three
. . .
Natalie
The elevator glides upward so smoothlyit feels like we’re not even moving.
Victoria is beside me, scrolling through her phone with the kind of casual focus I envy, her thumb moving in clean, efficient flicks. Nothing rattles her. Not studio notes, not last-minute schedule changes, not even the fact that I am about to sign the biggest contract of my life and my heart is currently trying to punch through my ribs.
“You ready for this?” Victoria asks, glancing up long enough to take me in.
“I’ve been ready for seven years,” I say.
She smiles, pride showing on her face. “You earned this, Natalie. I hope you take a moment and really soak it in.”
“I’m trying to.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open onto the fifteenth floor of Hays & Cole. The reception area hits me with that uncanny jolt of recognition mixed with foreignness.I’ve been here a few times, but today feels different. I’m not here as Ryan Cole’s kid. Today I’m here as a client.
The receptionist looks up as we approach. Her face brightens the second she recognizes me. “Natalie!” she says, already half out of her chair. “We are so excited for you. Your dad has been talking about your show nonstop.”
“Sorry,” I say, leaning in to return her hug.
“Oh, trust me, we love it,” she says. “It sounds amazing.”
A flutter starts somewhere under my ribs. People who don’t share DNA with me thinkSpellboundsounds amazing.
“Let me take you back. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”
“Water,” I start, then pause. “Actually…orange juice?”
She blinks, surprised, but recovers quickly. “Absolutely. I’ll bring it in.”
Orange juice? I don’t even like orange juice that much. Too acidic. Too morning-y. But right now the idea of cold citrus pulsing into my bloodstream sounds perfect.
We walk down the hallway past glass-walled conference rooms, each one alive with early-morning negotiations. The machinery of Hollywood is grinding away around me and today I’m part of it.
“Here we are,” the receptionist says, opening the door. “Your father will be right with you.”
She steps aside and Victoria and I enter the conference room. The table stretches the length of the room, dark wood gleaming under recessed lights. The floor-to-ceiling windows frame downtown LA like a city-sized movie still. Sunlight glints off skyscrapers. Cars crawl along streets far below. The whole thing feels big and alive and somehow not quite real.
But there, in the center of the table, is my contract. Seven years of work, distilled into paper and ink and clauses. I walk toward it without thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the folder.
This is real.
Behind me, the door opens.
“There she is.”
I turn, already smiling, because I know that voice. Dad is crossing the room with his arms already opening, and for a second I am twelve years old again and he is arriving at the school play in a suit and tie with a bouquet of flowers he swears he got “for the whole cast.”
“Hi, Dad,” I say.
“Hi, kiddo.” He pulls me into a hug that is all warm cologne and familiar. The kind of hug that says everything without words. “Big day.”
“Huge day,” I agree, my voice muffled against his shoulder.
He pulls back, but keeps his hands on my shoulders like he needs the physical proof that I am here and this is happening. His eyes shine in a way that makes my throat tighten.
