It had been an odd reintroduction. Did Freddie speak Spanish? Apparently so. He was also still in Argentina, implementing the same hydroponics system he had perfected at his parents’ house, in a village near Patagonia. Over the next few years she would occasionally check in, but the posts became less frequent, until finally they began to redirect to another account: Wentworth Hydroponics. Those photos were more polished, and the ones that featured Freddie became less and less until they stopped altogether.
In some of her more desperate moments, she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to run into Freddie again. In her imagination, it was always somewhere familiar, like they both hadbeen struck by the need to visit their favorite bench on the High Line again and found themselves there at the exact same moment. Or maybe they would bump into each other while Christmas shopping near Union Square, maybe even at Fishs Eddy where they used to go. They’d reach for the same mug, then laugh, and it would be like old times again.
But in all her daydreams, she hadn’t anticipated the version of Freddie she met yesterday. Serious. Impassive. Like he didn’t know her at all.
It was the worst kind of irony. She had broken her own heart—and his—so he wouldn’t have to compromise himself or his dreams. Change who he was or what he wanted. Yet, from the looks of it, he had gone ahead and done that anyway.
Good job, Freddie, Anne thought bitterly, then pushed all thoughts of Freddie Wentworth away. She was good at that.
She pulled off her knit hat and flipped on the overhead lights, illuminating the empty office. It was an open plan, with a glass wall office for her father in the corner. She couldn’t remember a time when he had ever actually used it, but it was there, still waiting. Her desk was in the other corner, tucked into one of the tall windows facing the Hudson. She knew what she had to grab—a few hard copies of contracts and budgets, her three succulents from the sill, and maybe a few packs of Post-it notes and labels for—
“Anne Elliot.”
The sound of her name sent Anne’s heart into a tailspin. She spun around, half expecting to see Freddie himself stepping off the nearby elevator. But instead, she found Theo Travers.
“Theo! Hi,” she replied, the relief sending a smile to her lips. “Sorry, you startled me. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
He smiled, too. “Ditto.”
Silence fell as they stared at each other. He looked good—better than he had in recent months, when the stress of the series was weighing heavily on them both. Or maybe it was the fact that he was in jeans and a Yankees baseball cap, instead of his usual work attire of slacks and a button-down.
The air in the empty office suddenly felt heavy. Had she ever been alone with Theo before? In all their years of working together, she couldn’t recall a moment that hadn’t involved an editor nearby or a production assistant waiting around the corner.
“So…” She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Just had to pick up a few things. Didn’t think it would be so long before we’d be back in the office.”
A pang of guilt hit her chest. Amid the show’s hiatus, the sale of the apartment, and the return of Freddie Wentworth, Anne had totally overlooked the fact that her life wasn’t the only one turned upside down recently.
“God, I’m so sorry. I should have checked in.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m sure you’ve had enough to deal with,” he replied with a wince.
She smiled. It was true—Theo had witnessed enough of Walt Elliot’s behavior to sympathize.
“So, what have you been up to?” she asked, pushing her blond hair away from her face. God only knew what it looked like after she took off her hat.
“Funny you should ask,” he said, looking slightly guilty. “I was going to give you a call but I was still figuring out how to tell you…”
“Tell me about what?”
He seemed to consider, hand cupping the back of his neck as his brow furrowed. “I’m thinking of breaking off and starting my own production company.”
She blinked. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Yes, Theo had worked onDivorce Divasfor years, but his fealty wasn’t required. He could go work on any show, for any network—that’s how television usually worked.
“Theo, that’s great!” she said. And she meant it.
“Yeah?” he asked, venturing a small smile. “I thought you might have an issue, since this is your dad’s company and all. But I had a call with a network exec last week and soft-pitched a show. He seemed really into the idea, so it might have legs.”
“Congratulations,” she said. “To be honest, I’m relieved. I’ve been worried about what everyone was going to do.”
“Well, they haven’t greenlit it yet.” He shrugged. “I have a meeting in a few weeks to pitch the higher-ups, and they want to see a prospective budget, how it would need to be staffed up. So I’ve been working on that and… it’s a lot.”
Anne almost laughed. She was the one that dealt with all the logistics and paperwork at Kellynch, so she knew his sentiment was the understatement of the year.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
His expression turned sheepish. “Is it bad that I was hoping you’d ask that?”
