Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(5)

Instead of admitting to the fact that I should have already gotten a dang coach, I toss the blame right back on to her. It’s the sibling thing to do.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever talked me into. I am so pissed at you right now.”

“Let me guess,” she responds, “you’re sitting in the parking lot, staring at the entrance doors, cursing my name.”

I look through the passenger window and spot “Capo Brothers Studios” engraved in marble across the front of the building. What a baby-carrying know-it-all.

“No,” I lie.

“Get out of the car, Birdie.”

“No.”

“Birdie, get out of the car.”

“No, I don’t need to,” I refute. “I am doing just fine with my music career. I don’t need Hollywood.”

“You’re acting like a petulant child.”

“I don’t care,” I huff and cross my arms over my chest.

Silence descends like a steady rain from a heavy storm cloud for a solid fifteen seconds, but Billie’s soft and gentle voice finally interrupts it like a crack of thunder.

“You know what? You’re right.”

I narrow my eyes at her sudden change of heart. “I am?”

“Absolutely. You don’t need Hollywood.”

A huge breath escapes my lungs. “I don’t?”

“No,” she says with emphasis. “Writing songs for the soundtrack of a movie with an insane amount of buzz around it? Yuck.”

Oh, that little—

“Having millions of people hear the raw talent of your voice and become one with the power of music? Disgusting.”

“Billie—” I grouse.

“So, yeah, if you’re that freaked out,” she continues, “just leave. Tell the driver to take you back to your hotel and let the studio know this isn’t a good fit. What’s the worst they can do? Tell you never to come back to Hollywood?”

“Billie—”

“You hate Hollywood anyway. So, just leave. None of it matters, you know? Who needs a blockbuster film and award nominations and more success? Certainly not you. You have everything you need. You’re doing just fine. Hollywood can blow a goat and all that.”

Screw her and her reverse-psychology bullshit.

Too bad it’s working…

“Ugh!” I groan into the quiet space of the back seat of the limo. “You are so annoying!”

I can practically hear her smiling through the damn phone. No-good, sense-talking, Hollywood-bad-boy-boning harlot. “So, what’s it going to be? Should I go buy a sandbox from the store so you’ll have a place to bury your head, or is now the time when you do a couple Kegels, put on your big-girl panties, and go in there and show them how awesome Birdie Harris is?”

I sigh.

“Can I take that sigh as a sign that you are, right now, doing some exercises to tighten your vagina?”

Damn her for being right.

“I’m still mad at you,” I mutter.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says good-naturedly. “You know, Momma would be so proud of you right now,” she adds, and my heart clenches with memories of our mother. She always wanted to be a Hollywood actress, but when she got pregnant with me, she gave it all up to raise a family. Because of Billie’s swoony fiancé, Luca, we have video evidence of the one small scene our mother acted in a television show—a clip I’ve watched more times than I care to admit. Without my mother herself, it’s just about the only physical evidence of her starry dreams we have left.

Billie and I lost our parents when we were just kids. I was eleven and she was nine. An innocent date night turned into a car accident that took them away from us forever, and now, years later, the scars of their losses are still there.

God, I miss them so much.

“Just look at you,” Billie continues, “getting ready to go in and audition for one of the biggest leading roles out there right now. This is incredible, Birdie.”

“Momma really would’ve loved this, wouldn’t she?” I ask, and Billie giggles.

“She would’ve been over the moon.”

“I have to do this, don’t I?”

“Yes. Or live a painful life of regret and sadness. One or the other.”

“My God, you’re dramatic.”

“Pretty sure I’m not the one who called me in the middle of a toddler-worthy hissy fit about the opportunity of a lifetime, but whatever. You’re just lashing out,” she mutters. “Now that I’ve prevented you from making one of the biggest mistakes of your career, what else do you need, sis?”

A sarcastic retort sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back.

Billie might be incredibly damn annoying when she wants to be, but she also knows Hollywood a hell of a lot better than I do. I need her right now.

“How about anything to help me not make a freaking fool of myself?”

“Hold please…” Billie shuffles the phone around, and there’s a muffled thud followed by a small “ow” in the background. I roll my eyes as my stomach turns over on itself. What the hell is she doing? Doesn’t she know I’m on a timeline here?

Just when I’m about to lose my patience, Billie’s voice comes back over the line.