"Cheers! To next week's release!" Renee was basically vibrating, clinking her glass against everything in sight.
Joey patted her head like she was twelve. "Pump the brakes, kiddo. We might be gone after one weekend. We only have 98 screens; anything under 2,000 isn't even considered wide. A thousand is what distributors give when they actually believe in something. Bluebird's just dipping a toe in the water. If the numbers suck, we're out in seven days."
Renee threw both hands in the air and started dancing to whatever was on the radio. "Relax! A week from now they'll be adding screens like crazy!"
The phone rang. Jack Hansen.
"Hey, small contract detail I need you to re-sign," he said, sounding rushed. "I'm running around and have a flight this afternoon, so can you swing by my hotel instead? Six o'clock work?"
"No problem. See you then."
He texted the address right after. The L.A. Grand; the most expensive hotel in the city.
Renee fake-gasped behind her. "Girl, book a room while you're there. Top-floor suites have a view of all West Hollywood and a freakin' waterfall spa!"
Joey rolled her eyes. "If I had that kind of money I wouldn't be taking the bus, Renee."
She found the least wrinkled blouse she owned, threw on some mascara, and headed out.
A month to go before Juno opened, and she was already seeing posters at bus stops; one of the three official one-sheets. Rebecca and the kid stacked vertically, bright colors, warm vibe. Joey stood there grinning like an idiot for a solid three minutes. This one she'd clawed out of the dirt with her own hands; no Hughes, no shortcuts. Exhausting, terrifying, but hers.
She got to the hotel, took the elevator to the 40th floor, and stepped into total hush; the kind of quiet that costs five figures a night.
Jack's room. She rang the bell. Nothing.
Rang again. Finally, footsteps; expensive shoes on carpet.
The door opened.
Not Jack.
Tom Cruise.
All the air left Joey's lungs.
He was in a charcoal-black shirt with light-gray placket buttons, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearm, gray slacks hugging a body that clearly never skipped the gym. Hair short, soft, a little tousled. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
"You're here for Jack?" he asked, eyes flicking over her face and landing on hers.
She snapped out of her daze. "Uh; yes. Mr. Hansen."
He flashed that quick, lethal smile. "I'm waiting on him too."
"Oh. I; I can come back."
"No, come in." He pulled the door wider.
The suite was ridiculous; fireplace roaring, floor-to-ceiling windows, the whole city glittering below.
Joey stepped inside like she was trespassing, hyper-aware of her slightly dirty sneakers on the pristine carpet. She picked a chair, sat, immediately started fake-fixing her hair to look busy.
He'd been watching her since the second she walked in.
He knew she was nervous; not star-struck-nervous, more like "I don't belong in this zip code" nervous. That kind of insecurity was familiar.
He hadn't thought much of her until he heard James Cameron himself had raved about the cut at Bluebird and pushed for the pickup. That got his attention. Then he watched the movie.
Now he was curious.
How does a girl with a tabloid rap sheet, famous for partying and crashing, come back from the gutter and make something this gentle, this precise?
He walked to the bar, back to her. "Something to drink?"
She was still half-convinced this was a prank. "Anything. No alcohol, please."
He poured a Perrier, every move smooth, polite. "This is all I've got, sorry."
"That's perfect, thank you."
He sat on the opposite couch, one ankle crossed over the other knee, easy smile dialed to eleven. "Born and raised in L.A.?"
"Yes."
"You started really young, right?"
"Yes."
He laughed softly. "That all you've got; yes and no?"
The smile was vintage Cruise; warm, a little retro, the kind that makes you feel like you just became best friends and confessed your deepest secrets in the same breath. The kind that disappears the second the director yells cut, leaving you emotionally wrecked for six months.
She swallowed. "Sorry. I'm… a little out of my depth."
He tilted his head. "I watched Juno. Doesn't feel like something you threw together on a whim. Feels like you'd been carrying it a long time."
She met his eyes for real this time. "I have."
He nodded slowly, like that answer told him more than any speech could.
Then he just looked at her; quiet, curious, waiting.
The fireplace crackled. Outside, the city kept shining.
And for the first time in years, Joey felt like someone was actually seeing her; not the headlines, not the screw-ups; just her.