Twist of Fate Louise, Tia (read dune .txt) 📖

“I’m hiring a lawyer, and I’m going to sue the fuck out of this place. You’ll never take another photo—”

“Think again, dickweed. This is all on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You signed the contract giving me license to use those images however I saw fit. It was part of the deal for the headshots. I can’t help it if you can’t read.”

“I can read.” My jaw clenches so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack my teeth.

“You willingly stood for every photo I took and even suggested some poses.”

Fisting my hands, I glance at the ceiling as I exhale a hot growl. “You said casting directors needed nudes to decide between cut and uncut actors.”

He shrugs tilting his head to the side. “It’s easier than going in and dropping your pants like some guys do.”

“You took advantage of me. You lied to me.”

The trigger on the gun cocks, and he takes a step closer. “I did no such thing. You’re the dumbass who didn’t read the fine print. Now get out of my shop and don’t come around here making trouble. You threaten me again, and I’ll call the cops. I’ll get a restraining order.”

I’m furious and shaking and not sure what to do. Turning on my heel, I leave the studio. Fiery rage burns my chest the whole way back to my apartment.

Luis is outside tossing the ball in the air, but I don’t even smile. I give him a dismissive wave as I take the stairs two at a time before bursting through our door.

“Did you commit murder?” Crenshaw is sitting on the couch smoking a blunt, and I go straight to my room.

“Not yet.” My voice is quiet as I dig out the brown envelope containing the photographs and paperwork from my session with Franco.

Returning to the living room, I slide the papers apart as I scan the multiple paragraphs of information I signed.

“What’s that?” My roommate’s voice is strained as he exhales the smoke.

“He says I signed this agreement saying he could use my pictures without my permission.”

“You gave him the license to your images.” He nods as if he knows all about this.

My eyes flash to his. “What the fuck does that mean? I’ve never heard of that.”

“It means he takes the pictures. They’re yours, but he can still make money off them if he wants. Looks like that’s what he did.”

Dropping to a seat on the recliner, I fist my hands in the paper as I raise it to my face, growling. “NO! He can’t do that without my permission!”

“Give it to me.” Tuck scoots forward, lowering the joint to the ashtray and holding out a hand.

I pass the crumpled and torn pages to him, and he smooths them out, squinting as he reads. “Yep, this part right here. Franco Romano retains ownership of all images and is granted the right to sell them…”

He keeps going, but a roar is in my ears. My eyes close, and I scrub my fingers across my brow. Catty told the casting assistant to do a Google search. She said she would.

“She’s going to find this.” My voice is quiet, and my chest constricts as I see my career slipping away. “I’m not getting the job.”

Sympathy lines Crenshaw’s brow, and he picks up the blunt. “Take a hit, my friend. You’ve had a hard day.”

I’m too shaken to get high. I’m still in the zone of trying to fix this, even though I know it’s a lost cause. “It’s all over before it even began.”

Crenshaw takes a hit and leans back on the couch. “Come on, now. It’s never as black as you think.”

“I’ll never get a legit acting job with this hanging over me. Nobody wants that kind of publicity.”

“Never is a long time, my friend.” Crenshaw places a hand on my shoulder. “Anyway, didn’t a sex tape make Paris Hilton a star? It made Kim Kardashian a billionaire.”

Squinting my eyes at him, I shake my head. “That’s not the kind of career I want.”

“This’ll be over in a week. You’ll see. Lay low for a little while.”

“Right. Lay low.” I’m about as low as I can get.

Fifteen

Daisy

“You’re pregnant.” Sly’s navy eyes are wide as she surveys me from the bed in our old bedroom at Aunt Regina’s BnB.

“Yes.” My voice is quiet.

I’m sitting in that yellow chair I loved, the one Scout helped me move all over this house, and I ache for him.

“It’s his?”

“Yes.”

“Phew.” She swings her feet off the bed and stands. “I need a drink. You want something? Ginger ale?”

“Please.” My morning sickness has subsided, but my stomach still churns. I’m convinced it’s the stress.

She jogs down the stairs, and my eyes drift to the oversized flowers on the wallpaper. They look like they’re moving towards me, and I wonder if I could fall into them and disappear. I miss him so badly. I want him here so much, but I know that’s impossible.

“What are you going to do?” Sly’s back with a glass of white wine and a can of Vernor’s. She hands me the green can and sits across from me on the foot of the bed. “I’ll support you no matter what, of course.”

“I’ve got to tell him. I guess.” A knot is in my throat, and I’m not sure how I’ll accomplish that little feat.

He’s three thousand miles across the country in Los Angeles. I’m here with no intention of relocating to a city where I know no one, have no job prospects, pregnant…

“You guess?”

Shaking my head, I shift in the chair. “I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of it all. I’m not moving to L.A. and leaving my work. He can’t move here and continue pursuing his dream.”

“So you’re going to keep it?”

“Of course. It’s Scout’s and my baby.” Warmth bubbles in my aching chest, and I feel sick again. My insides are a shook-up mess of happiness and anxiety and excitement