Maggie grew silent. What if it did come to that? She wasn’t sure what she’d do if that happened. She wanted to be with Ben, but she wasn’t ready to give up everything she’d worked so hard for either.
And what if she did decide Ben was worth being hounded by the paparazzi, worth risking her job for? If they ended up breaking up someday, she’d be left with nothing. She’d be no better than her mother, a woman who’d left her responsibilities on a sidewalk in Queens for a man and a relationship that—knowing her mother’s flakiness—probably hadn’t even worked out.
Did her mom regret leaving her? It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was the question that always kept her in line, always urged her to make something of herself.
Because if she did get Ben back, and if it didn’t end up working out, the last thing she wanted was to be left with regrets.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she finally blurted, too confused to think. “Tell me about your trip. How did the steel drum performance go? Did you get along with Tygue’s family?”
As if sensing Maggie had officially dropped the subject of love and Ben Barrett, Summer finally sighed. Then she smiled. “Actually, his family loved me. And everyone at the reception gave me a standing ovation after I finished my song.”
“Now that I’ve got to see to believe.”
“Don’t you worry, Doubting Maggie. Luckily for you, Tygue got it all on video…”
“Ben, have a seat,” Alan Goodrich said after the two men had entered the spacious living room of Goodrich’s ten-bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills.
Ben assumed a relaxed demeanor and sank onto the plush black leather sofa situated in front of a forbidding stone fireplace. He’d visited the Goodrich home only once before, when Gretchen first contacted him six months ago, but the luxurious surroundings still made him a little uncomfortable. Hell, being in Alan’s presence made him uncomfortable. The man was one of the most esteemed directors in the business, recipient of two Oscars, not to mention a list of nominations and critic nods as long as the Nile.
He still wasn’t sure why Alan wanted to meet with him, but he hoped it didn’t have to do with Gretchen.
Of course it has to do with Gretchen, his brain argued. Why else did he ask you to come?
“I have two matters to discuss with you,” Alan announced.
“Okay,” Ben said, slightly unnerved.
With his big, beefy body, a head of white hair and piercing green eyes, Alan Goodrich was nothing if not intimidating. Lowering his body into a leather recliner, Alan folded his hands in his lap. “First, you should know that my wife’s estate has been settled. Since the will was uncontested, you should receive a check very soon.”
Ben swallowed. “About that…I don’t feel comfortable keeping Gretchen’s money, Mr. Goodrich.”
“Call me, Alan.”
“Okay. Alan. Well, I’ve decided to donate the money to charity.” When Goodrich didn’t object, Ben went on. “I also wanted to ask you something. I’d like to give a statement to the press, about Gretchen’s connection to my father.”
Alan grew silent.
“That is, if you don’t mind,” he added quickly.
“Actually, I think it’s a fine idea.” Goodrich’s strong, somewhat harsh features softened. “Gretchen would’ve hated it if she knew your inheritance caused a media circus. She really did feel awful about what your father did to you and your mother. I don’t think she would’ve ever written you into her will if she knew the kind of negative attention you’d receive.”
“I know.”
“So clear it up, son. It’s about time the press cut you some slack.”
“Thanks, Alan.”
Goodrich gave a brisk nod. “Now, the second matter at hand. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m currently working on a war epic.”
“I’d heard, yes.”
“I’ve just approved the screenplay, and we’re scouting locations and beginning to cast as we speak.”
Ben crossed his ankles together, suddenly remembering the words Maggie had said to him in the Bahamas. Nobody’s going to give it to you. If you want something, you go after it.
He wasn’t sure where Goodrich was heading or why he’d mentioned his latest film, but Ben knew he couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip through his fingers. Maggie was right. He couldn’t sit around and wait for a meaty role to fall into his lap. If he wanted it, he needed to go out and get it.
“About your film…” he ventured quietly. “I was actually going to ask you if you’d let me read for it.”
Goodrich chuckled. “Ben—”
He tried not to bristle at the director’s laughter and hurried on. “I’m not asking for a leading role, Alan. I’ll read for any part you want, as small as you want.”
“Ben—”
“Just give me a shot.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” Alan said, chuckling again. “If you had let me finish, you would have heard me offering you one of the supporting roles.”