Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(2)

“I’m not famous either,” Billie asserts, following my lead, and Rocky snorts so hard she almost chokes.

“You’re engaged to Luca Weaver and carrying his baby. Not to mention, you’re well on your way to being one of Hollywood’s biggest producers.” Rocky smiles gently as a balm to the sting of her words. “Trust me, you’re famous.”

I nod, pleased with Rocky’s argument—one I would have made to Billie myself—but she quickly kills my joy by pointing right at me.

“And you’re famous too. Like it or not,” she says with a laugh, directing a finger at herself, me, and then Billie. “Any one of us could end up on the cover of a gossip magazine tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” I reply, picking up another fry and popping it into my mouth—a move Billie watches with avid interest.

“Can I have some French fries?” she asks.

“Of course,” I state magnanimously. “They’re for the table. And if the table thinks they’re getting low, the table can just order some more.”

Rocky grins, and Billie tosses a fry into her mouth, chewing it with the kind of enjoyment that earns a movie an R rating.

“Good God, please don’t pull a When Harry Met Sally in the middle of this restaurant.”

“I can’t help it,” Billie retorts. “This pregnancy makes me feel like I could eat a horse. And everything tastes soooo good!”

“You know what I bet doesn’t taste good?” Rocky interjects before pausing briefly. I raise my eyebrows, and she doesn’t hesitate to finish. “Andrew Watson’s dick.”

“Jesus!” Billie nearly shouts. “Do we have to do this while we’re eating?”

“Yes, we do,” Rocky insists, narrowing her eyes. “Tomorrow is the big day, right? The audition is finally happening?”

She’s talking about my upcoming audition for Grass Roots—a movie I’ve been told is made for me, and one of the main reasons this lunch was scheduled. Billie was hoping Rocky could give me some last-minute Hollywood advice before she and her swoony billionaire husband head back to their home base in New York, and I can’t say I was opposed. I’m a musician through and through, and everything about Hollywood and acting and movies feels about a million miles away from my wheelhouse.

“Actually, no. Next week. It got postponed again.”

“Again?” She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “What in the hell are they waiting for? An alien invasion?”

I laugh. I was supposed to audition nearly three months ago, and it is starting to feel a little bit like it’s never going to happen.

“Well, the first time had to do with the studio and the budget or something, but this time is because Andrew couldn’t fit it into his schedule. He’s apparently out of the country promoting a film. Some sort of last-minute scheduling change to the press tour,” I answer. “So, I’ll be heading back to Nashville in the morning and won’t come back to LA until late next week.”

“Damn,” she comments. “That’s a bitch.”

I nod but otherwise occupy myself with swirling my fork in my salad. The never-ending anticipation is nearly crippling, but I’ve been telling myself it’s a blessing in disguise that it’s been postponed again. It will allow me to get in more studio time for my next album.

“It’s gonna happen,” Billie chimes in reassuringly after reading my mind. “Luca was talking to Howie the other day, and he’s officially balls deep in all things Grass Roots. Other than your role, all the casting has been finalized.”

The Howie she’s referring to is the Howie King, screenwriter and director of the movie I’ve been asked to audition for. He’s basically the Quentin Tarantino of dramatic, angsty love stories. Everyone in Hollywood desperately wants to be in one of his movies.

“My role?” I scoff. “You say that like I already have the part.”

Billie grins. “Because you do.”

I roll my eyes at her insane optimism and grab another faux-communal fry.

“Just remember what I’ve told you,” Rocky asserts.

“About Andrew?”

She nods.

I practically snort. “I think it would take a traumatic brain injury to make me forget.”

She laughs at me and lifts her hands defensively. “Hey, I’m just trying to look out for you. His dick is like a soldier. It’s seen things ladies like us should never see. Done things it’s not even sure it’s proud of. It is a maker of sexual carnage, I’m telling you.”

“Jesus,” Billie whispers, calling on religion to save her from this conversation yet again.

“I was a virgin until I got together with Harrison, okay? I didn’t know dick about dicks, and I’ve still heard all about Andrew Watson’s favorite appendage. So, just do yourself a favor and eliminate the possibility of getting taken with a man in uniform, so to speak.”

“Is it just me or does this lunch have way more use of the word ‘dick’ than normal?” Billie remarks. But Rocky is undeterred.

“Staff Sergeant Dick Richardson may look charming, but he is a savage. Slaying hearts all over the fucking world.”

“But Luca says Andrew isn’t that bad,” Billie challenges. “And personally, anytime I’ve seen him or we’ve had dinner with him or he’s come over to help Luca with something, he’s been nothing but super sweet to me.”