Page 2 of Billionaire's Second Chance

“Well,” he shrugged.

I had seen this reaction before.

“You didn’t see the end, did you?” I squinted my eyes suspiciously.

He shook his head. “Not all of it…but not because you were a bad actress. In my opinion, you were light years ahead of everyone else in that movie.”

The excitement behind my smile faded into oblivion. Light years ahead? Quite similar to what Damon Alexander had said to me three years ago in that hotel room.

“You’re a natural, Ava.” His lips had brushed mine and trailed to the nape of my neck. “There are only a few actors in your league.”

“You mean that?” My nipples had puckered in response.

He had reached for my breasts and squeezed them. “Don’t ever doubt anything I say.”

"I'll make sure not to,” I had replied as his hand slid inside my panties.

An A-list movie producer with an illustrious pedigree was in between my thighs. The keys to Hollywood’s fame and fortune were mine for the taking. Or so I thought.

As a naïve student in her final year at Columbia University, I had drunk in his words and tumbled over his smooth talk and blue eyes. In my defense, no one had told me he was that handsome. His presence electrified the entire student body: Damon Alexander, producer of three cinema blockbusters in the last two years. Every professor had a long list of praises for him, but all ended with the same line—he made stars of actors.

However, I never heard from him again after that one hazy night in his penthouse suite at the Waldorf-Astoria.

And now, fate was playing a cruel joke on me. I needed his approval to get my first big gig.

“We’re here, Ma’am,” the driver announced, snapping me out of my thoughts. “21 Aubury Street.”

“Thank you,” I said and handed him some cash.

Greg was waiting outside when I stepped out of the Uber, armed with his chubby cheeks and wide smile. I returned his smile, then glanced at the white-walled building behind him.

“You’re almost late.” He threw his hand in the air. “The crew arrived five minutes ago.”

I hurried up to him. “I’m so sorry. I needed to sort some things out at work.”

He grabbed my bag and the script. “How are you feeling?”

The knots in my stomach returned.

“Nervous,” I confessed.

He held my hand. “I know. Just breathe.”

In.

I sucked in air through my nostrils.

Out.

I exhaled from my mouth.

“That’s it.” Greg smiled.

Greg and I had met in high school. He was the nerd, and I—the class bottom. There was a long history of friendship between us, but today, he was doubling as my agent.

“Listen,” he said as we walked inside. “I have an excellent feeling about this one.”

I looked up at him sarcastically. “Yeah, you said that the last time.”

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