Free Tamed by You by Kate Perry Page B

mother's list, telling herself to be glad that her mom sounded like her normal self.

Chapter Ten
     
     
    Sophie tapped the pen against her lips, staring at her journal. "Something's not right."
    "No kidding." Julie poked her in the back. "Can you move your butt? I can't get to my mouse."
    "Sorry." She moved over from her perch on the counter. "You should really stop frowning like that. You'll get premature wrinkles. Botox can only do so much."
    Julie glared at her. "I hate this bookkeeping crap."
    "Then hire someone else to do it."
    "I can't afford it."
    Sophie could. She studied Julie and the lines on her forehead and made a mental note to call her accountant. "Drink some water."
    "What?" The florist looked at her like she was insane.
    "It'll counteract the damage you're doing to your skin."
    "What are you doing here?" Julie exclaimed, shoving the mouse aside. "Don't you have paparazzi waiting for you somewhere?"
    Fortunately, the paparazzi thought she was nursing her wounds in St. Barth’s rather than having a breakdown in San Francisco. She'd never been as grateful for Jeremy as she'd been this week. If everyone believed she was heartbroken, they'd never suspect it was actually her career she was wrecked over.
    Not that she had much of a career—not after the screen test she had yesterday.
    She'd flown to Los Angeles in the morning, read for Pal, and returned in the evening, no one the wiser. Now she had to wait for who knew how long to hear the verdict.
    Nerve-racking.
    Now wasn't the time to think about it. She faced Julie. "Focus on the issue here. I need help with my character."
    "Fine. I'll listen." Julie grabbed a bottle of water from her stash behind the counter and waved her hand. "But only because you won't leave me alone till I do. What's the problem?"
    "My heroine is kind of pathetic. She needs someone."
    "How about a beleaguered florist?" Julie said sarcastically. "Call her Julie."
    Already done, but Sophie pretended to think about it. "Actually, that's brilliant."
    Julie stopped, hands on her hips. "I think you've been lying to me. This isn't just therapy you're doing. You're writing something."
    Sophie closed her journal and gave her an innocent, wide-eyed look. "Me?"
    "You're using my shop as a mental ward–slash-office. The least you can do is tell me what you're doing. It's not like I have a direct line to The Enquirer ."
    "It's just the daily writing my therapist told me to do. I told you about it."
    "It's more than that," Julie said stubbornly. "It's like you're actually working on something. You come in here every day and spend hours sitting on my counter and scribbling in your book."
    An unpleasant thought occurred to her. "I know you grumble all the time, but I just assumed it was because of your natural surliness. Do you mind that I'm here?"
    "Why would I mind that some loony tunes actress is squatting in my shop?" Julie smiled sheepishly. "I've actually gotten used to your ass on my counter."
    Her heart warmed at the reluctant affection, and she had the urge to hug the skinny florist. But before she could decide whether to follow through on that impulse, her cell phone buzzed.
    Julie handed it to her with a roll of her eyes and busied herself in her work area.
    Sophie looked at the caller ID. Pal Greenland. Her insides clenched, but she put on a confident smile as she answered the call. He wouldn't be able to see it, but she knew he'd hear it in her voice. "Pal, darling, how's the new project coming along?"
    "Fine, fine." He cleared his throat. "I know you're eager to hear comments on your screen test."
    The only thing she wanted to hear was that she had the part, but she tucked the sarcasm away. She needed to be gracious right now. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to read, Pal."
    "My producers and I watched the reading and everyone was impressed. I didn't believe you'd be able to pull it off, Sophie, but you were actually good."
    She bit her lip to keep her caustic reply to herself.