Choices
Copyright© 2025 by DB86
Chapter 11
Never in her life had Melissa felt so out of control, so overwhelmed, so ... angry. Tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks.
She should be able to decide whether or not she wanted to make a movie. It should be up to her what she wanted to do with her life. If she wanted to take a year off and travel around the world, she should be able to do just that. It was her prerogative.
But apparently, it was not. She was owned by her agent, her manager, and her publicist. By directors, producers, and screenwriters who depended on her. By the public. And by the damned press.
Everyone wanted a piece of her.
“You can’t be enslaved to anyone else unless you allow it to happen,” her mother told her when she shared her thoughts with her.
Melissa opened up an app on her phone and composed an e-mail to her manager, publicist, and agent.
I’m sending all of you this e-mail to let you know that I’ll be out of LA for a while. How long? I can’t tell right now. I have to take care of some personal matters. Very personal matters.
Please don’t come looking for me. Let me have this time to sort out my thoughts and find my footing. I need to be away from everyone until I can get my head right. Please understand.
She paused, feeling the desperation in her words, and she knew she needed to end this e-mail with strength. Remembering that her agent, manager, and publicist worked for her, and not the other way around, she packed her closing punch.
If you don’t respect my wishes, you’ll only make this situation worse and you’ll force me to look for a new team of people who have my best interests in mind. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.
Before she could second-guess herself or change her mind, she sent the text.
At that moment, Lindsey came back with the good news.
“Spencer agreed to have dinner with us,” she informed her sister.
“That’s great! Tell him to text me the details about the day and the time he wants me at his place.”
Lindsey made a noise of disapproval. “Don’t you think it would be better if we cook a nice meal for him?”
“I can’t cook to save my life and you know it,” Melissa bit her lower lip. “What’s wrong with me going to his place?”
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