Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(46)



“Call him back later,” suggested Preston, glancing up from the valley between her breasts.

“It could be important. It could be about a part.”

“It’s Sunday. The part will still be there tomorrow.” Preston sucked her nipple between his lips, and her back arched reflexively, but she pushed at his head.

“Stop, Pres. Stop. Seriously. I have to get this.”

He sighed, rolling onto his back, and she pulled the sheet over her breasts as she answered the phone.

“Hello? Donny?”

“Elise. You’re up. Are you sitting down?”

She sat up straight, glancing at Preston, who grinned at her, sliding his palm across her belly.

Stop! she mouthed. He moved his hand away, pouting.

“Uh, yes. I’m sitting down.”

“This is big, Elise. Way bigger than Our Town, honey. This is huge. Are you ready?”

Her breath caught. “I’m ready.”

“It’s Hollywood.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Yep. Turns out Jack Mosell was in the audience on Friday night and he loved you. I mean, he loved you. And he’s one of the best casting directors out in L.A. Well, he got back to L.A. yesterday and it turns out that Diana Agron has pulled out of playing Edna Pontellier in The Awakening.”

Her heart was racing so fast she could hardly speak. “By K-Kate Chopin?”

“Yeah. Period piece. Anyhow, they’ve already started production on the picture and now they’re at a standstill until they can find a fast replacement for Diana. So, Jack tells them about you. And get this, Elise…he called you ‘the American Kiera Knightly.’ Can you believe it?”

“The American Kiera Knightly,” she repeated dumbly.

“So Jack went on and on about you. Then they called me to see if your schedule’s free, and I said it was. And, well, they’re in such a jam, they asked if you could go out there and screen-test today, and as long as they liked what they saw, you’re in.”

“I’m…in?”

“You’re in! Listen, I booked you on the ten o’clock American flight out to LaGuardia, and I’ll have a car there to pick you up in thirty minutes. Jack will meet your flight and take you right over to MGM. Elise, this is the big time, kid. Are you ready?”

“I’m—I’m ready,” she squeaked.

“Pack a bag. The car’ll be there soon,” he said. “And Elise? Congratulations. You did it.”

“I did it. Th-thank you, Donny.”

The line went dead and she clicked the end button on her phone, turning to Preston. “Oh, my God!”

“Is everything okay?”

She started laughing, almost hysterically, as the news settled in. “Pres! They want me in L.A! Donny set up a screen test!”

“Wait. What?”

“Hollywood!” she cried. “I’m going to be in a movie!”

***

“Elise…wait, wait, wait, wait. Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Preston asked, watching his wife jump out of bed, pull on a T-shirt she found on the floor, and run to his closet. She turned around a moment later with a duffel bag, unzipped it and plopped it on the bed.

“Packing!”

“Slow down a sec. What do you mean?”

She looked up at him, a beaming smile on her face. “Donny reserved me a ticket on the ten o’clock American fight to L.A. I have to pack. Oh my God, this is so exciting!”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, then turned and beelined to the bathroom.

“Elise?” he called, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheet to his waist. “Can we talk about this?”

“Huh?”

“Sweetheart, can we talk about this?”

She peeked out of the bathroom. “Pres! There’s a part for me in Hollywood! For me!”

“Okay. I get that. But you picked up your phone, had a five minute conversation, screamed that Donny set up a screen test in L.A., and now you’re packing. My head’s spinning.”

“He’s sending a car in”—he peeked out again and glanced at the clock on his bedside table—“twenty-five minutes.”

Preston whipped the sheet off his body, pulled on some boxers and crossed the room to lean on the wall just outside of the bathroom. “Can you stop for a minute?”

“I have to pack,” she insisted, glancing at him before grabbing her toothbrush and squeezing it into her toiletry bag.

She was packing. She was leaving. The panic in his chest ratcheted up.

“You’ve never even mentioned an interest in movies.”

“Pres, the is The Awakening by Kate Chopin.” She zipped the small pouch closed and snapped her head up to look at him. “They called me the ‘American Kiera Knightly.’ Do you have any idea what this could mean for my career? I could pay off all my loans. I could—”

“Is that what this is about? Money?” He reached out and placed his palms on her shoulders, relief sluicing through his veins like Valium. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to take this job if it’s about money. Listen, we haven’t talked a lot about finances yet, but I’m not just comfortable…I’m loaded. I mean, I can write you a check from my account today and we’ll pay off every cent of your loans.”

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