to be happy.”

“So you’re just…totally cool with the fact that your girlfriend is moving three thousand miles away. For four years.” Liam is so full of shit.

“She’ll be home for breaks and summers.” He’s obviously given himself this pep talk a few times. “Anyway, what am I supposed to do? Tell her not to go?”

I shrug. “Why not? I tell her that every day.”

“Because you’re a selfish asshole.”

“Maybe, but at least I won’t be spending four years jacking off to Skype.”

Liam scowls at me, and I’m guessing my grinning only makes it worse.

“Man, you’re too easy,” I tell him, taking one last swig before putting the bottle down. “Gimme those scripts.”

He hands over the stack, and I lie back and check out the first one. The title screams sci-fi, and I toss it aside without reading it.

“I thought you were gonna take these seriously.”

“I am. And I seriously do not want to put on some lame-ass futuristic outfit and prance around like a Han Solo wannabe.” I check the next one. Hmm, Meagan Scanlon. It’s tempting to consider, given she’s definitely one of Hollywood’s more bangable writers, but the title’s a dead giveaway that this is yet another one of those Jane Austen chick-flick things. Pass.

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“I have no interest in playing Bridget Jones with a dick.” My phone rings, and I put the scripts aside and check who’s calling. Wyatt. “Hey, cuz.”

“Hey, your assistant still leaving?”

“Yeah, why?”