Page 79 of Not Faking it with the Colonel

Megan held up two of the other dresses. “You should look so fabulous that when General McKittrick and the men on the teams see you together, they’ll know they don’t need to worry about Dad. Try this one.”

Alone in the bathroom, Erin mulled over Megan’s comment as she changed into the dress. Going to the ball was about appearances. She needed to remember not to get swept into a Cinderella fairytale because the magic would end. Maybe not when the clock struck midnight on the night of the ball, but before her royal colonel slipped a wedding ring on her finger.

The first dress she tried on lacked the wow factor.

“I love the color,” Megan said when she came out in the second.

“Except the sizing’s off.” Erin turned around to show her.

“Want me to try to zip you up?”

“It’s not going to work, and I’m past the age of fasting for weeks in hopes of fitting in a dress. Next.”

The sequins on the third dress were eye-catching, but they made it heavy and scratchy, and the train wasn’t practical for dancing.

“Hopefully, I saved the best for last. Can you unzip me?” Erin picked up the fourth dress. Typically, she preferred a sweetheart or V-neckline, but she’d come back to this dress with a boat neck time and again online. She loved the cascading ruffle and modestly daring, offset slit. The V in the back showed some skin but was tasteful. Now she prayed it looked half as good on her as the model in the ads.

Her phone rang as she stepped into the cobalt dress.

“It’s Ian Stewart,” Megan called.

Erin hustled out, her heart already racing.

Megan’s arched brows slowed Erin for a second.

“He’s the assistant to the Hollywood producer,” Erin explained before answering the call. “Hey there, Ian.”

“I read your manuscript and treatment the other night. I gave it to my boss, Levi, yesterday.”

That had to be good. “How long do you think it’ll take him to read it?” Weeks? Months? Waiting would be torture.

“He already did. It didn’t knock his socks off.”

Her hopes crashed. Tears burned her eyes as she sank onto the side of the bed. The fabric of the unzipped dress sagged off her shoulder. She sniffed hard to keep from crying on the dress. After all the work she’d put into it, and Graham and Reece’s praise, she’d been so hopeful.

“That’s only because Levi’s trendy and doesn’t wear socks,” Ian continued.

“What?”

“Your story and writing blew him away.”

“Really?” Why couldn’t he have led with that? She could breathe again.

“He could not believe a middle-aged woman with no military experience wrote it. I told him you spent time with a Green Beret team and had a network of resources. He read our in-house writers’ version afterward and agreed with me that it wasn’t nearly as compelling as yours.”

She’d take that as a compliment—and a warning.

“He wants the next two episodes and asked that you come to LA to meet.”

This was really happening. Her mouth was parched, and her heart pounded. Next to her, Megan bounced on the bed.

“When?” She prayed it didn’t conflict with the wedding or the ball.

“He’s headed to Catalina today for the weekend. He’d like you here early next week.”

“Let me check my calendar and get back to you.” She tried to play it cool.

“Be quick. Levi’s already brainstorming who he’d like to see film the pilot and mentioned Chris Remington for the lead. They worked together on a series before Remington hit the big time. That’s all good, but this is Hollywood, where shiny new things are daily distractions. The political climate is positive for the military today, but it could change tomorrow. All it takes is a whiff of scandal to shelve a project rather than risk backlash and losing millions in ad revenue.”

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