In this room sat the best of the best. Surrounding her were Dani’s idols since she was twelve. Actors, writers, editors, producers—all of them here. And somehow, inexplicably, she now sat among them. It was humbling.

It was terrifying.

Dani had been pitching screenplays for five years now. She knew that she had zero business complaining about those years. Most writers in LA had toiled for a lot longer than Dani to get half as far. She was grateful—blissfully so. And as hard as she’d worked, she also had to acknowledge that in many ways she had gotten lucky. Right place. Right time. Right director. Right studio. All the people that had been willing to take a shot on her. Because they’d read the work and, in spite of her lack of experience, believed in her.

Well. And because Jonathan Jacobs radiated genius and the studios would bend themselves into pretzels to keep him around.

Maybe Jonathan is the real reason for my success.

The familiar whisper in the back of her head cut into her thoughts. Dani pushed it away. No. I did this. I had help, but I worked very hard and I deserve to enjoy this moment.

She had no idea if she’d ever get one like it again.

Glitzy celebrities dotted the crowd seated in front of her as a wired camera swung in a wide arc above them. Music swelled from the orchestra near the stage and Dani swallowed past the lump in her throat as applause broke out. They were back from commercial.

The hosts—two comediennes with excellent rapport—strode onto the stage, smiling and riffing off one another to introduce the next award presenter. Best Original Screenplay.

Her category.

The audience applauded the hosts offstage and Dani noticed that her hands were shaking. She gripped the acceptance speech she’d been encouraged to write with sweaty palms, glancing over at her date, manager, and best friend Beth, who had her shark-like gaze locked on the stage. Beth had forced her to write the thing and Dani belatedly wondered if she’d even be able to read the page since she’d smudged all the words with her gross, damp hands. It was comforting that there was no way she’d win.

No need to embarrass herself further.

Preoccupied thinking about her smudgy speech, Dani nearly missed the handsome actor that walked from behind the curtain to the slender microphone on stage. She wasn’t sure how that was even possible—taller than almost every actor she’d ever met, he had rough-hewn features and a heavy brow that cast his eyes in shadow. It took her a moment to place him before mentally snapping in recognition—that’s right, she’d seen him in a slew of action movies over the past few years. Noisy shoot-em-up blockbusters with explosions and guns and lots of yelling. Not really her bag, she was more of a drama and comedy sort of girl, but they’d clearly been successful if they kept making them.

The actor took a deep breath before speaking into a camera somewhere over Dani’s head, his voice even and deep with the pleasing twang of an Australian accent.

Dani suppressed a cringe. It didn’t take a writer to know that the lines they had given him weren’t very good. Stilted and poorly paced, the words sat awkwardly in his mouth, the tone of the whole introduction strange and overly formal. The writers clearly hadn’t considered the accent of the person speaking—some of the phrasing felt entirely wrong coming from his lips. The end had the air of a joke to it, but the actor either didn’t find it funny or didn’t understand that it was supposed to be a joke, his tone flat and emotionless.

The kiss of death for a comedy writer—a lack of enthusiasm.

Dani grimaced involuntarily as the crowd tittered around her, gritting her teeth against her irritation on behalf of the show’s writers. They’d worked hard on the show, the very least the guy could do was give it some real effort.

At least try, Sir Shoots-A-Lot. It’s not Shakespeare, but work with it.

But the moment ended as soon as it began, and Shoots-A-Lot turned to the giant screen behind him, where clips from each of the nominations began to play. Dani wrung her shaking hands once before she felt one settle on top of hers, stilling the motion. Meeting Beth’s eyes, her manager gave her a smile and a firm, encouraging nod. “Smile and try to relax,” she said through her teeth, ever the professional. It was what Dani needed though, centering her enough that she could blow out a breath and watch the other nominations.

Her movie appeared second to last in the nomination list. Her name—Daniela Hendrix— animated onto the screen along with the film’s title, Periscope. The familiar—and her favorite—scene began on screen, the leading actress’s face dominating the shot. Brienne cried messily in the clip, but she delivered her lines with strength. Dani’s chest swelled with pride—Bree brought her words to life in a way she could never have imagined. Shooting Periscope had been hard on Bree. Even though the film was a dark comedy, she was a beautiful woman and had looked her very worst in the film, nearly unrecognizable. But she had delivered an incredible performance in the end, well worth her own Oscar nod.

A rush of applause rolled over the audience as the scene ended and the last nomination aired. Terror struck anew and Dani gritted her teeth, just wishing for the moment to be over. Seeing her own words on screen, in front of all of these people… it made everything too big. Too real. It could happen, it was so close. And she didn’t feel ready.

Dani was happy just to be nominated. She really was. But until this moment, she hadn’t realized how badly she wanted to win. Beth had drilled it into her head, like a mantra. If you win, you’ll be the first Latina woman to win Original Screenplay. First. Latina. Woman. The concept was beyond her comprehension.

And she wanted it. So badly.

The last clip ended, followed by applause. Oh no. It was time.

Sir Shoots-A-Lot turned back to the microphone with the dreaded gold, embossed envelope in his hand, pulling it open with strong fingers.

He cleared his throat, “And the Oscar goes to…”

Dani wished that time had stopped then, so that she could have a moment to think through the whole film and her process writing it. To think about all the things that had gotten her there, or about her dad, watching from his couch at home. But fear gripped her and she clutched Beth’s hand way too hard and she focused so intensely on trying not to hurl that the moment passed instantly.

The actor looked up from the envelope. “Periscope. Daniella Hendrix.”

Applause erupted. The orchestra swelled.

Dani blinked. “Holy shit.”

Beth yanked Dani physically to her feet—damn she was strong for such a tiny woman—and pulled her into a tight, brutal hug. Dani could barely hear her over the sound of the applause. “Smile. Right now. You won. You’ve made history. This is incredible. The best thing ever.” She pulled back and spoke through gritted, grinning teeth. “But you have to give a speech. Go. Now. I’ll meet you backstage.” Dani nearly stumbled when Beth physically pushed her away and into the aisle, nodding encouragingly.

Interestingly enough, the fear that she might fall flat on her face snapped Dani awake. She laughed, unable to contain the sudden rush of endorphins as she turned to walk down the aisle to the stage. Brienne rushed forward to hug her with tight arms when Dani passed her seat five or six rows down the aisle. She gripped the smaller woman’s shoulders for a moment before moving on, shaking the hands of a couple of people that Dani knew she should recognize but couldn’t process.

Jonathan, who sat at the front with his wife and the other mega-famous, met her in the aisle as she reached the front of the stage, kissing Dani on the cheek in his dapper way.

He gripped her shoulder, grinning widely. “I’m so proud of you, now get up there and talk until they kick you off the stage.”

She couldn’t suppress a shrill giggle at that and climbed the final stairs as quickly as felt safe, hating her shoes as she approached the microphone.

For some reason, in the twenty seconds since Dani’s name had been called, she’d completely forgotten about Shoots-A-Lot. She blinked as she approached him, stunned in spite of herself. He was somehow even taller and more intimidating up close. And better looking too, which hardly seemed fair.

Stepping forward, he very quickly scanned her up and down before offering a hand in congratulations, his lips pulling back in a smile that seemed strained. Surprised by his obvious perusal, Dani took his hand awkwardly, abruptly reminded of her clammy palms as his fingers encapsulated hers. His hand comically dwarfed hers. It occurred to her that his massive hands were a lot rougher than any other actors she’d met. Did all action stars have rough hands? She wouldn’t know.

As if hearing her bizarre train of thought, the actor’s stiff smile relaxed, the expression immediately more authentic, before releasing her hand… and handing Dani her Oscar.

The statue was heavy and the actor’s eyes were a lovely shade of green.

Dani was jerked from the moment when he blinked and released the statue, backing away to leave her in front of the microphone. Alone.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she looked out at the crowd of strangers and celebrities, grateful that she still gripped her forced acceptance speech.

Looking down at the regrettably smudged words, Dani ran through the list of names she wanted to thank, her voice shaky even to her own ears. At some point, after she swapped to Spanish and thanked her dad, she started sniffing back inescapable tears of happiness and gratitude, adrenaline making her gesture wildly with her new gold-plated boyfriend. The magnitude of the moment—first Latina woman to ever win this category—wasn’t lost on her, the air in her lungs catching every time she took a breath.

Insistent and unsubtle, the orchestra started to play behind her, cutting off her effusive thanks. Dani barked a laugh that she couldn’t restrain, gesturing to one of the cameramen nearby. “Well! I think that’s my cue. Back to the good-looking people you came here to see.” She grinned as she turned to walk offstage, soaking in the good-natured laughter and applause.

A very pretty, very artificial-looking model stepped forward to lead Dani and the presenter off the stage, her smile brittle as she ushered them away as fast as the blonde’s stilettos could carry her. The woman eyed the actor with barely-concealed interest, flipping her hair as she led them offstage.

Noticing her stiffness, Dani reached to pat the girl on the arm as they exited together, “Thanks. You’re doing great!”

The moment they exited the camera’s shot, the model’s smile dropped, looking past her toward Shoots-A-Lot. The woman’s gaze sharpened on the actor. “Oh shut up,” she sneered at Dani, flouncing away, all long limbs and bad attitude.

Dani snorted a laugh, remarking to no one, “Well, that was rude.” Shrugging, she looked down at her shiny new Oscar, holding the small man up close to her face. “You aren’t even as grouchy as her, and your name is Oscar.” She snickered at her own joke, her nerves still running at top speed. She felt dizzy.

“Are you talking to the statue?”

The words, colored by a pronounced Australian accent, were spoken very close by and Dani jerked, snapping her head up.

Sir Shoots-A-Lot stood directly in front of her, casual as could be, hands slid into his tux pockets. He stared down at Dani intently. The smirk from earlier flirted at his lips, his green eyes sparkling.

God, he’s gorgeous. Dani would never get used to Hollywood types. Their good looks were blinding—their charisma too intimidating. It was like they lived in their own orbit, giant planets amongst tiny rocks. Their gravity pulled everyone and everything towards them.

It was intimidating to be faced with that kind of presence.

Dani blinked up at his absurdly masculine face for a long moment before remembering that he had asked her a question. “What? Oh! Well, sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

He blinked, his brows pulling together. “Talk to a statue?”

Dani nodded, her mouth moving before her brain could convince her otherwise. “Sure! He is my new boyfriend, after all. It’d be a terrible start to our relationship not to talk to him. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m not interested.”

Shoots-A-Lot scratched his ever-so-perfectly-scruffy chin, nodding sagely. “Well. They do say that communication is important in new relationships.”

Dani barked an unexpected laugh. So Shoots-A-Lot was funny, what a surprise. Inexplicably pleased that he’d played along, she nodded primly, “Exactly. I’m glad you understand.” Shoots-A-Lot continued to peer down at her, looking very comfortable with the abrupt silence.

Unaccustomed to this kind of focused attention—certainly not from someone that looked like him anyway—Dani laughed awkwardly and glanced around, unsure of where she was supposed to go. She finally caught sight of Beth waving excitedly and insistently down the hall, a small group with the telltale sign of press badges hovering behind her.

Dani blinked, glancing back up at Shoots-A-Lot. “Oh. Uh. Well, I think I should go. I think my manager needs me for something.”

Shoots-A-Lot nodded, sliding his hands into his tux pockets. “Sure.” He didn’t move, just kept peering down at her, perfectly at ease.

Okay. Dani forced herself to turn away from him, starting in Beth’s direction. He turned down the hall towards her, belatedly calling after her. “Congratulations by the way. I enjoyed Periscope.”

For some reason, the compliment took her off guard. Sure, the movie had done well—far better than the studio had expected—but for some reason Dani had just assumed Shoots-A-Lot only watched, well, shoot-a-lot movies. Which was absurd. Smiling, Dani waved her Oscar in a heavy wave, thanking him before walking away. It took everything she had not to look back and catch a last glimpse of his too-good-looking face and faint smile. She shook her head to herself, thinking that she felt his eyes on her back and immediately dismissing it as her imagination.

Trying to shake the residual nerves, Dani finally reached Beth, who had a very familiar manic look about her. Her manager gaped at her, her eyes betraying her elation. “Dani. Were you just flirting with Damian Rivers?”

Oh! That was Sir Shoots-A-Lot’s name. Damian Rivers. Dani wasn’t sure how she could have forgotten—it was plastered all over LA.

And Beth still stared at her expectantly. She swallowed hard, “I—well. No, of course not. He just congratulated me, that’s all.” She chose not to mention the joke about the statue being her boyfriend. That was stupid and clearly… something else completely.

Her manager gave Dani that narrow eyed look she gave executives sometimes. The one that made them nervous, “A. Huh. Sure, just congratulating. That definitely explains the whole smoldering thing he had going for you.”

What? Smoldering? Dani scoffed, immediately dismissive, “Beth. Come on, he’s an actor. I’m sure he does that to everyone.” A part of her found it embarrassing that a good looking man had possibly flirted with her and she hadn’t even noticed. It had been a long time since she’d dated, sure, but was she that oblivious?

It didn’t really matter right now. Beth was being ridiculous. He was an international action star, and she wrote dialog-heavy dramedies. They’d never cross paths again and that was absolutely for the best.

Beth raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t think so. He dates every now and then, I suppose, but you never see him flirting with them, he has a pretty chilly reputation. Especially after the whole Nadia Volkov affair—what a mess that was, let me tell you—”

Dani rolled her eyes. The path of least resistance was easiest when dealing with Beth. “Yes, yes, you are the expert. If you say he smoldered at me, it simply must be true. I think I’ll plan for a summer wedding. Can we go now? I need a drink before we go back to our seats.”

Her manager brightened immediately, raising her arms in a victory stance that nearly took out Dani’s eye. “Dani, darling, you get as many drinks as you want tonight!” She cut a glance to the group waiting expectantly behind her, “Right after these teensy interviews. Or did you forget you just made history?”