Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey

Chapter 6

Kylie

"I'm so sorry I'm missing Thanksgiving," I said into the phone, a pang of regret for having canceled my flight two days ago.

Though I could only see them all seated in the living room, fire roaring in the background of the video call, I could smell the turkey my mom would've had going since before the rooster crowed.

"We're sorry you're not here, too, Kylie," my father agreed, his voice soft despite the big grin he held for my sake. "So, what slimy director has my little girl on set the day after Thanksgiving?"

"Well, I know I just said work, but I have some big news I wanted to wait to share until I could see your faces. I have a meeting tomorrow with big producers who're interested in a movie I wrote!" I exclaimed.

My hands had shot out when I'd spoken, then pulled into my chest as I waited for their responses. Whoops and hollers sounded as if through a tin can thanks to my cheap computer speakers, but I soaked each one of them up.

"Now we just need to get you a man," mom teased, her graying blonde hair pulled up into a neat pile on her head to withstand the heat of the kitchen.

Looking at my father and two brothers, I laughed, "Well, I remember a time no one within miles would date me because of those three."

Through my brothers mumbled, smart-ass remarks, my father's deep voice carried, as it always had, "I sure would like to walk you down the aisle one day."

Glancing around the faces, he didn’t surprise just me with his remark.

"Are you really dating Liam Hendrix?" he continued, punctuated by my mother's punch to the arm for saying something she'd obviously told him earlier not to bring up.

"Dad, I told you not to believe everything you read in the news. We went out one night. That's it."

"But there was that kiss before that," my sister mentioned.

"Thanks Molly, but yes, it was nothing but a stunt. Not worth mentioning."

As they went from badgering me about Liam to telling the tales of Thanksgiving's past, I grew nostalgic for the outdoor smells of the farm and warm hugs of family. Wrapping myself in the blanket my mom had knitted which hung on my couch, I smiled to remember my oldest brother, Alex, who'd struggled in school, yet happily worked circles around my father on the farm. With his signature lighter shade of mom's blonde bleached from the sun, he'd grown up rugged into the man who ran the place now as our father aged.

James had been less rugged, his Davis kids version of blond more highlights over our father's light brown. He'd given my parent's the hardest time of all the children growing up until vocational school had straightened him out. He'd grown into a fine man and a great mechanic who made time to call his sister about once a month on Sundays still.

My younger sister, Molly, attended nursing school. She had been the real beauty of the family. Her true blonde hair and perfect curves had only been outmatched by her sweet demeanor. While we had our battles, I'd fight to the death for her. My baby brother, Charlie, only ten, what one would call a mistake, had been conceived of my parents’ storybook romance. At this point in his life, blond and ornery were all we had to go on to describe him. Still, he always updated me on school and friends when my mom called to check on me.

We never had much money, and there'd been those times of worry all farmers go through, but the animals and land had always provided food. More importantly, we kids had always had the love of our parents and a sibling bond no one could break, even if we'd fought like cats and dogs around the house. Thoughts of the way the old farmhouse creaked at night, the smell of the summer rain we'd played in, the warm kitchen that always needed cleaning had tears flowing down my cheeks.

Butterflies danced in my stomach as I waited for the meeting I'd dreamed of for as long as I could remember. I attempted to rehearse the pitches I'd worked up for each part of my film, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I tried to bring to mind my father's face, his usual encouraging words, as I dug through my bag for my notes.

A woman with slick black hair tied into a tight bun came out from behind the counter to approach me, though I was the only one in the waiting room.

"Miss Davis?"

"Yes, that's me," I fumbled in my best professional voice.

"Mr. Donovan wanted me to apologize on his behalf. He won’t be able to make your meeting today."

"Oh... should we reschedule?" I asked when she didn't offer.

"Yes. Please send an email, and one of our staff will get back to you," she stated as she turned on her red heel and trotted back to her large white desk.

I moved in slow motion, my brain on overdrive, analyzing every word the woman didn't say given her robotic, insincere tone. Not that she'd been all friendly when I first came in, but something had changed. Something had been off about what she said, the way she said it. I felt it in my gut. I'd managed to get both my purse and bag hung from my slumped shoulder by the time I stood to leave, only to be stopped in mid-turn when Isabelle walked out of the room I should've stepped into.

She made a beeline for me as if on a catwalk before she leaned in and whispered, "Don't think you'll ever make it in Hollywood. You messed with the wrong girl."

My heart began to beat hard and fast, like an angry bird fighting to escape my chest. My hand fisted the material of my silk blouse as I attempted to hold back the urge to punch Isabelle in the face. I wasn't a violent person, but this had pushed me over the edge. I played it out in my head, wrote every detail of the scene, from Isabelle dropping to the ground, a black eye immediately blooming on her face, to the sound of her shocked gasp as her head slammed against the marble floor.

Born to hall-of-fame parents, Isabelle knew nothing of struggle and dreams. All she'd known had been here's your acting career on a silver platter, oh wait.

I waited tables to go to school. I'd gotten my figure because I'd barely had enough money to eat. I'd worn the same dress to every audition for a time. I'd worked late nights and drank too much coffee to both work and write. My parents, as wonderful as they were, just didn't have a dime to spare to help me, even if they wished they could.

Yet, none of that had stopped me. I'd worked long hours for years to make it into this building for this meeting. My life's goals had been a mere game for Isabelle, something to entertain herself with before her next luncheon.

Fuck! Her! I screamed in my head as I ripped my phone from my purse and dialed Liam.

When his gravelly voice said my name, I blurted out, "Let's do it. Let's get married."