***** Dylan's Point of View *****
I left the guest house, shutting the door behind me and letting out a frustrated breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding in. Brenley was the most judgmental and irritating woman I had ever met. I spent all that time showing her around my house and garage, thinking she would be impressed, for her to just call me pretentious after! Me! Pretentious? She doesn't even know me!
The worst part was I was going to have to hang out with her every day for the next week. I had a feeling this was going to be the longest fucking week of my life.
I walked back into the main house and went down the hallway into the front room where my assistant Melissa and Scott, the director of the film crew, were waiting to talk to me.
I flopped down into one of the arm chairs and let out an exhale, feeling exhausted.
"This woman is the worst possible scenario we could've had for a winner of the sweepstakes," Scott told Melissa, shaking his head as he paced the floor with her nodding in agreement.
"Yeah, tell me about it," I laughed.
"Oh you haven't even heard the half of it yet Dylan," Scott told me. "When I talked to her in private earlier, the mic on my headphones was still recording. Listen to this," he said, pulling up an audio file on his phone and pressing play.
I listened to the conversation in silence and my eyes widened in surprise at different parts, shocked at a few of the things she said. I couldn't believe she turned down their offer to help her buy the house she wanted because she wanted to earn it herself. I thought that was really noble. I don't know too many people that would have turned down that offer. Come to think of it, I didn't know any. She didn't want fame or money either, and she made it sound like dating me was the last thing in the world she would ever do. That was a first. Most of the women I met would stab their best friend in the back just for a chance to talk to me, let alone date me.
Brenley was different than the L.A. women I met night after night, the ones that came to the parties and clubs I went to. They were almost all famous actresses, models or singers or people trying to break into the business. Any time I thought I might actually be making a connection with one of them and that they actually cared, I found out they were just trying to get something out of me. As soon as I told them I wasn't going to help them with their career, they'd disappear and move on to the next person with connections. They never really gave a shit about me. They were all fake.
When the recording of Scott's conversation with Brenley finished playing, my assistant Melissa said, "So she's not a fan, she doesn't want to date you or be famous, AND she can't be bought," she laughed. "Scott's right Dylan. This is the worst-case scenario. We have no leverage to control her."
"And why exactly do we need to control her?" I asked them with scrunched eyebrows, feeling confused.
"In case we ever need to persuade her to do something again for us in the future, or to keep her from talking to the media about something. It's always nice to have some kind of bargaining chip with people," Scott said. "This girl's dangerous because we don't have one."
I cut in and told him, "This girl doesn't have to be bribed Scott. Didn't you hear what she said at the end? She wants to help us out because it's the right thing to do and she knows how much it means to us. And you know what, the crazy thing is, I actually believe her," I laughed. "It seems like she genuinely likes to help people and do the right thing. All you have to do is appeal to her kindness if you want to get her to do something."
"Yeah I guess," Scott said half-heartedly, scratching his head with an exhale. "Bribery is just so much easier and less complicated."
Melissa nodded in agreement.
YOU ARE READING
Falling for a Star (Complete)
RomansaI had never paid much attention to celebrity gossip or what was going on in Hollywood because that was so far from the lifestyle I lived as a poor college student, working as a barista to save up for my own house after graduation. But then, without...