Andie squealed with excitement. “Guys, a thousand times, yes. This sounds way better. Sam, you can tell me when I sound vapid, and I’ll rework it so the book appeals more to the ‘intellectual’ crowd.”
Eddie chuckled humorlessly. “Okay, we’re in agreement. But Andie? You have to promise us that the manuscript you deliver to the publisher will be the version we’ve vetted. Not a word different. I get that you’re going to want to editorialize, but if taking creative liberties poses problems for your case, there’s no point to any of this.”
Andie promised not a single word would go unvetted and that everything she sent to the publisher would be blessed by us.
Eddie rushed off to another meeting across town. The gallery opening was in three hours, and I hadn’t packed anything other than suits and athleisure. I packed up my laptop and walked to Nordstrom across the street. I found a simple black tea-length dress with pale-pink pumps, then zipped back to the hotel and spent an hour updating Andie’s case timeline before I took the elevator to meet Leo downstairs.
He arrived in a black car at 6:15 p.m. sharp in a navy suit and gray wool tie. I waited nervously as he got out and walked around to open the door for me.
This is just a work event,I told myself, feeling the butterflies in my stomach dictating otherwise. I needed to keep reminding myself that he was just as much my boss as Eddie.
The opening was a who’s who of LA’s high-end art scene, but I quickly realized Leo was the one person they all wanted to talk to. Everyone knew his clients fromVarietyor theLA Times. I felt like an invisible voyeur as I sipped champagne and moved from one group to the next.
“LA’s art doppelgängers try to measure up, but Manhattan culturati are just inherently superior,” a woman wearing a fitted leather jumpsuit quipped as she flashed Leo a smile. I took another sip and thought,I’ll never wear lipstick that well in my life.
“Alexandra, Samantha’s a rising star from our firm’s New York office, so I’m sure she’d agree with you.” He winked at me.
Alexandra skimmed me up and down as she lightly shook half of my hand. “Well, Samantha, you’re not in terrible company if you’re already working with Leo Hirschman,” she said approvingly. “Where do you live in New York?”
“In the West Village,” I answered, feeling a small sense of pride. It didn’t matter that my apartment was a shoebox with a bum stove. It was the West Village.
Leo seemed to have the inside scoop on every deal happening in Hollywood. He handed me another glass of champagne as we listened to a group of studio executives venting about the viability of the theatrical business.
“What about the studio that shall not be named? Is there any chance they rebound from last weekend’s $250 million flop?” one of them asked.
Leo scoffed. “It would have been cheaper to put all the film reels into Bob’s Aston Martin and push it off a cliff than to release that movie on twenty-five hundred screens.”
Everyone laughed as I caught the eye of the woman from earlier watching me closely. Something about the way she was looking at me made my face burn.
Suddenly, everything about the gallery opening—dressing up, Leo picking me up in a car, introducing me to everyone—seemed obvious. I looked like the girl on his arm. It felt like the contours of our working relationship had bent when we’d veered into personal territory the night before.
“I should get back to the hotel,” I whispered. I needed to regain ground.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, looking concerned.
I nodded. “I just have an early meeting tomorrow. And I think the late nights at the office might be catching up to me. But this was really fun. Thank you for inviting me. I can find my way back to the hotel,” I said, wishing for a more graceful exit.
I suddenly felt his hand on my lower back.
“Traveling between coasts is exhausting. I’ll wait outside with you until your car comes.”
I ordered an Uber, grateful that the car was only a minute away. I thanked him again for inviting me. He leaned in to hug me, and I felt him kiss my cheek.
“Good night,” I said quickly, hurrying into the Uber before my face caught fire. I could still feel the heat from his hand on my back.
I rolled down the window, my heart pounding anxiously.
There was no way he didn’t assume I had a crush on him. Every woman in that room seemed to know.
The inevitability of this all ending badly weighed heavily as I slid the hotel key into the door and kicked off my heels. I grabbed an Evian from the minifridge and sank onto the foot of the bed, staring at myself in the mirror opposite me. I wanted to jump out of my skin.
I jumped as my phone buzzed with a text.
Figured you’d appreciate this.
A picture of an empty Grand Central Station followed. It was after midnight in New York. The idea of Charlie burning the midnight oil in New York made me feel homesick.
I tapped the image with a heart emoji.
