So why now? Why this one?
Noah shook his head. It didn’t matter why. It only mattered that he get it. One way or another.
‘What will it take to convince him?’ he asked.
‘That you can play the best friend?’
‘No.’
Tessa sighed. ‘Look, Noah, I think they’ve already got someone in the frame for Marcus—and no, before you ask, I don’t know who. They’re being cagey, though, so that probably means someone big.’
‘Someone they’re not sure of, or they’d be telling everyone.’
‘Maybe. Why does this matter so much to you?’ Tessa asked. ‘I mean, you’ve been perfectly happy for years playing the big budget hero, the action guy or whatever.’
‘You mean as a more looks than talent kind of actor,’ Noah translated. He’d heard the talk as well as she had.
‘You said it, not me. But yeah. So what’s changed?’
Noah sank back against the pillows on the four-poster bed, trying to find the right words. ‘It’s...it’s this script. I mean, I knew I was ready for a change. It’s been seven years since...’ Since he’d taken a part that made him look too deep, search too far to find the character. Since he’d done anything more than drift through his roles without having to think too much about the emotions behind them. Since he’d risked feeling at all.
‘Since what happened to Sally.’ Tessa was one of the few people who knew that story. One of the many reasons Noah had stuck with her as his agent even after he had agencies banging on his door wanting to sign him.
‘Yeah. But it’s more than that. There’s something about this script, Tess.’ Something that made his heart race, made him want to reach for something more, something better, something deeper, for the first time in a long time. ‘The way it talks about the human condition, about loss, and connection and love...’
‘I know,’ Tessa said quietly. ‘That was why I was surprised you want to do it. They’re usually exactly the things you try to avoid.’
That was the problem with having the same agent for almost a decade. They got to know you—and your weaknesses—too well.
‘Yeah, well, maybe it’s time for a change.’ In career terms, if not personally.
‘Okay, be honest. Is this about that interview last month?’
‘You know I don’t let those things get to me.’ Even if they had said that his films were getting more brainless by the season.
‘That one would get to anyone. There’s no shame in wanting to make better movies, Noah.’
‘Exactly!’ Better movies. That was the goal. And totally achievable without opening himself up to all the things he’d built walls against years before. ‘So you’ll get me the part?’
‘I’ll get you a video call with the director,’ Tessa corrected. ‘That’s the most I can do. Then it’s up to you. But you’re really going to have to blow them away.’ The warning was clear in her voice. They didn’t want him for the part. If he wanted it...he’d have to show them they couldn’t do it right without him.
‘I will.’
‘I mean it. This part needs real feeling and—’
‘You don’t think I can do it,’ Noah realised. ‘And here I thought agents were supposed to be an actor’s biggest cheerleader.’
‘I can dig out the skirt and pom-poms if you like.’ Tessa sighed again. ‘Look, I know you used to be able to do it. That’s why I signed you.’
‘And I thought it was for my pretty face.’
‘That too,’ she admitted. ‘But mostly it was your talent. The way you connected with an audience. But these days... Noah, you don’t even connect with the women you sleep with. Be honest. Do you really think you can do this? Look deeper inside yourself and find all that good stuff I haven’t seen in years?’
Could he? Noah wasn’t sure. ‘Honestly, I’m not even sure those parts are still there.’
‘Well, if you want this role, you better hope they are.’
‘You’ll get me the video call?’
‘I’ll get you the call,’ Tessa promised. ‘The rest is up to you. But Noah...’
‘What?’
‘Your acting ability wasn’t Stefan’s only concern,’ Tessa said.
‘It should be the only thing that matters,’ Noah shot back. ‘So what? What else?’
‘He doesn’t...how did he put it?’ Tessa took a breath and started again. ‘Stefan wants the film to be the focus, the thing everyone is talking about. Not your love life.’
‘I don’t have a love life,’ Noah pointed out.
He hadn’t been in love since Sally died. How could he be?
‘You have women. Lots of women, whether you love them or not.’
‘I don’t.’ Why did he have to say it? Tessa already knew. But somehow it felt important to be clear. As if he’d be betraying Sally if he let there be any doubt.
And he already had enough guilt to deal with, knowing he hadn’t lived up to being the best friend that she needed.
‘You go out with a lot of women and you’re seen doing it. People take photos. The photos show up in magazines, on the Internet, and people talk about them.’ Tessa’s words were clipped, her tone impatient. ‘You know this, Noah, and you know the effect it has. Don’t be obtuse.’
‘The effect it has? The way it drives up ticket sales, you mean?’ Because being seen, getting out there, that was as much a part of his job as showing up and playing a part. In some ways it felt like just another part he was playing: Noah Cross, Film Star.
‘Not this time,’ Tessa said. ‘This isn’t the sort of film you’re used to, Noah. Stefan wants people talking about the meaning, the theme, the soul of the film. Not who you’re sleeping with tonight.’
‘So you’re saying, take the part and give up sex?’ Because if that was the case... No, he still wanted the part.
‘I’m saying, try a little discretion for once. Okay?’
Discretion. That he could do. ‘Fine.’
For a moment, Noah had an image of bright red hair and sparkling eyes. Eloise. With her arresting beauty, she was anything but discreet. Anyone would remember seeing him with her.
Apparently, this wedding had just got a whole lot less fun.
‘I’ll be discreet,’ he promised. ‘I’ll be so discreet you won’t even know I’m here.’
Tessa snorted. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’
* * *
By late afternoon, Eloise felt as if her feet might fall off. She’d known the high heels were a mistake. Normally she wore low wedges or boots, but today she’d felt the need for something a little smarter. They weren’t even all that high—certainly lower and more sensible than Melissa’s expensive spike-heeled boots—but apparently running around Morwen Hall in them all day had beaten her feet into submission. She was ready to retire to the tiny bedrooms they kept for staff members working big events and soak her feet in the not quite full-size bath for an hour or two. Preferably while eating chocolate and sipping red wine.
But, instead,