Plot Twist(18)

His mother rarely stopped talking about deals she was working on for their dad, or a role she’d heard about for Reece, or how Dash could pivot into a rom-com leading man if only he’d network more. He’d just hoped that in squashing the deal with Reece, he’d be safe for the rest of the night.

But Dash felt Reece staring at him, and he glanced back. Before he could stop his brother, the words were coming out as fast as a mudslide.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I offered Dash a role in my next film.” Reece sat back in his chair.

“You did? Well, that’s great.” His mother beamed, and Dash felt his cheeks burn.

“But he turned it down,” Reece said. When Dash looked at him, he cocked his head. There was that competitive side Dash had feared would come out in saying no to the role. Still, he couldn’t believe what an ass his brother could be.

Dash glanced at his dad, who looked back with concern. His father had always been unreadable. Dash had never really known where they stood or what William’s opinions truly were. Kitty seemed to be the voice of their father, in certain respects, and Dash assumed that what she said was what his dad felt, too.

But he supposed he deserved some of the flaming-hot spotlight being pointed at him. He had turned down a job offer on his brother’s directorial debut, after all.

“You’re turning down the role?” his mom asked coolly.

“Mom, if he wanted to act, he’d go act.” Poppy folded the napkin in her lap. “It’s not like you don’t pressure him every single Sunday to read a new script you’ve got. Can’t you see that Dash is trying to find himself?”

“Well,” Dash started to say, then stopped. He wasn’t trying to find himself, really. He was trying to keep from falling off the edge of a very dangerous cliff. Less than half of alcoholics in recovery stayed sober, and Dash planned to be one of them. But he was grateful that Poppy had at least tried to come to his defense, even if she hadn’t been completely accurate in her assessment.

“William...” His mom’s voice pleaded, but his father just kept looking back at him, the concern still there. Or was it judgment?

“Kitty, if he turned it down, I’m sure there’s a good reason,” his dad finally said.

His mom sat back in her chair. It was moments like these, where her gaze turned hawkish and her angular frame became domineering, that he understood why she’d been one of the top agents in Hollywood for nearly three decades and, at one New Year’s Eve party, sent Julia Roberts home in tears.

“Okay, then, what’s the reason?” she asked.

Dash knew he should say something. Now was the perfect opportunity to bring up his sobriety. He could easily tell them the truth and get the whole awful secret out there. But he kept quiet.

“You have plenty of time to write that speech for your father’s award, is what you’re saying?” she finally asked. “Dash, I’d like to see a draft by the end of the month.”

Dash stiffened at the demand. The thing about writing a speech for his dad was...what would he say? His father’s career had soared while Dash was growing up. He’d almost never seen him, save for holidays. It was only now, as his father’s career had slowed, that they all sat down for a weekly meal. And even with those few hours, it’s not like he and his dad were close or had heart-to-hearts. His father was of a generation of men who didn’t share their feelings. And because he’d never been able to open up to his children, he was more of an uncle, or an acquaintance, than someone they knew.

His sister gave his hand a little squeeze under the table, and he squeezed back. The only sound Dash heard was the scrape of his father’s knife against the dinner plate. Dash hesitated in responding but eventually said, “Okay.”

He just hoped that Sophie was the talented writer he needed to pull the whole charade off.

The next day, he texted Sophie to meet him, and she’d agreed. If he was going to have a speech ready for his mom in a few weeks, they needed to start working on it together as soon as possible.

It was early morning—well, ten was early for Dash—and he inspected the avocado tree while he waited. The tree was completely bare, thanks to the squirrel who terrorized his garden.

The squeak of her front door opening interrupted his thoughts, and Dash turned to see Sophie come out in a visible sports bra and spandex dress which clung to her body as she walked across the lawn. He shouldn’t stare—he really shouldn’t—but how was he supposed to ignore her generous thighs or the ample cleavage that wasn’t covered by the dress? She moved like a cat, each leg slinking in front of the other as she walked.

He tried to remember that this was Sophie, Poppy’s best friend and a person who, just a few days ago, had barfed all over him. But even knowing those things didn’t stop him from taking a step toward her. And was it possible he could see the thick outline of her lashes, even from so far away? Damn.

She gave him a wave. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not really. Just seeing how my avocados are doing.” And trying very hard not to stare at you.

“Richard loves those.”

Dash eyed her. “Who?”

“Our squirrel.”

“Our squirrel? Do you mean the terror who eats all of my fruit?”

“Richard is, like, the size of your foot. Get a grip, Dash.”