Chapter 4

Olivia's POV

I clutched the hastily wrapped gift as Logan navigated the suburban streets. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns and cookie-cutter houses.

We pulled up to Jake's house, a beige two-story that looked exactly like every other house on the block. The driveway was already full of cars, and I could hear the muffled thump of music from inside.

We dodged tipsy partygoers on the lawn as we approached the house. Logan rang the bell, and I forced an enthusiastic smile.

The door swung open, revealing Emma in all her party-hostess glory.

"Olivia! Logan!" Emma squealed, crushing us in a hug. "So glad you made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it," I managed to wheeze out as she released us.

Emma ushered us inside, chattering a mile a minute about the party preparations and how stressed she'd been about getting everything perfect for Jake's birthday.

I spotted Jake in the living room, deep in conversation with a group of guys who all looked like they'd just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog.

"Jake, honey!" Emma called out. "Look who's here!"

Jake turned, his face barely brightening. "Oh, hey, guys," he said, trudging over. "Thanks for coming."

I thrust the gift at him, eager to finish the formalities. "Happy birthday, Jake."

He took the package, eyeing it with mild curiosity. "Thanks, Olivia. You really didn't have to."

"Oh, it's nothing," I said, waving my hand dismissively. And it really was nothing – just a generic gift card I'd picked up on the way over. "Hope you like it."

Jake set the gift aside unopened. An awkward silence fell, broken only by the thumping bass of some top 40 hits.

Emma jumped in to fill the void. "So, Olivia, how's the acting going? Any big auditions coming up?"

"Oh, you know... still working on it. Nothing concrete yet," I said lightly, masking my inner turmoil over my recent failed audition.

Logan squeezed my hand reassuringly.

Jake's eyes lit up. "I forgot to introduce you to my old friend, Thomas. He's a casting director."

I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "I'm sorry, what?"

But Jake was already grabbing my arm, practically dragging me towards the patio doors. "Come on, I'll introduce you!"

I shot Logan a panicked look. He gave me a thumbs-up and mouthed, "You've got this!"

Easy for him to say.

Jake's grip on my arm was like a vice as he practically dragged me through the sliding glass doors onto the patio. The cool night air slapped my face, making me acutely aware of my underdressed state. My simple cotton blouse and plain black slacks screamed, "I just got off a double shift at the coffee shop," rather than "aspiring actress ready to impress."

The patio bustled with glittering guests in cocktail wear. I felt like a dull penny among silver dollars, my stomach churning with embarrassment and anxiety.

"Jake, wait," I hissed, trying to dig my heels in. "I'm not exactly dressed for—"

"Nonsense!" Jake chirped, his unusual enthusiasm alarming. "Thomas doesn't care. He's laid-back."

Right. Nothing says "laid-back" like a Hollywood casting director at a suburban birthday party.

We snaked through the crowd, avoiding stray arms and spilled drinks. Snatches of chatter floated by - stocks, Aspen trips, and did I hear someone mention a yacht?

Jake finally stopped near the patio's edge, where a small group had gathered around a man gesticulating wildly, clearly in the middle of a story.

"—and then I said, 'Listen, Spielberg, I don't care if you're the king of Hollywood, you can't park your dinosaur there!'"

The group erupted in laughter, and I felt my stomach drop. This was Thomas? The man who held my potential future in his hands was currently telling dad jokes to a bunch of tipsy suburbanites?

Jake cleared his throat. "Hey, Thomas! Got a sec?"

Thomas turned, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Jakey-boy! There you are, birthday boy! What can I do for ya?"

Jake shoved me forward like I was some kind of human sacrifice. "I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Olivia. She's an actress!"

"Hi," I said, trying to salvage some dignity. "Nice to meet you, Mr...um..."

"Just Thomas, sweetheart," he said, giving me a once-over that made me wish I'd put on some lipstick. "So, an actress, huh? What have you been in?"

"I'm... still trying," I admitted. "I've had a few auditions, but..."

"But?"

"But they've all been spectacular failures," I blurted out. "Like, 'security escort me out of the building' level of bad."

To my surprise, Thomas burst out laughing. "Oh, honey, you have no idea how refreshing that honesty is. Do you know how many people come up to me at parties claiming they're the next Meryl Streep?"

"I can assure you, I'm definitely not the next Meryl Streep. Maybe the next person, Meryl Streep, walks past on the street, but..."

"Want to know a secret? Half the 'big stars' out there couldn't act their way out of a paper bag when they started. It's all about persistence, kid."

"And knowing the right people?" I ventured.

Thomas winked. "That doesn't hurt either." He took a swig from his drink. "You know, it's funny you should mention connections. I've got this friend—"

"Let me guess," I interrupted, feeling bold. "He's a Nigerian prince looking to share his fortune?"

Thomas let out a belly laugh that startled a nearby group of partygoers. "Oh, you're a riot! No, no. He's actually a billionaire."

"And I suppose he's looking for a personal chef? Or maybe a dog walker for his prize-winning Pomeranians?"

"Better," Thomas grinned. "He's producing a film."

My heart skipped a beat. "A... film?"

"Mhmm. Big budget, potential blockbuster. Name's Christopher Wallace."

I blinked. "Wait, THE Christopher Wallace? Of Wallace Investments?"

Thomas nodded. "The very same. You've heard of him?"

"Who hasn't? He's only in the news every other day for buying up half of Hollywood."

"Word on the street is that he's not too happy with the director's choice for the lead actress."

"And... what? You think I could audition?"

Thomas shrugged. "Why not? Fresh face, sharp wit... you might be just what they're looking for."

"Right, because I'm sure a billionaire producer is dying to cast a barista with a string of failed auditions."

"Hey, stranger things have happened in this town," Thomas said, finishing his drink. "Look, I can't promise anything, but I could put in a good word. Throw your hat in the ring, so to speak."

Was this real? Or had I fallen asleep at the coffee shop, and this was some kind of caffeine-induced fever dream?

"So," Thomas prompted, "what do you say? Do you want to give it a shot?"

"You know what? Why not? I mean, the worst that could happen is I add another spectacular failure to my growing collection, right?"

"That's the spirit! I'll call Christopher tomorrow to see if I can set something up."

As Thomas rattled off his contact information, which I hurriedly typed into my phone with shaking fingers, I wondered if this was happening.