Trashed by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781941098202
Amazon: 1941098207
Publisher: Seth Clarke
Published: 2014-11-24T08:00:00+00:00

* * *

Gareth is pissed as hell at me, but I don’t even care. We’re supposed to be leaving for London tomorrow, and I’m in Detroit right now. We finished the studio portion of filming, and now we’re doing the location shoots. London, Prague, and then Tokyo. I’m supposed to be with the rest of the cast, supposed to be doing the cold read-throughs. But instead, I’m in the registration office of Wayne State University, trying to hunt down a particular black-haired beauty.

I’ve spent the month since the charity dinner trying to act like I’ve moved on from Des, but I can’t fool even myself. I keep thinking about her, dreaming about her. Even Gareth noticed something has been off with me, and he’s typically oblivious to pretty much everything unless it’s film-related.

Rose finally dragged me offset and took me out for drinks and told me—in so many words—to quit being a fucking pussy and go find her.

So here I am.

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the counter is older, with graying brown hair and tired eyes. She doesn’t seem to recognize me.

“Hi. I’m trying to find a friend of mine who I think is a student here.”

“Name?”

“Des. Des Ross.”

She taps at the keyboard for a few seconds. “She’s not registered. I have her in our system, but it doesn’t look like she’s registered for classes this semester.”

“Do you have an address or phone number you could give me?”

The woman peers at me over the rims of her reading glasses. “I’m sorry, I don’t, and even if I did, I couldn’t give that information out to you.” She squints. “Do I know you?”

Am I above using my fame to find Des? Hell no. “You might,” I say, wanting her to recognize me but not wanting to make a scene.

She taps her finger on the desk, and I can see her putting two and two together. “I do. My grandson dragged me to some shoot-em-up movie. Was that you?”

“It may have been. I’ve done some acting.” I lean close, crossing my arms on the desk and whispering conspiratorially. “Look, ma’am. This is important. Des and I…lost touch, and I’m trying desperately to find her. Is there anything you can do to help me?”

The woman clicks her mouse, types something into the keyboard, glancing at me every once in a while. After a moment, I hear a printer whirring, and she stretches to grab the sheet of paper that spits out. She grabs a pen from a cup, and slides the pen and paper toward me; I take it, seeing that she’s printed out a promo shot of me from Fulcrum.

“What’s your grandson’s name?”

“Dan.”

I scrawl in the white border above the picture: Dan, you have an awesome grandma. Thanks for watching! And then I sign my name, large and messy, above my head. I hand her the picture, and she reads the note, and then gives me a look that is equal parts sour, amused, and flattered.

“Well, Mr. Trenton. Do you know Ruth Nicholson?”

“Yeah, I met her once.

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