Page 90 of Mister Mom

“No. This is what I wear.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on my shoulders and turning back toward my room. “Not when you’re trying to win a woman over.”

“Are you sure you’re not the chick?”

* * *

I sit in the green room, my palms sweaty, my leg tapping. The news hit E and TMZ about the other actresses being turned down already. It must be a slow scandal day, because normally that wouldn’t make it. Then again, Jagger knows people in high places.

“Vance.” A young guy walks in to mic me. “You’ll be on in about ten minutes. Sit tight and I’ll be back in to get you.”

Jagger is pacing the room. Leo is busy at the snack area, eating the entire array of chips and cookies. I have no idea how the guy can eat whatever he wants and maintain the muscles he does.

“Did you write down some notes or anything?” Jagger asks.

“No, I’m going to wing it.”

“Good man,” Leo mumbles over a mouthful of brownie.

Jagger stops pacing. “Wing it? On national television when people are going to wonder why the hell you’re even on anyway?”

“Speak from the heart. You know, that beating organ in your chest that keeps you alive?”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it. But that’s exactly what it is—an organ. It can’t be broken or shattered, nor can it swell when you’re in love. If it swells, it means you have pericarditis.”

“Peri-what?” Leo asks.

Jagger shrugs. “I fucked an ER doctor a few times.”

“Ah,” Leo and I both say in unison.

“You’re crazy.” I stand up, thankful to have a friend who makes me laugh right before I’m about to do something that will either make me a complete idiot or a complete genius.

The guy comes back in. “We’re ready for you, Vance.”

“Great.” I walk toward the door.

Leo gives me a pat on the back when I pass him. “Good luck, man. We’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished.”

I turn around toward Jagger. “I hope one day you’re lucky enough to get to know what love feels like.”

I laugh harder, Leo joining in, but Jagger’s face is stone-cold serious.

A woman has to come along one day and make him fall to his knees. A woman other than his long-time housekeeper and nanny, Marisol, that is, because she’s the only woman he’d do anything for.

Backstage is a busy place, so I try to stay out of the way as much as possible until I hear my cue to head out there.

“Now, we have a last-minute guest who apparently has something he wants to say to an actress we love, Layla Andrews. Please welcome scriptwriter Vance Rose.”

My face heats, my hands sweat, but I walk out to the stage unsure what will happen. This will either be the biggest public flop anyone’s ever seen in a long time, or it’ll be genius.

Fingers crossed it’s the latter.

23

Layla

The doorbell rings and Payne runs to the door.

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