Page 19 of One Pucking Chance

“Tell me about filming. How is it going?” He swirls his wine in his glass and takes a small sip, sucking the liquid in through his teeth.

“It’s good. How’s Mom? She couldn’t come?” My mother’s been in remission for five years, and still, I worry when she’s absent.

“She’s perfectly fine. Sends her love. She had a charity event tonight.”

“That makes sense. I actually did a meet and greet to raise money for breast cancer research a few days ago.”

He furrows his brows. “If I remember correctly, hers had something to do with sea turtles.”

“Sea turtles?”

“Anna”—he releases an audible breath—“you know how it goes. It’s your mother’s world, and we’re just living in it. I don’t question her activities.”

“Right.” I nod, tapping my fingers against the wooden table. My stomach feels as if it’s lost all hope of food and has resorted to eating my kidneys. There’s a sharp pang in my side. “Seriously, where is the server?”

“Annalise. We will order when our entire party has arrived.”

My eyes go wide. “Who else is joining us?”

His gasoline cologne burns my nostrils, and the hunger pains I felt have morphed into nausea.

“Mr. Sterling.” Simon extends a hand to my father, who is now standing. The two men shake hands. “Annalise.” Simon nods.

“Have you lost all manners?” my dad seethes under his breath.

I reluctantly stand from my chair and shake Simon’s hand, though I just escaped his company an hour ago. He smiles and motions for me to take my seat and proceeds to push it back toward the table. I want to ask my father why my costar is here, but he would consider that conversation in front of present company very rude. My dad will stab anyone in the back, but you better believe he will hold utmost civility and manners as he does so.

Simon’s parents have run in the same circles as my parents for decades, and I suppose they would classify each other as friends. But I can’t see my father caring enough about the Blackwoods to have dinner with their son.

“It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, Simon. You look well,” my dad says.

“Thank you, sir. As do you. I have to say, I’ve missed your New Year’s Eve parties.” Simon puts on what I’m assuming he thinks is a charming smile.

This compliment brings a grin to my father’s face. “Oh yes. We did throw some fantastic gatherings, didn’t we?”

“Only the best. An invitation to the Sterling New Year’s Eve party was an honor.” Simon blows more smoke up my dad’s ass.

Now that Simon mentions it, memories of the parties are coming back to me. I think I must’ve blocked them out. Specifically, the time when we were around ten years old and Simon ripped pages out of every special edition, gold embossed encyclopedia in my father’s library. A prank I was blamed for no matter how many times I told my parents it wasn’t me.

We stopped throwing elaborate parties after my mother’s diagnosis, and once her battle was fought and she was finally in remission, we never went back to hosting. Something, in all honesty, I don’t miss.

My father takes a sip of his wine and gives Simon an approving nod. There isn’t anything he loves more than being complimented.

Fed up, I raise my arm and snap, “Server!” We’re literally the only table in this place, and I can’t get service to save my life.

“Anna!” my father seethes. “What has gotten into you?”

“I told you. I’m starving, and I need to eat.” I leave out the part about the high probability of killing Simon if I don’t get sustenance soon. I do not do well when I’m hangry.

The server, a mousy girl no more than twenty years of age, finally shows up. Her light brown hair falls straight to her shoulders, creating curtains over half her face.

“Can I help you?” she asks quietly. Looking terrified, she blinks rapidly. Her eye makeup, in shades of gray and black, and the way her eyes bulge out in what I can only assume is fear give her the unhinged appearance of an underfed raccoon with a hint of rabies.

I don’t mean to be an entitled snob, but when someone has enough money to rent out an entire restaurant, a competent server is usually included.

“Hi. What’s your name?” I give her a smile, one that I hope portrays that we come in peace.

“Bethy.” Her voice quivers.

---