Mona, the actress who starred opposite me, was anything but a shrew. In fact, she was probably one of the nicest women I’d ever met. Too bad she was happily married with three kids.
I grabbed my script for the day and hurried down to set. My meeting with the PR firm had gone longer than I thought, thanks to my insane obsession with trying to make my new publicist blush or yell—really either worked for me. She wasn’t one of those women that immediately caught your eye, but she had a silent beauty with her big full lips and perfect hourglass shape specifically designed to drive men wild, compliments of those damn pencil skirts she kept wearing.
Muttering a curse, I continued walking toward Central Park, where part of the filming was taking place. I could have sworn I passed at least a dozen women all wearing pencil skirts. Maybe that’s what Max meant when he said the universe was plotting against me.
The only woman I had hit on in the past two months—and she just so happened to be off-limits.
Maybe she was one of those girls who had a hard-shelled M&M exterior, and I just needed to crack it. Or find another nut completely.
Wait, somehow she’d changed from a blue M&M to a nut. I really needed to get more sleep.
And stop fixating on her rejection.
My phone buzzed in my pocket just as the set came into view.
“What?” I barked into the phone.
Max sighed. “So, how’d the meeting go?”
“Are you really playing the concerned brother right now or are you just bored?”
He yawned. “Actually I’m in the bathroom and I thought, hey, what do I do when I want to cheer myself up? Call Reid.”
“I cheer you up?”
“Absolutely.” A toilet flushed in the background. “You always cheer me up. Wanna know why?”
“Because I’m awesome?”
“No, no, that’s not it.” Water turned on in the bathroom. “It’s because your love life is so depressing. It makes any sort of bad day that I have seem like a tiny blip on the radar. Tell me, how was that cold bed last evening? Did you cry yourself to sleep?”
I rolled my eyes. “I just got back to set, I don’t have time for this.”
He sighed heavily into the phone. “Look, I have an idea.”
“Your idea got me rejected last night.”
“No, this one’s better.”
“I highly doubt that.”
One of the PAs waved me over. I held up my hand.
“You’ve always wanted that house in the Florida Keys, right?”
“Wait, what?” It was hard to keep up with him sometimes. “What does that have to do with your idea or my rejection or cold bed?”
“Everything!” Max shouted. “Do you not listen? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Max, tell me the truth, are you drunk at work?” Max had recently taken over the Emory hotel empire and was literally bored to tears because it ran so efficiently that he said he needed to find a hobby lest he hang himself from the ceiling of his multi-million-dollar office. I had a sinking feeling I was the new hobby.
“Listen well, young grasshopper.” His voice had taken on a thick indistinguishable accent. There was a reason only one of us was currently acting for a living. “The house was given to me. You got the one in Seattle. Our parents, bless their hearts, had no idea I hate Florida and you hate the rain. They would if they ever listened or read any letters I sent them, or even just, you know, attended family dinners on Easter, Hanukkah, Presidents’ Day—”
“Max!” I yelled. “Get there faster!”
“Oh.” He coughed. “Right.” More coughing. “Well, we’ll trade. I’ll give you the deed to the Keys home, you give me the deed to Seattle . . .”
“What’s the catch?”
“You.”
“Huh?”
“One relationship that lasts longer than one month. I think that a secure, solid relationship might do you some good. Ever since Grandma—”
“We promised never to utter her name again,” I said in a hoarse voice. “You promised!”
Max cursed. “Sorry, man, ever since the incident.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said in a soothing voice. “You’ve been as jumpy as a goldfish in a tanning bed.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and made my way toward the PA. Max was famous for taking ten years to explain things.
“Anyway.” Was he whistling? “One month. You stay committed to one girl for one month and the house is yours.”
“One month?” I repeated.
“Thirty days, give or take a day,” he explained. “Unless it’s a leap year or February. Wait, is it February?”
I let out a groan. “September.”
“Whatever.” The phone line cracked. “I’m losing you. My office is like a freaking dungeon. I’ll start sending the girls—”
“The girls?” What? He was sending who? “Max? Max, are you there?”
“Ha . . . fun!”
“Max!” I had a really bad feeling, the kind you get after getting hit on in prison by a bearded lady.
“Reid!” John, one of the many PAs on set, flagged me down again. “It’s time for the wedding scene!”
“Shit.” I shoved my phone into my pocket.
“Head over to wardrobe.” He gave me another script. “And note the changes in the vow section.”