“I can’t pay you to freelance and work with Blackburn. I just signed with them.”
“That’s fine. Just think of it as a friend helping out another friend.”
Holden’s eyebrows are furrowed as he asks, “What are you gaining from this?”
“I am just starting out on my own, as you know. People won’t question us hanging out.” I flash a nervous grin, picking at my nail beds, avoiding his eyes once more. “I think I can do some good here. You can’t turn down free help, right?”
All I can seem to do is smooth the wrinkles in my trousers as Holden elongates his neck before scratching his beard.
“I don’t know, Char.” His words sound breathless, as if it’s a struggle to come up with a response.
“Are you really going to deny help for free?”
Never in my life did I think I’d be the kind of person to force someone to fake-date me in order to salvage their career, but here I am.
Charlotte Tate, the Fixer.
I cross my legs and feel a burning sensation run down the sides of them. A jolt of heat that stops me in my tracks. When I look down, my perfect latte is all over my cream, tailored pants I just bought the other day.
My cat looks guilty as ever, sitting on the rug with the emptied mug next to him.
Holden springs out of his seat. I stand up, staring at the state of my pants—a big, brown spot on the left pant leg.
“Great. I just bought these.”
Holden has disappeared into my twelve-hundred-square-foot apartment when I look up. Within thirty seconds, he throws a paper towel roll my way.
“Catch!” he bellows.
For never seeing my place, he seemed to know exactly where to look and grab exactly what I needed. I smile, catching the roll in midair and quickly soak up the mess on the couch.
Then I move to my bedroom to grab a new pair of pants and soak the ones that are currently stained in the sink. I’ve probably been in here for a while because I can tell Holden is waiting outside my door.
“Everything okay?”
He seems so concerned, as if it isn’t rhetorical for him.
“Yes, I’ll be there in one second. Sorry.”
When I check myself in the mirror before leaving my room, the pendant is displaying a faint glow. Signaling to me that Skye is watching me closely…
I move from the bedroom to the living room and Holden is already at my kitchen table, waiting for me. My eye catches the picture frame sitting on my tv stand of Aidan and me.
Gliding to where it’s resting, I shove the wooden frame underneath the couch blankets before heading to the kitchen table.
I mumble, feeling unready to start. “Do—do you think you are a good actor?”
“That’s relative. Every project challenges me to be a different type of actor. If I was doing this job based on whether other people thought I was good or not, then I wouldn’t be in this business. My goal is to portray the character correctly, upholding the integrity of the script.”
This is the easiest thing in the world for him. Every thought falls out of him without hesitation.
Expressionless, he says, “Keep going.” I narrow my eyes, straighten my cards and take a peek at the next one.
With bated breath, I read the next card. “Okay. Someone is up for a challenge.” As if we are playing a game of poker and not willing to let the other person know if it’s a bluff or not.
“What happened between you and Graham Walker?”
His whole demeanor suddenly shifts.
