BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (112 page)

“Saw a meteor shower tonight and it reminded me of Violet. Bright. Full of hope. We wait with bated breath to see how she shines.”

I set the book down.

And at the end of it all, I reminded myself that I’d survived that horrific day.

I’d LIVED.

I was a fighter, and I was going to fight.

AFTER LUNCH, I went to Wilson’s after listening to his rather frantic messages about needing to talk to me. He also kept apologizing, but I couldn’t for the life of me think why.

He opened the door, wearing his LA Lakers hat, and led me to his office where I got a jolt.

Oh
.

Dan Hing sat in a black leather chair, nursing a drink. I knew Wilson had powerful connections, but this was odd.

“I guess I should have called. Want me to come back later?” I commented.

Wilson shifted from one foot to the other, a cagey look on his face. “Truth is I wanted to talk to you alone, but since you’re here …”

What was going on? I flicked my eyes at Hing, seeing an opportunity, but just not sure how to play it. Maybe I could salvage some of this colossal mess created by Blair. So far my name wasn’t popping up anywhere on the internet, so whatever she was planning, she was taking her time and making us sweat.

I sat down across from Hing, tension radiating in the room. I wasn’t sure why.

Weird undercurrent or not, he was fascinating to chat with. Thirty-five years old and he’d already directed and co-produced two Academy Award-winning movies, one an independent film and the other a blockbuster World War II film. No wonder Sebastian was itching to work for him. He was movie gold.

Hipster handsome with his skinny jeans and Einstein shirt, he kept sneaking little glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. He adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and peered at me with eagle eyes.

He didn’t miss much, and I don’t think he cared that I was aware he was staring.

“You seem to have something on your mind, Mr. Hing.” I was feeling blunt. Bruised.

He lit a cigar. “Forgive me. It—it’s just that Wilson here told me
who
you are, the lone survivor of Flight 215. I find it morbidly fascinating.”

My familiar walls shot up. “I’m not a freak.”

“No! Not at all.” He shook his head. “You’re gorgeous.”

Uh-huh. I narrowed my eyes at him. He wasn’t fooling me.

“I’ve had a shitty day, so if you have something to say, just say it.”

He tossed his head back and laughed, a deep rich sound. “I like your style, V, and the way you look. The hair is a bit much for me, but it suits you—and LA. The truth is, I’m looking for a new project to develop, this time as a full producer, so I’d have complete control over it from creation to the end.”

Not sure what this had to do with me.

“I’ve got thousands of scripts and novels on my desk. Five were bestsellers last year, but not one of them interests me. I want fresh. Something that’s never been done. Something that will tug at every heartstring in America, rip their guts out and make them cry like fucking babies.”

I barked out a laugh. “Want to put
me
in a movie? Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t act my way out of a paper bag. At my school Christmas play they gave me the only silent part, the kid who held the star up over baby Jesus.”

“That’s not what I had in mind actually.”

I slanted a look at Wilson, who gave me an apologetic shrug.

I waited. It came.

Hing said, “Wilson mentioned—”

“Nope, leave my name out,” Wilson interjected. “I told you she was a private person.” He patted my hand. “Sorry, I ever brought your name up to him, sweetheart. It all started when I invited him to the benefit and before I knew it, he’d pieced together who you were. He’s a one-track kind of guy and once he gets an idea—I’m sorry. I had no idea he was going to broach the topic here. I wanted to talk to you first.” He sent Hing a glare.

Hing chuckled. “I made him millions on the last movie I did, V. He felt like he owed it to me to tell me about you once I inquired. I’m an asshole, but I think we have the possibility of a fantastic movie here. With you.”

I felt my face redden at the discerning way he looked at me. I took to tapping my leg.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson said again, his face obviously pained as he sat across from me. “If you want to go now, I wouldn’t blame you.”

I sucked up some nerve. I had to see this through. “No, I’m good.” I turned to Hing. “You don’t want me to act for you. So what were you thinking?”

He sat there for a few beats, pursing his lips. “I want your story about the crash, your battle to escape the plane, your struggles with your grief, and even the orphanage. Of course, I’d like to take a peek at your journal as well, see if we can pull anything from it.”

Oh. My eyes widened. But how—

“I saw it lots of times at your house, V, but I swear I never read it or even touched it.” Wilson grimaced. “You know I have my own grief with my wife. I’d never betray that.”

“Don’t blame Wilson. He let it slip about the journal, and once he did, I convinced him you wouldn’t care if I approached you. And, if you say no, then there’s no harm, no foul. We can forget we even spoke, and I’ll write you a check for ten thousand dollars today for your orphanage. Either way.” He paused. “I am not here to ambush you, and in fact, I had no idea you were coming over. I was here to convince Wilson to let me call you up. He was refusing, of course.”

Wilson grunted. “Like you’d listen.”

I waved him on with my hands. “Fine. Make your spiel to me. You’re not the only Hollywood person who’s ever tried to make a deal with me.”

His eyes gleamed. “But you’ve never talked to anyone as big as me.”

What was up with the level of male cockiness in this town?

“First off, I want to make this film about hope and music—I know that’s important to you. I want to focus on how you grew up in this idyllic setting—Park Avenue apartments and a beach house at the Hamptons—but you lost something vital when your parents were killed …” and so he talked, and I listened.

He promised me millions.

“I don’t need your millions, Hing. I have my own.”

He pondered me. “But what if I told you that I would make you a permanent fixture on my set. You’d be able to see it in production. We could talk about your concerns.”

I smiled coolly. “Hypothetically,
if
I sold it to you, I’d want more control.”

He smirked and took a swig from a drink Wilson had poured him. “You’re tougher than you look, V. First, I’d have to read your story to even know that if it had what I wanted.”

“Don’t get coy now, Hing.”

He sucked on his cigar.

I shifted around in my seat, getting comfortable. I took my time as I eyed him, sipping on a glass of water. I set it down. “Do you know how terrifying it was to see people sucked out of a plane? And for some reason people want details.” I got light-headed talking about it, but it wasn’t as bad as in the past. I had to do this. Face my fears. A sense of calm came over me. “Did you know that nightmares have haunted me for two years, and it wasn’t until recently that I pieced together that my father actually saved me? Now, I can recall him fighting to get me on that seat cushion. He put me there, and then let go. So I could live.”

Hing’s mouth parted.

I continued. “I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures of them hauling me up in the harness to that helicopter, but what you may not know is technically I had no heartbeat nor was I breathing. The medic brought me back with CPR. Wouldn’t you like to know what I saw when I was
dead
?” I said softly.

His hand stilled its tapping against the desk.

“If you want my story, then give me what I want.” I had no idea what I wanted. Not yet.

He nodded. “Fine, I’ll make you an associate producer. You can be there from day one. You will have a vote in wardrobe, talent, location, hell even the damn gripper boy. Does that make you happy?”

I kept my face blank.

“Think on it, V.” He grinned. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about Sebastian Tate.”

My mouth flew open and my eyes went straight to Wilson.

Could he not keep any of my secrets?

He held his hands up. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. Swear.”

“What?” Hing said. “Does this mean you and him are—a thing? All I meant is that he’s your neighbor and I was wondering if you knew him. I was under the impression he was dating Blair Storm? Am I wrong?”

“It’s not what you think,” I said hurriedly.

Hing’s eyes gleamed. “You’re the Mystery Girl from the
Hollywood Insider
, aren’t you? The one he was caught kissing.”

“No.”

He settled back in his chair. “I don’t believe you. Is he dating Blair Storm or not? If we’re going to work together, we need full disclosure, V.”

“I never said we were working together, Hing.”

He smiled. “Touché.”

I focused on staying cool. This was Sebastian’s movie career here. “I know that you didn’t choose him for your zombie movie.”

“True. When the story broke about him and you, I assumed there was truth to all the rumors that he was irresponsible. Plus, if I went with Blair, I wouldn’t want any lover’s tiffs.” He tapped his ashes. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s worth a million Blair Storms.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

I sat there, mulling, searching for the right words. “His parents were murdered when he was eight, and even though he could have let that define him, he didn’t. He’s the strongest person I know, and he believes that life is
good
. His grief never broke him like it did me.” I looked at my twitching hands. “He left home at eighteen, forged his own way and has managed his band ever since. He moved here for two reasons: to make a movie with you and get his friend and bandmate Spider off the road for a while. Spider
is
irresponsible and maybe even an alcoholic, but Sebastian is determined to take care of him. Sebastian’s a lot like you. He sees what he wants and he goes and gets it any way he can. Not many twenty-three-year-olds can claim that.”

“I see.”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t.
He does whatever it takes
. And maybe that means dating a starlet who promised him if he did, she’d get the part for him.”

A smile worked his lips. “I’m never surprised by the things people in Hollywood will do to get what they want. I’m just as guilty as the next person. But, I guess you haven’t heard yet since it was just announced by the movie company, but I went in another direction with my movie. Blair Storm did
not
get the movie. The producers wanted younger.”

My body tingled in fear. “Does she know?” The loss would make Blair even crazier.

He nodded. “Yes, and Sebastian was a close contender—excellent screen test—but to be honest, I don’t like rock stars-turned-actors no matter who they date. Never have. They’re unpredictable.”

I stood, anger flaring. “He’s more than a stereotype. He’s the happiest person I know—or he was until I fell in love with him. He made me realize I don’t have to lose music along with everything else. I’m a fighter too, and we found each other. He’s always going to be the guy who rides up on a white horse to save the girl—or a dog. He has the heart of a giver.”

He smiled broadly and adjusted his glasses. “Damn, I like you, V. When you speak, all I can think is what a great line that would make in a movie.”

“If I ever sell my words, it will be to someone who doesn’t jump to conclusions about a person just because they’re a musician.
I’m
a musician, Mr. Hing. And my whole story … it’s still unwritten. As Sebastian once told me, I have a long way to go before I’m done.”

His face softened into an understanding smile. The first genuine one. “I see. You have values—which I also like.” He paused. “Maybe we can learn from each other, V.”

I nodded and left.

But somehow I didn’t think the conversation with Hing was entirely over.