Post by AYLA RIVERA on Jan 27, 2017 23:13:00 GMT
"Your boyfriend must have the patience of Saint Maria with you popping off like that all of the time in between chattering incessantly."
Boyfriend? She opened her mouth to reply but then immediately clamped it shut again. Oh no, she wasn’t about to take that bait. She would rather stick pins in her eyes than let him in on the fact that she had up and left her (now ex) back in Los Angeles. He’d love more ammo.
“You leave Brad Pitt out of this,” she warned dryly.
"You realize there's this thing called silence, si?"
Ayla forced a laugh, shaking her head. She reached for her purse which sat discarded at her feet, knowing full well that she would rather make hundreds of people angry at her than sit there and take abuse from River Ashford for a minute longer. She didn’t need her doctor’s note that bad.
"So you're an actress. How on earth do you expect to handle interview questions if you can't handle those hurled at you in a waiting room?"
Ayla stopped as still as a statue as she took in what he was saying. His voice was now such a sharp contrast from what it had been moments ago that she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him now. Her guard still up, her glare still burned strong.
"Come on get it together. Deep breath. Focus. Straighten your posture at least."
Ayla hated herself for automatically following his instructions. She gave up gathering her jacket and drew in a slow breath, her eyes closing briefly as she tried to slow down her heart rate. It was like a guru experience of some kind; a spiritual undertaking. And it killed her.
“Always process what someone is saying before you run at the mouth. Gives you time to second guess your response which people are going to perceive a thousand different negative ways so you might as well be careful about it."
Her brown eyes flickered open, and Ayla tilted her head to the side as she studied him carefully. She was confused - still furiously angry with him, but also seriously intrigued by him as well. He wasn’t boring, she’d give him that.
"Now.. They're casting a role on the show I am in. A babysitter. Don't ask me why. I didn't read the whole script I just heard them jabbing but it'll fit your age range at least from what I can tell looking at you. I'll put in a good word."
A babysitter. Typecast for how young she looked, yet again. Although, the mention of working on a TV sitcom again did strike her as interesting, if only because she missed her own show so much - she’d been doing nothing but movies for years, and getting back in to television was one of the main reasons she moved to New York. Her agent would like it as well.
“Thank you, but why the hell would you make the effort to put in a good word for me?” she asked in confusion, embers of anger still burning behind her words but they were admittedly dying fast. She really and truly did not understand what was going on. “Pretty sure you actually hate me.”