Capturing the Moment

Chapter 6

Ryan

"Conner lost his funding. And his studio. No one wants to back him after the San Francisco accident."

Sidney Weston has no idea what I'm talking about. She's staring at me like I'm speaking French.

Then she remembers. San Francisco. 

Who could forget that tabloid field day from nine months ago? I know I can't. Not even if I were to try. 

My baby brother's face splashed across every magazine and newscast known to man.  His precious totaled Range Rover.

"The San Francisco incident?" Sidney's voice goes weak.

Now she gets it. Now we're on the same page.

Grab your fancy purse and get out Sidney. Stop trying to enchant me with your warm smiles and even warmer brown eyes. There's nothing for you here. Conner Chase is box office poison. No favors for you, miss.

My washed-up baby brother doesn't have anything left to give.

I flash her a tight smile and drive my point home.  Just in case she doesn't get it. "Once you drunk drive your car into a church during an Easter vigil Mass, people get a little nervous."

Not to mention the fact that Conner didn't clean himself up right away.  If he'd gone straight into rehab, as pertinent as a choirboy, his career might have been fine.

But no. Not him. He dragged out that downward spiral for another six months before finally checking himself into rehab.

Six months. Six months was spent on my couch, binging streaming services, eating nothing but take out and junk food.

Nobody in Hollywood or anywhere else has time to forgive a bender like that. Not when there are a hundred other movie star worthy guys lined up willing to take his place.

Guys who have probably never even considered trying to drive through a beloved, historic church. A feat that ended with him accidentally behaving a statue of Mary - on Easter Sunday.

As if that poor woman hasn't been through enough.

"No funding?" Sidney says, totally ignoring the church part. "Are you sure?"

Like that's a mistake someone could make. As if Conner could suddenly realize he actually does have a little bit of funding after all. It's all been hiding in the couch this whole time, along with his Cheetos bag.

"We are sure," I tell her. "Even his agent dropped him. His manager was our neighbor growing up. His PR team. Nobody will go near him now with a ten-foot pole."

Except her apparently.

No one will touch Conner or Midnight Rides," I continue. "he's exhausted everything. Plenty of people are willing to take that script off his hands, but they don't want him along with it. And he's not going to let go. If the studios don't make it with him, they won't make it at all."

My words are a punch to her gut, but my brother doesn't look wounded. That's when I realize I have a bigger problem on my hands: way worse than Sidney Weston and her pretty brown eyes.

My brother isn't upset. Nothing I have said has bothered him. Conner is smiling. No - grinning. Why is my brother grinning?

"Oh, don't worry," he says, slowly. "I have an idea!"

More terrifying words have been uttered. Trust me, I've been the victim of Conner's grand ideas before.

As my face falls. Sidney's perks up. "An idea? What kind of idea?"