Page 7 of Billionaire's Second Chance

The last word didn’t sit right with me. Love? She obviously had no idea what love was. The general fairytale idea of a ‘happily ever after’ only existed in cartoons and on screen, but not in the waking world.

“Damon?” Agatha nudged my elbow.

“Yeah.”

“You were saying?” She scoffed.

Right. The chubby girl and her audition. I blinked and forced a smile.

“It says here that you’re auditioning for—” I looked at the paper in hand, “Rose?”

“IamRose.” She twirled and glanced at me.

“Okay, Rose,” I laughed. “Show us what you got.”

Her eyes lit up, then relaxed almost immediately.

“Just so we’re clear, you mean with the script, right? Not err—” she winked at me.

“I think we’d be okay with the script, Samantha,” I scoffed.

“Oh, that’s a relief. I was afraid I’d have to do something naughty in the presence of the guys and the lady. I wouldn’t mind if it were just you, though.”

Carl and Cole chuckled. They wanted confidence. They got it. I leaned in my seat and crossed my legs.

“The stage is yours,” I extended my hand toward the stage.

“To my Thomas,”Samantha glared at me while reciting her lines.“I’ve been thinking about how I could possibly tell you how much you mean to me.”

I placed my hand on my forehead. This girl's performance was nothing like the masterpiece Ava had performed. This was mere recitation, her eyes not leaving my face for a second. This was a total disaster.

When I thought it wouldn’t get any worse, she turned the latter part of the script into a musical. What foul wind had blown her to my audition hall?

Even ever-expressionless Agatha stifled a chuckle. I glared at her. This wasn’t funny. This was a travesty—a cinematic felony. And just like that, she was done.

“How did I do?” She smiled.

The audacity.

How could she be so happy with such a stunt? All this could have been avoided if they’d just listened to me and ended the audition. I waited for her to catch her breath. She deserved to. Putting up such a show of shame must be exhausting.

“How did I do?” She still smiled. “Did I get the role?”

“We’ll get back to you once we’re done with the process. You can see yourself out," I informed her calmly.

“I didn’t get the part, did I?” Her cheerful face soon became a twisted frown.

How ironic! I should be frowning at what she had just subjected me to, not her.

“We don’t know yet,” I said. “We’ll get back to you.”

“And if I still don’t get it?” She teared up, despair oozing out of her eyes.

“Then you try again,” I stood up, placed my hand on her back, and walked her out.

“It’s because I’m fat. I know it,” she said as the first teardrops trickled down her cheeks.

I assured her that was not the case and shut the door in her face.

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