She shrugs. “Sure it was. He wanted to sue. But I talked him out of it. You’re welcome.”
Sue? Could he even sue? Why would she talk him out of it anyway? “You didn’t have to do that.”
Charlotte waves a hand at me. “What are friends for?”
Are we friends? Charlotte keeps talking. “I really think you two should sit down and make up. You’re so good together on screen. I must’ve seenSwipea billion times. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to start acting.” She pushes Elsie's notepad a little. “Are you working on the sequel?”
Elsie shakes her head. “No. It’s something new. A love story set in the Pacific Northwest between a screenwriter and a Bigfoot tour guide who doesn’t actually believe in him.”
I smile, happy Elsie is continuing to explore this newmystical creaturestheme. “Any parts for me?”
Elise sets down her pen and looks at me properly now. “You? I wrote this part for you, and you seem to be more concerned with yourself than the character.”
I sit back, feeling like she slapped me. Now Elsie is pissed at me, too? I thought if anyone would understand, it would be her. “I’ve still been acting my ass off. I’m allowed to have a life.”
“Yes. You are allowed to date whomever you please.” She lets out a long breath. “But you’re not putting a lot of heart into that either.”
“What?”
“I saw Skye last night, and she looked like her dog had just died. Know anything about that?”
“You saw Skye?”
Charlotte asks, leaning forward. “Who’s Skye?”
Elsie ignores her. “She was here, but not for long. She left with a handsome blond guy.”
“She did?”
Elsie nods. “They were holding hands.”
Finn. She must’ve left with Finn. Who else? But why was he out here with her? I assumed she came here to see me, spend time with me. But what if she came here to break up with me face-to-face? No wonder she didn't mind when she found me with Ava; she said it was fine. Skye really doesn’t care who I sleep with or not because she is back together with Finn. But that can’t be true. I’ve read the manuscript. There are real feelings there.
The bartender sets down my food, but I’m no longer hungry. I’m nauseous and dizzy, and I just want to go home. All the way home. Why did I ever take this role in the first place?
I push my plate away. “I have to go.”
Elsie says, “Miles, wait.”
I’m not listening anymore. The voices in the pub are too loud, and the clanking of silverware on plates echoes in my head. In my hurry to get outside, I run into the same man I bumped into at the bar.
“Sorry.” I hold up both hands in surrender.
“Do ye have a problem with me, laddie?”
“No. I just wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Yeah, why look at us peasants? Ye Hollywood types taking over. I’ve had enough of it. Square-go!”
I nod. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”
The man, who is a good three inches taller and has at least fifty pounds on me, looks just as angry when I say I’ll go. He follows meoutside, fists up at his chest, a group of people following behind him.
“Look…” I turn to face him. “I just want to go.”
“And go we will.” The man arches his arm back and brings it toward me, fist balled tight, in slow motion. I’m still in awe that this is really happening. I haven't been in an honest-to-God fight since first grade, when I wore the same sneakers as the class bully. I duck but end up slipping on the snow and winding up flat on my ass to a roar of laughter from the crowd.
“Ye don’t even need me to beat you up. You’ll do it all on your own.” The burly man waves a hand at me and leaves me lying in the snow. He heads back into the pub, followed by the crowd of people.
