“We haven’t talked about what happens after that.”
The words come out quieter than I intended, and for a second, I can’t quite look at him.
“Then you can finally have some privacy,” Alex says. “No more cameras following you around. Just you and the wife.” He grins. “Maybe you could go on a real honeymoon? You never took one after Vegas.”
A text from Grant asking me to stop by his office saves me from having to respond to Alex.
“Gotta run, man. But, uh, I appreciate the talk. Thanks.”
I head across the studio lot to Grant’s office, and when I arrive, he’s reviewing something on his laptop with an intensity that usually means either very good or very bad news.
“Please tell me we’re not in the middle of another PR crisis,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Grant looks up, and a smile breaks through. “Quite the opposite. I just watched some early cuts from Dylan’s documentary. It’s excellent.”
I relax slightly. “Good to hear. The crew’s been filming less lately. I was worried they were losing interest.”
“Hardly. Dylan called it his most compelling project to date. Said he’s never captured such genuine chemistrybetween two people.” Grant closes his laptop with a satisfied click and leans back in his leather chair. “I think he’s particularly fond of you and Jess. I know you were the last couple that signed on, and I might be biased, but your story is outshining the others by miles.”
I manage a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and my chest tightens unexpectedly at the praise. “We aim to please. But it’s probably better if someone takes the lead on press for this.”
“Sounds like once they wrap with you and Jess, they’ll head into post-production. Assuming everything goes well, the series should be airing early next year.” Grant taps his fingers against his desk, his expression thoughtful. “Must be exciting, seeing it all come together.”
“I think we only have two big shoots left: my dad’s announcement and then final interviews.” The words feel heavy as I say them, and my heart sinks at the thought of all this wrapping up soon. The documentary ending means our arrangement ends, too—a reality I’m increasingly reluctant to face.
“Everything ok between you two?” Grant’s perception is sometimes unnerving, and now he’s studying me with the same intensity that he reserves for difficult negotiations.
“Fine. Just the usual work stress.” The lie comes easily, too easily, sliding off my tongue like something I’ve practiced. “You mentioned new footage?”
“It’s all set up in the screening room. Dylan said you’re welcome to preview anything they’ve shot. Part of your arrangement, I believe?”
I nod, grateful for the excuse to escape further questioning. “I should take a look. Make sure there’s nothing problematic.”
“Of course.” Grant returns to his work, but then he adds casually, “By the way, Lucas, I’m glad things seem to be going well between you and Jess. You seem really happy.”
I pause at the door. “Thanks. I am happy.”
He doesn’t look up. “Funny how it sneaks up on you, isn’t it?”
“Hilarious.”
I head down the hallway to the screening room and step inside the darkened room filled with a theater-sized screen and a back row full of monitors. No one’s around, but a note from Dylan indicates that they’ve stepped out for lunch and I’m welcome to review any footage on the main system.
I settle into the chair, where I navigate through recently uploaded files. Most are labeled by date and location: “Dinner Party,” “Devils’ Game,” “Office B-roll.” I click through a few, smiling despite myself at shots of Jess laughing at the baseball game, her intensity while interviewing Edie Lang, the way she demolished everyone at charades during game night with our friends.
How did I ever think we could fake this for six months without consequences?
I’m about to close the files when I notice one labeled “OTRC: Sensitive.” My curiosity piqued, I click play.
The footage shows Jess’s office, filmed from a slightly awkward angle, as if the camera had been placed on a bookshelf. She’s sitting at her desk with Dylan across from her, an open folder between them.
“—just landed on my desk,”Jess is saying, sliding the folder toward Dylan.
I watch as Dylan reviews something, his eyebrows rising.“Whoa. This is…complicated.”
“You think?”Jess runs a hand through her hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as stress.“Dylan, I need to know what we’re doing with footage like this. This is sensitive material.”
Dylan’s response about “incredible content” and “personal and professional collision” makes me lean closer to the screen, trying to glimpse what’s in the folder.
