“Yeah.” Bennett shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“Bennett,” Sandro corrected. When David’s gaze swung to him, Sandro held it with his own. “He prefers Bennett.”
David smiled wanly at Bennett. “Right, sorry. Force of habit—my brother-in-law is also a Bennett, but he goes by Ben.” David held an outstretched hand Sandro’s way. “Sandro Zanetti. Nice to finally meet you.”
“You too.”
To Bennett, David said, “We still doing lunch later?”
“Of course. And listen, I was waiting until I saw you in person to ask, but since you’re here . . . should I expect to be replaced on this project?”
David’s face said it all. “Why would you be? Didn’t we just establish the leak wasn’t your fault?”
“No, not because of that. I . . .” Bennett looked at Sandro helplessly, as though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask.
“He thinks he’s compromised because of our relationship,” Sandro told David. “And that you’ll fire him for it.”
“Compromised?” David scoffed. “If Sandro was your subject, then yes, you’d be compromised, but he isn’t. His team is. It’s a gray area to be sure, and it might create bias, but Fowler and I are here to steer you back in the right direction if you stray off course. And if I’m being honest?” David undid the button on his blazer. “I hoped your connection to him would make you a better filmmaker. I hoped it would make you more determined to succeed and more determined to create a series people care about. Part of the reason Chain of Command flopped was because it lacked emotion. It lacked heart. This series won’t, and that’s because of this.” He gestured between Sandro and Bennett. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my car’s waiting. Bennett, I’ll see you for lunch. You should come too, Sandro.”
And with that, he departed.
“Jesus fuck.” Bennett groaned. “I think I liked it better when he was micromanaging me.”
“What? Why?”
“At least then I knew what to expect.”
Chuckling, Sandro gave his butt a little love tap. “Come on. I have time for a short workout before I need to catch the bus to the arena.” He waggled his eyebrows. “The bedroom kind of workout.”
Gaze heating, Bennett followed him out.
chapter nineteen
They arrived home midafternoon on New Year’s Day. Sandro kicked his shoes off and dropped his bag by the front door. “I hate flying west to east. You basically lose half a day with the time difference.”
“You had a good trip, though,” Bennett pointed out, kicking the door closed behind them, suitcase and camera bag in his hands. “Three goals and two assists, plus your team won all three games.”
“And I got to have lunch with a Hollywood producer.” Sandro headed upstairs, tugging his hoodie off as he did so. “Did you know David’s producing a small-town comedy about single dads? I didn’t know he did fiction too.”
“Yeah,” Bennett said from behind him. “He’s got his hands in a whole bunch of different projects.”
David, it turned out, was actually pretty cool. Bennett griped about him often enough that he obviously wasn’t always a cool person to work for, but as a human being, Sandro had enjoyed getting to know him.
He hadn’t quite believed that David was as blasé as he seemed about his and Bennett’s relationship, but when Sandro had asked him about it at lunch, David had shrugged.
“Do you know how many Hollywood directors have had affairs with their actors? Sometimes their much-younger actors?” David had shaken his head. “Somebody might make a stink about it, but sadly, that stink will last maybe a minute despite the inherent power imbalance. This here?” He’d waved a hand between Sandro and Bennett. “It’s not the same thing. Plus, the series is targeted at a very niche hockey-loving audience. Your relationship will barely be a blip on their radar unless you start flaunting it, which I don’t get the impression you’ll be doing.”
“My Instagram is all about my work,” Bennett had said.
“And I haven’t posted on Instagram in . . .” Sandro had pursed his lips. “Three years? We could be spotted out together though.”
“Guys, seriously.” David had speared them with a look over his menu. “Don’t stress about it. You have other things to worry about. You.” He’d focused on Bennett. “Concentrate on making me a good series. And you.” He’d transferred that focus to Sandro. “Concentrate on winning the Cup.”
Sandro had cocked his head. “Are you a Trailblazers fan?”
“Oh, I don’t follow hockey. Baseball’s more my jam.”
Sandro had laughed while Bennett had stared at his producer, slack-jawed.
