Falling With Style {Chris Evans}

thirty

Chris was at an agonizingly slow meeting when his phone rang as soon as his manager and press agents dismissing him and a few others. The screen read "private caller", and if it were any other unknown or unrecognizable number, he'd ignore it and hurry home. After all, he reluctantly left home this morning knowing that Mila was half asleep next to him in the bed and would be wide awake by the time he made it back.

However, private callers could mean many things for him. It could be a reporter that went through paperwork to find his number and reach out to him after an interview, probably thinking the way he smiled at them meant they were special. It could also be a co-star or the new director of the television show he was set to star in that was coming out in the following year with filming around the corner.

Not wanting to mess this up, thinking it was the director whom he was expecting a call from, he answered it with an enthusiastic, "Hey!"

"Someone is excited to talk to me," a woman's voice giggled.

Chris didn't recall Henry mentioning any of the directors of the new television show being a woman. "Who is this?" He asked, not realizing just how familiar the airy voice was.

"Miranda. This is my new number. I thought you might want it."

She had nearly gotten cut off. He never hung up a phone so fast, and it still wasn't fast enough. He rolled his eyes and let out a breath, completely shutting his phone off once he saw Henry approaching him.

He was wearing a buttoned baby blue shirt without a sign of any wrinkles. It was tucked into dark blue slacks, nicely fitted to his lanky physique. Chris settled for a plain black tee shirt and sweats, since it took everything out of him to get out of bed this morning at the crack of dawn and there was no effort left in putting anything appropriate on to wear.

"What's wrong?" Henry asked, observing Chris's annoyed expression.

"Nothing, what's up?" Chris tried to sound less annoyed. After spending nearly three hours in a conference room with him, why did Henry still feel the need to talk to Chris more? Didn't he say everything that he needed to?

Henry didn't believe him, but he didn't budge. He said, "You and your date did amazing last night at the premiere. It wasn't exactly what I specifically told you to tell her to say, but if this is as serious as you let on, we'll work on it. Next time, I'd like to meet with her personally and go over talking points for tabloids and reporters before any event. Understood?"

"We'll see," Chris chuckled, heading past Henry to walk out of the building.

Behind him, he heard Henry scoff, "It's either that, or little miss Mila is just another word on the ever growing trail of names you leave behind just to be covered up by some gullible headline. Which sounds better to you? 'Chris is on to the next' or 'Mila used Chris for her own fame'?"

Chris stopped in his tracks. He ran the words through his mind over and over until he could actually visually picture the tabloids in his head. All types showed up, accusing him of being a womanizer or accusing her of using him for whatever.

"What did you just say to me?"

Now it was Henry walking off away from Chris, with only a smirk as he said, "Your choice."

Meanwhile, bright and early at nine in the morning, Mila was sat with Ashley and Dominique in the huge yet surprisingly bare living room of where Chris lived when he filmed in Los Angeles. To her understanding, he also had a home back in Boston where his family was.

He had been courteous and generous enough to let Dominique and Ashley stay in the guest bedrooms, which he had more than enough space for everyone. The house wasn't really stocked with groceries or even a lot of meaningful furniture, but they were too captivated by the quality of everything inside and the views overlooking the hills of Hollywood.