The Decoy Girlfriend(91)
“A good opportunity is only a good opportunity if it’s the right one for you,” she reminds him. “If this step isn’t going to help you live the life and do the work that you really want, then maybe it’s just an opportunity that isn’t the right fit.”
Taft’s eyes clash with emotion. “Yeah, but . . . who turns down an offer for two movies?”
He mentions a dollar amount so astronomical Freya wonders if she has wax in her ear, until she confirms she heard him right.
“I feel like the biggest asshole,” he says, tone unfairly scathing. “I thought I wanted to make great art, but the second something super commercial and career-defining comes along, I’m tempted by success. And that’s not even taking into consideration how many other people this would affect. It’s work for hundreds of cast and crew if I do this.”
“You’re not an asshole,” she says. “If you were, you would only be thinking of yourself. I respect your commitment to doing right by as many people as possible, but what you want doesn’t matter any less. If this is how you’re feeling, maybe you need to take a second look at the definition of success you’re using. Is it money and fame? Or is it doing projects you love?”
Conflict crosses his face. It’s visible in the clench of his jaw and the flat line of his lips. She spies it in the knit of his eyebrows, like he’s trying to solve for x and doesn’t want to give up.
“I don’t want to be a sellout,” he says. “I shouldn’t even be tempted by the money. But this is the kind of offer that comes along once in a lifetime. How can I walk away? This is everyone’s dream.”
But is it his? She can’t answer that for him, and even he doesn’t seem to know.
“You’re not lesser for admitting that the other stuff matters, too,” says Freya. “I spent so long thinking that I wasn’t a real writer anymore because I found it so hard, and that was absolutely untrue. You helped me realize that. You held my hand while I suffered through all the suck until I made it to the other side. Instead of accepting all my false starts and moving forward, I chased a nonexistent magic formula. Don’t be me—run toward something. Course correct if you get it wrong. Embrace the suck. But don’t deliberately aim for the wrong thing just because it’s what ‘everyone’ wants. ‘Everyone’ isn’t you.”
When she finishes what turned out to be an embarrassingly earnest speech, Taft props himself up on his elbow to look at Freya. The corners of his mouth lift with a smile she can already tell she’s going to engrave in her mind to keep forever. It makes her heart squish and she can’t help but stare openly.
This man is everything she’s ever wanted and then some. She wants a lifetime with him, and then, just to be safe, a thousand more.
“Thank you for being my person,” he says, and his voice is so achingly tender that Freya can’t help but kiss him. It’s not a kiss meant to lead to anything. He tastes faintly of booze and the mouthwash she heard him sloshing before coming to bed.
When they part for air, she turns back around so he can spoon her. He’s a comforting presence behind her, tucking her close against him. “Go to sleep. It’s late,” she mumbles. “We can talk more tomorrow.”
“I love how you just nooked in there,” he whispers into her hair.
“Hmm?”
“You. In the nook of my arms.” He nuzzles behind her ear, fingers combing through her hair without hitting a snag. “You’re the right fit for me, Freya.”
She smiles sleepily and locks her arms over his so she’s snuggled even tighter in his embrace. Only when his hand is in hers does she close her eyes. Falling asleep like this is a luxury that she’s gotten used to, and several minutes of slow, even breathing pass before she realizes he hasn’t fallen asleep yet.
“If I signed on for another two movies . . . my dad might be proud of me.” His voice is pitched low, a secret whispered in the black of night. “If he sees how much other people believe in me.”
His voice is so quiet and hesitant that just before Freya drifts off, the thought flits through her mind that she isn’t even sure she was meant to hear it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Taft? Are you sitting down? Trust me, you need to be sitting for this.”
He pulls his cell phone away from his ear. Moira isn’t usually this screechy, especially not first thing in the morning, so of course his mind immediately whirs with ten thousand terrible possibilities before he remembers to take a breath, shoving that spike of anxiety down. “What’s up?”
He slips out of the bedroom before their conversation wakes up Freya. Heart swelling with affection, he lingers in the doorway for just a few seconds, a fond smile on his lips as Freya cuddles onto his side of the bed, reaching for his pillow. Just getting to hold her all night is better than having sex with anyone else.
“So . . .” Moira sounds like she’s about to bubble over. “The written offer just came in.”
“Uh-huh,” Taft says distractedly, spooning Freya’s favorite grounds into the coffee machine.
“I had a little chat with Gareth, and we have the leverage to get an even more lucrative counteroffer for you and Mandi.”
The new number she tells him makes his hand wobble. Half the coffee grounds land on the counter. “That’s . . . great,” he says, sweeping the mess into the palm of his hand.