Page 8 of Lucky Star

Chapter Four

Sarah

My computer dinged, and a new message popped up on my screen.

Broderick: Come downstairs. Now.

I sighed and pushed my chair back. Broderick wasn’t really a fan of please.

I walked into his office and he pointed to the side-by-side monitors on his desk. “Come take a look at these guys.” He rolled to the side to give me room, and I moved behind his desk to investigate.

Audition tapes.

And I recognized one of the men on his screen.

“Which one of these guys is going to make women hot.” Tapping the remote, the first screen came to life.

I knew which one made me hot.

But this was about my job, not my libido, so I watched and tried to be objective.

The first guy was handsome enough, but the truth was Cameron was the man by which I evaluated all others—and every single one came up lacking. I watched, detached, as the actor performed his scene.

“So?” Broderick asked when the video ended.

“I’m sure women would line up around the block to have their picture taken with him,” I answered, putting on my best professional voice.

“And?”

“And I'm sure you’d make a killing off him.”

“I hear a but ...” he observed.

I tilted my head and stared at his frozen image on the screen. The more I really considered the part, the more I realized that he looked too young for the role of mafia enforcer Xander St. John. Maybe it was just me, but I was uncomfortable when fifty-year-old women projected their fantasies onto twenty-three-year-old boys. That poor kid from Twilight was probably still in therapy over how they’d manhandled him at conventions.

Because I didn’t know which way Broderick was leaning, or how much input he expected me to give, I tried to be as diplomatic as possible in my feedback, but I wound up sounding evasive instead.

“But will women want him, Sarah? Will they fantasize about him? Will they picture themselves in place of Arabella?”

“Some will. They always do,” I assured my boss. “But to me, he doesn’t fully deliver. He looks too green to be the hero with the tortured soul. I think he needs a few more years of life under his belt before I can believe he’s got a dark past. That there are people he’s killed, and who want to kill him in return.” Broderick nodded as I spoke, acknowledging my points as valid criticisms.

“How old is he anyway?” I asked.

“Twenty-five.”

I shook my head and shrugged. “Yeah, not enough life experience.”

Admittedly, there weren’t that many years between this kid’s twenty-five and Cameron’s thirty-four, but those years mattered. Especially since you could do a lot of living in nearly a decade. In losing his sister two years ago, Cameron understood loss and anguish, especially as it related to familial ties, something else that was essential for the role of a mob boss’s son trying to walk the fine line between the family business and being on the straight and narrow.

“Okay, what about this guy?”

When Broderick hit play, Cameron’s face and voice hit me like a ton of bricks, and the full force of my heartache fought to break free. I took a deep, fortifying breath, and then another, in an attempt to calm my traitorous heart. Cameron delivered his monologue expertly, nailing the audition. I wasn’t just being kind either. There was no other way to describe what was on that tape. Obviously, I’d thought Cameron stood a fighting chance at this audition or I wouldn't have mentioned it to him but having seen him deliver those lines, I knew this role had been tailor made for him.

As he continued delivering the lines, his voice dropping low and gruff, I imagined the words were about me. I wished with all my heart that Cameron felt even a fraction for me what Xander felt for Arabella.

“She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’m no good for her. I know that, but I can’t stop myself from loving her. My intellect tells me I should stay away, but my heart? The damn thing has other ideas.” Cameron swore and groaned. “But if I give in, I’ll be putting her in danger. If anything should happen to her, if I ever hurt her in any way, I couldn’t live with myself. I’d rather die than hurt Arabella.”

A disembodied voice I recognized as the casting director read the response off-screen, giving me time to compose myself before the love of my life started speaking again.

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