Page 5 of Broken Rules

“I might throw up.”

“That’s right, keep pretending,” she murmured as she worked.“The more you fight, the more I know I’m right.”

Objectively, the man was handsome.Hot.Tall, broad shoulders, with a killer body and a head full of thick, luscious brown hair.He had the sort of soulful, dark eyes that seemed able to bore holes through me, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and a mouth that could only be described as sensuous.

It was a real shame he had to be an arrogant dickhead.

“You forget, I’ve already ignored a hundred red flags because a guy was hot,” I whispered, letting my arms fall away from my face.“All his bullshit.All his pandering to me.He tricked me into believing he actually cared about art and integrity.”

“Not everybody is Eric.”The bedsprings creaked when Claudia sat next to me.There was no more humor in her voice.She wasn’t teasing anymore.“You can’t carry all that old shit into this project.It’s going to ruin everything, and you deserve better than that.Don’t sabotage yourself.”

“Like I do it on purpose,” I mumbled.

“That’s not what I said.Just keep it in mind.”

When my phone rang, there was a split second when I wondered if it was Lex Landry calling.It turned out that part of me still wanted to cling to childish fantasies.I wanted to believe he might call and apologize for starting on the wrong foot and throwing my so-called reputation in my face.

I would have to grow up at some point.“Shit,” I whispered, my heart sinking when I saw it was Mom calling me.“I have to play happy now.”

“Tell her I said hi.”Claudia ducked into the small bathroom and closed the door.I decided to step outside rather than have the conversation in the room.I needed some fresh air.

I answered on my way out the door, injecting sunshine into my voice.“Hi.How’s it going?”

Mom’s laughter rang out.“Don’t be silly.You know why I’m calling.How was your meeting at the studio?”

“It was great,” I lied, squeezing my eyes shut.Thirty years old and still wincing when I told my mother a lie.

“Really?”She sounded skeptical, to say the least.“Everything went well?”

“Just as well as it could.As it turns out, Lex Landry is executive producing.The son of the studio head.”

“That’s great news!”

“Why do you say that?”I asked with a disbelieving laugh.If there was one thing my parents didn’t care about, it was Hollywood in general.The fact that she sounded positive in the first place shocked the shit out of me.There was one thing I had been raised to resent, and it was the sort of people who made millions from the artistic endeavors of other people who had to jump from job to job, trying to cobble together a livelihood.They were the true artists, the people putting their blood, sweat, and tears into their work.

“If he’s younger and untested, you can take control.You can make sure your vision is honored, Summer.This could be the ultimate opportunity for you.Working with someone who isn’t set in his ways.”

There were a few things I appreciated more than my mother’s positivity.I was used to hearing her look at the bright side of things no matter how dark the situation seemed.Right now, though, I wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up.I was still wallowing.Immature?I knew it was.All the knowledge made me do was dig my heels in deeper, determined to sulk because I knew I shouldn’t.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I lied again, pacing the walkway near the hotel parking lot.

“Have you found an apartment yet?”

“No.There’s something in my contract about them finding one for me.I forgot to bring it up at the meeting.”There were a lot of things I forgot to bring up at the meeting.Why the hell did I walk out?My heart sank as my back hit the brick wall.I slid down it until I was crouched with my knees close to my chest.What was I thinking?I needed to get out of this damn motel and move somewhere I could spread out a little—somewhere to unpack instead of living out of my suitcases.

There was just something about Lex Landry that got under my skin.It wasn’t a great excuse, but it was the truth.

“I hope it’s soon.I would love to come out and take a look at it.”

“Yeah, that’ll be fun.”And that made three lies in less than two minutes.Not that I didn’t want to see them, but there was a reason I preferred visiting Mom and Dad rather than having them come out to see me.It was never long before they had to share their opinions on everything from filmmakers selling their talents to the highest bidder like high-priced whores to actors and actresses who’d rather sacrifice themselves on the altar of fame than nurture their creative fire in so-called legitimate theater.

As far as they were concerned, nobody was a true artist unless they were suffering somehow.People who made art for money were sellouts, a belief that had been drilled into their heads from the time their parents migrated to San Francisco back in the free-love days.

I had figured it out at a young age, watching Mom fight to sell her pottery and Dad obsess over his latest mixed-media installation which not many people ever cared about.Their failures had only hardened their opinion, which said more about their lack of success than it did about anything else.Why be happy for the success of others when resentment was more immediate and soothing?

After a while, it had become a matter of sunk cost fallacy until the demands of three growing daughters meant tucking their tails between their legs and moving to an actual neighborhood with dependable utilities and trash pickup.

“Don’t worry,” she added.“If things don’t go well this time around, remember what we told you.You can always come home.Your room is ready for you.Though I’d have to get my pottery supplies out of there,” she murmured, almost as an afterthought to herself.

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