“Am I not also an Everwood?” Jordan asked.
Astrid met her eyes then. Searched for some softness, but she didn’t find it. All business it was, then. “Yes, but you’re not the one who signed my advance check, nor, I’m assuming, the one who will sign my final check when all is said and done.”
Jordan’s mouth dropped open, her tongue popping out to lick at her full lower lip. Astrid had to force herself not to follow its path. She turned back to Natasha, who was watching them both with a hand over her mouth and—Astrid frowned—adelightedexpression in her eyes.
“This is perfect,” Natasha said, then slapped Emery’s arm gently. “Don’t you think this is perfect?”
“Perfect,” Emery said, their light brown eyes all but glowing. “This will make for very interesting television.”
“Sorry,” Astrid said, shaking her head. “What?”
Natasha waved her hand between Astrid and Jordan. “This tension between you. This... shall we say, light enmity? It’s gorgeous.”
“Gorgeous.” Astrid could only blink.
Natasha nodded, then pressed her hands together like she was praying. “I pride myself on authenticity. I don’t like to fabricateemotions on screen, and I won’t censor my own from this point forward. But... well, we’re running a show here. And conflict sells.”
“Meaning...” Jordan said, a question in her tone.
“Meaning don’t hold back,” Natasha said. “Feel what you feel. I would say play up this tension, even, but that’s up to you. It sounds like there might be enough here already to make this whole process very intriguing. Lead carpenter—an Everwood, no less—and lead designer at odds.”
“We’re not at odds,” Astrid said.
“It’s delicious,” Natasha said, apparently ignoring Astrid’s protest. “All I’m saying is lean into it.”
Bile rose up Astrid’s throat. This could not be happening. This was not how she conducted business. She went in, did her job, and got out. She didn’t engage in drama. She barely let her emotions into a project at all. They clouded judgment and had no place in a professional relationship.
“Look,” she said, ready to explain why this was absolutely not going to work for her. “I don’t think—”
“I’m in,” Jordan said, shooting Astrid a sideways glance. “Let’s do this.”
THAT EVENING, ASTRIDhad barely locked up the Bright Design offices at promptly five o’clock when her phone started buzzing with texts in the group chat.
Stella’s, anyone? Jillian and I are already here.
Iris. Of course it was Iris, beckoning them to Bright Falls’s only bar for a night of bad country music and beer.
I’m in, Claire texted.Plus we need to hear about Astrid’s big day!
As long as there’s bourbon, Delilah chimed in.
Of course there’s bourbon, baby, Claire said.
You say that like it’s a matter of course, but I distinctly recall Stella’s running out of Bulleit back in October, Delilah said.It was a dark day.
BYOB, Del, Iris said.
To a bar?Delilah asked.The audacity.
Claire sent a laugh-crying emoji while Astrid watched the words fill up her screen. She knew her friends wanted to see her, wanted to know how the shoot and meeting Natasha Rojas went, but as she dug into her bag for her keys, the idea of sitting in a noisy bar and reliving her shitty day word for word—particularly that the coffee woman ended up being Jordan Everwood—felt like an anvil on her chest.
She got into her car and started her drive home without replying. She had to think of how to play this, because if she hinted at how awful she was feeling right now, all three women would land themselves in Astrid’s living room before she could even chuck her heels off her sore feet.
By the time she made it through her front door and flipped on a few lamps, her phone was vibrating almost incessantly in her bag.
Astrid?
Are you on your way?
