Page 76 of Falling Like Stars

“When?”

“They’re in pre-production,” Syd says. “It’s going to be a few months before shooting starts, but Sam’s team is willing to take a meeting yesterday.”

“I’ll read the script and get back to you.”

Both men, young and old, exchange nervous glances.

“It looks pretty solid,” I say, “but at least let me read the whole thing. And I need to visit my family in St. Louis before I sign on to one more project or they’re going to kick my ass.”

“Of course,” Syd says. “We’ll email the script and the encryption code. Read it and get some rest. You look a bit…worn out.”

“I am worn out,” I say, Rowan’s words coming back to me. That I’m working nonstop to avoid facing everything with Eva. “Send it, and I’ll get back to you after St. Louis.”

I stand up, so they stand up. We shake hands, and at the huge conference room’s door, I stop. “Can I ask you guys something? How is Eva doing? Professionally, I mean.”

They exchange glances again; Syd rubs his mustache.

“Not good, chief,” Chase says. “Word about town is that she’s difficult. No one wants to work with her.”

I nod, remembering how she was at the end of Godsent. From a regular girl in season one to a pain in the ass in season six. A diva who threw fits if her sparkling water wasn’t the right temperature.

“Why do you ask?” Chase inquires.

“No reason.”

They both let out a sigh of relief. Life has been blissfully quiet lately.

Not to mention injury-free.

I start to go, and Syd joins me. “I’ll walk you out.”

Inside the posh elevator, my manager jangles change in his pockets. He’s wearing a plum-colored suit with a gold paisley tie and looks every bit like an Old Hollywood dealmaker. “Listen, Zach. This script is one of a kind—”

“I said I’d read it, Syd.”

“Hear me out. It’s the best of the best, but so are you. Except, you haven’t been like yourself since the Oscars.”

“I’m fine.”

His dark eyes narrow, but they’re warm with concern. “I don’t have kids of my own, but I consider you a son. And right now, I don’t give a crap about any script, no matter how good it is. I want you to go home to your family and get some real rest. And if you need anything… If you need to talk to someone, or go somewhere, or take a long vacation, or anything, you do it. Whatever you need to take care of yourself, I’ll help make it happen, okay?”

“Thank you, Syd,” I say, my throat tight. “I appreciate that.”

The elevator doors close, taking him back up. I stride through the posh lobby to the front drive. Outside, the driver of my car service opens the door for me.

“Home, sir?”

Home. What a crock. I have a house that I won’t step foot in for all the bad memories that haunt it. I live in a hotel because letting go of the past once and for all is…

“It’s fucking sad.”

“Sir?” the driver asks from the front seat.

“Give me a second,” I say as I give my attorney, Jackson, a call.

“Zachary, my man,” he answers with typical good-natured boisterousness. He used to do tax law in the Bay Area but switched to personal when he moved to Los Angeles. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Jackson, I’ve been meaning to get back to you on the house.”

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