Sophia comes up and bumps my elbow. It catches me off guard, and I almost spill my drink.
“What’s got you distracted?” It’s a rhetorical question because I see her look directly at Blair. The same place I’m looking. “Grant speaks highly of her; says she’s got a great reputation.”
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I say.
“I’m excited to spend more time with her.”
Sophia is talented and works hard at her craft. She’s hot right now, but she earned every bit of it. Blair wasn’t wrong when she mentioned how quickly attention shifts in this town, so I know it’s important that she sign with someone who understands her drive and dreams.
I also agree Blair would be a good fit for her, and I know I’m biased, but from what I’ve read, she is respected, and some of the heavy hitters in this industry have turned to her for opinions, deals, and more. She was always ambitious. I knew she’d be successful.
I know my opinion is important to Sophia, and I also know she won’t hesitate to override it if she disagrees with me. But right now, my honest thoughts are that I’d like to be more than a professional acquaintance to Blair, and I worry that if Sophia signs with her, I’ll have struck out before even getting a chance to take a swing.
“I can look through any contracts, of course, but you both have the same passion for storytelling,” I say. “Do the due diligence, but if it feels good. Go for it.”
“Thanks, Wyatt. I appreciate that.” She hugs me and then pulls back to straighten my shirt collar.
I bring the glass of whiskey to my lips and gaze at Blair. Grant walks up behind her, places his hand on her hip, and gives her a light peck on the cheek.
“You have a death grip on that glass, big brother.”
Sophia knowingly pats me on the arm and lets me know she’ll catch up with me soon. I place my drink on a nearby table so I have an excuse to grab another at the bar next to Blair. While I wait for the bartender, I turn to make sure she’s still in conversation nearby, but then I see she’s walking toward me. She’s stopped along the way by people who reach out to hug her and say hello. Clearly, she’s loved by many in this town.
Her confidence is sexy as hell, and I have a hard time keeping my eyes on hers. Tonight, her lips are pink, and she has on more makeup, but you can still see a small sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She’s wearing her hair down, and I remember how my hands felt combing through those layers.
I need to save these thoughts for home.
“How did you like the show?” she asks as she raises her empty glass of champagne to the bartender, signaling for another. She doesn’t focus on me; instead, her gaze roams the room.
“Better than I thought I would.” It’s not really my genre, but it was good writing.
“That’s high praise coming from someone who was obsessed withSuitswhen we were in high school.” She’s teasing me.
“Hey, it’s making a comeback. It’s very validating,” I joke.
“I’ll admit, I’m impressed, Blair. You’ve really done well for yourself. I’m happy for you.” Her head bobs gently, acknowledging the compliment, but then I watch her pull her shoulders back with confidence.
“Thanks. Seems you’ve done well, too.”
According to my father, it’s an utter disappointment that I’m not yet a partner. He has worked hard to architect every part of my professional life, so I’m not sure why he hasn’t pushed to make that happen. I don’t care, and he wants me to care, so we’re at a stalemate.
“Everything my father ever wanted.” It comes out harsher than I mean for it to. I can tell by the way she raises her eyebrows and locks her eyes with mine that she wants to question that comment but won’t.
We stand next to each other, looking out at the party, neither of us talking. A scream of laughter pulls our heads in the same direction, and I see her ex taking a shot off of his new wife’s belly while she’s stretched out on the bar.
“How’d that happen?” I ask. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Temporary insanity.” She’s joking, but I want to know more, so I don’t look away. “Pandemic, isolation. I was lonely, and the world was ending.”
It’s not an answer, but it doesn’t sound like she’s upset that it’s over.
My brain takes me down a cruel spiral of wondering how many Billys there were after me. She has an Instagram account, but it only has two pictures on it: her parents visiting her freshman year in college and a group of friends I don’t know from that same year.
One night during my freshman year at UCLA, I went on an internet deep dive, looking for anything I could find about Blair. When I couldn’t find anything on her account, I searched her name and found some posts where she was tagged in some girl named Jess’s pictures. Most of the pics were group shots with her girlfriends, except one.
There was some guy with his hand wrapped around her waist. She was turned toward him with her head tilted back, looking up at him with a huge smile on her face. It haunts me to this day. I must have stared at that photo for days, studying their faces. I obsessed over where his hands were on her waist. Were his fingers digging into her side too deeply? Were his hips twisted toward her because they were dating? Was she laughing at something he said? Was she sleeping with him?
I wanted to go see her immediately, but she was on the East Coast. I knew I couldn’t drive or fly without my parents knowing. They wanted to make sure I had no distractions while in college, so they funded my entire life so I didn’t have to work. I know I was lucky, but it also meant I had no control over anything because every move I made was monitored.
