FLASHBACK: A supermodel on the casting couch.

"I'm pretty nervous," Maudie wrote in her text to Sarah.

"Why? You're a supermodel! What is he, a fifty year old film nerd? You'll have him eating out of your hand in no time," was Sarah's response. Always the supportive friend. It actually did help Maisie feel a little bit better.

She was a Victoria's Secret model for fuck's sake! If she had the guts to go out on the catwalk in front of thousands in person and watching on TV, she could handle Dennis Bon, no doubt about it.

His secretary had told her that the director was running a few minutes late, so Maisie was sitting in a luxurious chair outside his office that was more comfortable than most of the furniture in her actual apartment. She didn't know what to make of that, or what to make of the fact that he had apparently decided it wasn't worth his time to show up when he had agreed to meet her. Every second that passed made her a little more anxious, so she kept going over Sarah's words in her head.

She had been the premiere model at the VSFS lingerie walk last year. Maisie Dalton could handle a director being a little late. Men in Hollywood were all the same.