A missing Mom and being alone in an unfamiliar city breakdown. “All I wanted to do was book a nice place for my friend and me so I can convince her to audition for a prime-time TV game show with me, prove to my ex that I’m not ridiculous, and be able to pay off my student loans. On top of that, the airline lost my luggage and my room smells like farts, so please,please, just give me the time of the reservation so I can go.”
He stares at me, blinking rapid-fire. It’s like he’s short-circuiting. But then, he clicks a pen, writes languidly on a piece of hotel stationery, and presses it down into my waiting hand. An olive branch.
“Finally,” I huff before I start crying from exhaustion. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. His job seems tough, this place seems awful, and maybe I was being snippy first.Maybe.I turn on my heel to go.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he calls after me.
My brow furrows as I wipe away the tears. “What?”
“A thank-you?” His sexy, alluring, infuriating smirk materializes once more.
“Why would you thank m—” Oh. Now I feel like a major ass. I gulp back my pride. “Thank you,” I say, head dipped in apology. I pivot once more and beeline toward the elevator bay, upset fizzling out in every step.
I won’t let my feelings get the best of me.
I adopt a new mantra: “Nothing else will go wrong on this trip.” I whisper it to myself repeatedly until I believe it.
Mostly.
Three
Alexia is two glasses of wine late.
I’d be able to calculate that better if I had carbed up on the charcuterie board in front of me before downing my first glass, propping up my nerves on heaven in a bottle, but I’m jet-lagged and didn’t have the foresight. I’m wine tipsy and still sitting alone.
As the minutes turn to a half hour or more, I start receiving pitying looks from my fellow diners out on the patio at this lush Spanish establishment where the outdoor seating spills into the street but is tastefully cut off from the traffic by tall plants. There are white flowers in a small vase on the table beside a lit candle, and I spend a while trying to decipher the type of flower it is—carnation? Chrysanthemum?
Just as I’m about to google it, I’m overwhelmed by a blur of movement in my periphery.
“Sorry, sorry!” comes a familiar voice.
When I turn, I spy Alexia snaking her way through the crowded tables trying not to hit anyone with a duffel bag. She’s got reddish-brown hair pulled back by a large clip, and she wears a scoop-necked red shirt and a pair of black leggings.Athleisure.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Alexia drops into the chair across from me, forehead dewy, and I can’t believe I spent major money on dressy trousers and a button-up when I could’ve worn my Fab Fitness Flair ensemble.
“Long time, no see! Sorry I’m late,” Alexia says. “I had to get a workout in because I have an audition in the morning, and I knew the gym would be closed by the time we finished, but then I lost track of time chatting with this new, really cute personal trainer named Stu—I know, Stu is kind of any icky name, but he was hot, I promise—and I haven’t seen a new hot guy since I boarded the cruise six months ago, so yeah, but I’m here and you look cute and I’m hungry.” It all comes out in a single breath before she helps herself to a heap of cheese.
“Wine?” I ask, holding out the bottle of red that I’ve been downing. It’s shaking in my tipsy grip.Keep it together, Holden, I think.
She declines. “No, I don’t want wine-face at my audition tomorrow.”
I should probably ask what wine-face is, but I go for the easier question instead. “What’s the audition for?”
“Some app-based trivia thing? I don’t know. My agent is sending me everything possible right now.” She fills her wineglass with water and gulps it down. “The cruise was a good experience, but now casting directors have completely forgotten about me. I’m just desperate to book something ASAP so I don’t get dropped.”
“Anything?” I ask, sensing my segue while pushing away my wine, which I need to be cautious with. I’ve still got my bearings right now, but if my bloodstream becomes entirely merlot, I might lose them.
She nods with her mouth full, hand politely covering her puffed-out lips. “I would take any credit for my résumé and any paycheck I could get at this point. Los Angeles is a dog-eat-dog world and, yeah, I saved a bunch while on the cruise ship but living here—living hereright,I mean—is expensive.”
I know byrightshe means stylishly, leading the life people go nuts over on IG. It’s nothing like where I’m at right now: heartbroken, trying my best, and looking for a financial lifeline. “What if I said I had an opportunity that could net you fifty thousand dollars?” Her eyebrows fly up. “Well, a bit less after taxes and everything, but yeah. It would come with a TV spot.”
“Tell me more,” she says, leaning in. Her hair nearly catches the flame from the candle between us. I scoot it out of the way. My luck she’d leave our tapas date singed to the root.
I fiddle with the bottle on my right. “Would you consider auditioning forMadcap Marketwith me?”
My question lands like a paperweight dropped from an impossible height. Her face contorts into an unnatural grimace. “Is that the show where people run around like children trying to grab coupons and stuff?”
