May 9th, 1997
Today was supposed to be a good day.That’s exactly what I told myself when I woke up early, took a shower, and even went to the gym.My self-help workbook said it was a great day to accomplish something.
Which is why I decided that today was a good day to say, “Let’s get my career back.”
Except it seems I was wrong.When I called my old agent, his assistant informed me—without an ounce of hesitation or fake sympathy—that he’d be too busy for the next twenty to thirty years.Obviously, I got the hint, hung up, and decided to check what Connor Dempsey had to offer.He never followed up after our phone conversation, but maybe he was still interested.
What did I find out?
Bernice, his loyal companion, informed me that he’s been out for weeks.He had a stroke, and he had someone new in charge of all his accounts.She apologized profusely for not reaching out, but it’s been crazy while her boss recovers—because he’ll recover.
He will recover.She said it as if she’d punch death in the throat if it even tried to get too close to her boss.
She ushered me toward Connor’s private office while she figured out what to do with me.She said the “right person” was already reviewing things.That didn’t make sense—especially since I haven’t signed shit.
Since my goal is to figure out my career, I stayed.A few minutes later, I heard some commotion outside the office.I stepped out and saw a woman next to Bernice who clearly didn’t like being asked about me.
Kit Dempsey.
Not the girl I remembered.
The woman.All curves and cool contempt.Dressed in black.Slick ponytail.She looked at me like I was gum stuck to the bottom of her Louboutins.Like just breathing the same air as me was beneath her, and she’s hoping I disappear.
Correction: she’s not hoping I disappear.She’s waiting to make it happen.
It’s obvious that she hates me—I deserve that much for what I did.Though I would like to start with an apology, this isn’t the place, is it?
“Kit, I need to know where I’m standing.”There, that’s a sensible thing to say.
“She’ll take care of you,” Bernice butts in, and I can sense Kit’s annoyance.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she says something like, “Fuck off, Bernice.”
Surprisingly, Kit takes a long breath.“Why don’t we go inside to discuss your ...career?”Her voice is velvet dipped in venom.
The way she says career, like the word physically repulses her.It stings.I glance at Bernice, thinking something along the lines of, “Is there anyone else who can help me?Anyone who won’t try to crucify me with a look?”
Kit Dempsey is going to tell me I’m a washed-up sellout who doesn’t deserve redemption.And I’m not sure I can hear that from her.Not today.
She walks past me, hips swaying like taunts, pushes the door open, waits for me to follow, and then closes it behind us.
Click.
“Why are you here, Roderick?”she asks, her voice cool and businesslike as she drops her oversized backpack onto the leather chair.
She pulls out a clunky black laptop, then flips it open with a sigh.It hums to life with a low whir, like it’s already annoyed to be working.“I don’t have much time to waste, so whatever this is, say it now.”
“Just like that?”I blink.“Your father was begging me to sign, and now you’re ...what exactly are you doing?”
She moves the backpack and lowers into the big chair like she owns the world.Her palms press against the desk, the tension in her arms so controlled it’s erotic.Then she pins me with that stare—the one that used to undo me in bed, in hallways, in every fucking place we once touched.
“Me?”Her voice could cut glass.Calm.Low.Maddening.“I’m working.You?Still not sure.”
“Your father promised me my career back.”
She laughs.A breathy, cruel little sound that brushes my skin like a slap.“He did, huh?”
“I’m serious.”I try to sound firm.Like I have it all figured out.
