Page 15 of The Fake Script

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Page 15 of The Fake Script

“Do you have a contract?”

I release a breath. Right. Why didn’t I think of that? “Yeah, I do. I’ll go get it.”

“No need,” Auston's voice echoes from behind him, the sound making my heart rattle in my chest. “You can let her through,” he says, sauntering down the steps to exit his trailer. He’s followed by a tall brunette and a tough-looking guy.

The security guard opens the barricade for me, and I offer him a forced smile. With each step toward Auston, I feel heavier. I really didn’t think this thing through.

“Guys, this is Emma, the one who’s going to be working with me on the script. Emma, this is Robyn,” Auston says, turning to the girl. “She’s my assistant. And Cillian is my bodyguard.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking both their hands.

Auston casts his assistant a quick glance. “Robyn, can you get Emma a pass?”

She offers a bright smile. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll stay out here,” Cillian grunts, holding a serious stance, and Auston nods.

“Glad you made it,” Auston tells me as we’re walking up the steps to his trailer. “Come in.”

I enter through the small door, surprised by the spacious area waiting beyond. There’s a two-seater leather sofa facing a large TV, a table with twochairs, a counter complete with snacks and a coffee maker, and a door leading to the rest of the trailer. On the walls, I spot several movie posters and magazine covers, including a few naming Auston “Sexiest Man Alive.”

“So, you’re here,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

I nod. “Yep, I am. Let’s get to work.” What is he doing? I’m not here to chit-chat.

“Have a seat.” He motions to the couch. “I’m curious, though. What changed your mind?”

I roll my eyes. “In a nutshell, my friends are stupid, and I hate them. Plus, they know I despise bad movie adaptations more than anyone. They also said you’d introduce me to the author. Is that correct?”

He frowns slightly. “Sure. That’s no trouble.”

“Great. Then let’s get started.”

He glances at the counter. “Do you want something to drink first? Coffee?”

“Yes!” I exclaim shamelessly.

He studies me for a second, then lets out a light chuckle. “Of course.”

He brings out two cups of black coffee and sits down next to me. Suddenly, this space doesn’t feel so big anymore. Why can’t there be another sofa across the table?

“I see you brought the script. Have you started reading it?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Started? I’m done.”

His chocolate eyes widen. “You read it in one night?”

I shrug. “I’m a bookish girl. It’s what I do.”

He scratches his head and mumbles, “Right. Can I see? Did you take any notes?”

“A couple,” I say, handing the script to him.

His jaw drops when he opens it. “A couple? You mean a couple hundred.” He starts flipping through the pages. “Or thousand.”

I drill him with a deadpan stare. “You wanted my opinion. You got it.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “Right. Let’s have a look.”




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