“Ok, please tell me we’ve booked Timmy to host theSNLseason finale,” Lance says, diving right in as he pushes through the door and sits at the head of the table.
“Done. And we’ve booked Olivia as the musical guest, too,” says Brian, another agent and Lance’s pet.
Lance looks up from his phone as a grin stretches across his face. “That’s what I’m talking about. Teamwork makes the dream work.”
It takes all my physical control not to roll my eyes.
“When does shooting begin onSpeed 3?” I ask. “I may need Sandy for an appearance.”
“In two weeks. Just let me know, and I’ll see if we can make it work.” Brian leans back in his chair, feeling cocky and comfortable. Another sequel for the win.
“Blair, what about Michelle? Were you able to lock her into the lead forAquaman 3?” Lance directs his question to me, but his attention is on the phone in his hand.
“Almost done. There’s also a lead opportunity for her in Elizabeth’s next untitled project.” Yep. That gets his eyes up.
“Instead of focusing on projects that aren’t a priority, perhaps you could focus on signing talent?” Lance stands and walks out before I can respond, and I take a sip of my coffee to regulate the rage bubbling under the surface.
“Ignore him,” Stella says.
“Easier said than done.” I grab my phone and coffee, and rise from my seat.
Stella is infringing on my personal space before I reach the exit of the conference room. “So, you gonna tell me the backstory on Wyatt?” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down, smiling at me.
I pick up my pace back to my office, trying to avoid this conversation. “I’d rather not,” I mumble. Why does it feel like I can’t breathe?
I’m quiet for a beat too long.
“Oh, my God–is he an ex? Did you sleep with him?” Her hands fly up to her cheeks.
I told you she knows me.
“It’s ancient history.”
“When? I know everyone you’ve dated.” She puts her first and middle fingers of both hands up to air quote “dated.”
“It’s nothing. We went to high school together. I haven’t seen him since.” I play it off like it’s no big deal, but my heart feels like it’s being squeezed between Wyatt’s metaphorical hands to remind me I’m still not over the hurt.
I’ve dated casually, been married—and divorced—and had no trouble recovering and moving on with my life. But one mention of Wyatt Bradford has unlocked the secret compartment of emotions I buried a long time ago.
“Do you know Sophia, too?” Stella asks.
“I don’t. Well, not really. I knew Wyatt had a little sister, but she was a lot younger than us. She dropped part of her last name, so I didn’t put it together immediately.” I think back to one of the few times I met Sophia. Her father signed her up for a junior golf camp at the country club where I worked. She joined her father and Wyatt for lunch that week, and I was their server. I doubt she would even recall the interaction.
“He probably doesn’t even remember me.” I sift through the files on my desk to signal the end of this conversation. Thankfully, Stella catches on quick and just smiles before she turns to go back to her desk.
“Actually, Stella? Cancel the courier and set the meeting with Sophia for tomorrow if you can. I’ll hand deliver thePink Slippasses. It’ll be a great icebreaker to start the conversation.”
There’s no reason the topic of her brother should even come up, so we can keep it buried where it belongs until I’ve proven I’m the right agent for her.
two
. . .
WYATT
“Son! Come in here for a second.”
I almost made it past him. My father is in the large conference room overlooking downtown LA, sitting in a white leather club chair surrounded by lights and cameras for his weeklyLawTalkvideo web series. When in Hollywood, I suppose.
