Page 95 of Late Harvest

“Save it, G. I know from almost a lifetime of experience that your mouth runs faster than your brain,” he puffed out haltingly, speaking and breathing a challenge at that pace. “Arabella is my magnificent queen, and if I hear one more negative word from you, not only is our business relationship over, so is our friendship.”

Silence descended, only Bash’s increasingly labored breathing and the thud of his sneakers on the pavement filling the void.

Slash eventually spoke up, sounding chastened. “Bash, brother, I’m truly sorry. I don’t know this Arabella from Adam. I’ve been out of line with my comments—about Arabella, but especially what I said about your acting. I meant them flippantly, but it came out wrong. I believe in you, Bash, even if I think you’re torching a golden role for this part. I’ve always had your back.”

Slash sounded legitimately contrite, and Bash believed him. Slash may have proved himself a strong agent over the years, but he was a shitty actor, quickly losing his spot running lines with Bash.

“For the record, I have a meeting next week with Walter Pennyrose.” This time Slash managed not to snarl the producer’s name. “To finalize your contract.”

“I want to be deeply involved in the negotiations. No funny stuff.”

Slash grunted. “Unbelievable. He doesn’t trust me. Whatever, Bash. You do you.”

“I intend to.” Sweat was pouring down Bash’s back and he was battling exhaustion and leg fatigue from the long, hard run. “And I do trust you, Slash.” Mostly. “But this role is different. And I want to personally see it signed and sealed.”

“Don’t you need a fake wedding first?” Slash asked, surprisingly not unkindly.

“Jesus. Make sure no one’s around you.” Bash instinctively looked around, even though no one could possibly overhear his agent through the earbuds.

“No one’s around. My gas annihilated them.”

Bash burst into a breathless guffaw. Leave it to Slash to always find a humorous way to mend fences.

“Seriously, man. Let me know if you need anything. When are you planning on making it official?”

In Bash’s mind, things with Arabella already were official. But the idea of putting his ring on her finger—even if it wasn’t as real for her as for him—sent a wave of longing and excitement through him.

“I’d like to propose to her first. Everyone deserves a memorable, heartfelt proposal. And not one for the cameras,” he added peremptorily, anticipating Slash’s next comment. “I’ll work with Melody to release something, but when I propose to Arabella Remington, it’ll be private. Same with our wedding, which I plan to do sometime after the premiere.”

Slash was quiet. “She’s really special to you, isn’t she?”

Bash took a deep breath and nodded. Because, yeah. “She’s everything to me.”

Chapter Fifty

I refuse to age gracefully; I am going to age like one of those fairytale witches, only growing more powerful & notorious with each passing year.

—From Remy’s Sinister Affirmations deck

Remy

Remy’s leg bounced as she sat at the counter and contemplated the open, empty text bubble on her phone. What had happened to her simple, boring, regimented life?

Sebastian Wheatley, that’s what.

In the past weeks, he’d upended her world, literally charming the pants off her with his devastating trademark grins and seductive ways. A thrill coursed down her spine at the memory of their night together in Miami.

She’d quickly come to recognize that what was seductively potent on the silver screen was even more so in person.

Her liege man was spending the day huddled with Jared at his townhouse rental—Melody joining via Zoom as needed—reviewing logistics for the upcoming premiere and other business matters. Sebastian would be leaving Tuesday for a few days in Manhattan for the press junket prior to the release of Atlas Unhinged in three short weeks. He’d offered to bring her to New York—a city she’d always wanted to visit but never seemed to have time—but with the exhaustion of the long last week still fresh in her mind, Remy demurred.

Even so, the idea of seeing the Big Apple through Sebastian’s eyes was tempting. Worse? The pang of sadness that zapped through her when she thought of her empty house. A space devoid of Sebastian’s teasing laughter and cooing over their ‘little prince.’ And it was only for three freaking days. She really needed to get a damn grip.

What she also needed was to talk through the riot of emotions that had been coursing through her following their weekend in Miami. The urge to process out loud, to vent all the crazy permutations and scenarios crashing around in her once cool and logical mind, with people she trusted was rapidly becoming…necessary. A need she hadn’t experienced since Etta. And that scared her almost as much as her terrifyingly intense feelings for Sebastian Wheatley.

“Oh, screw it,” she muttered, tapping out a message to the Red Wine Supper Club group chat Lila had created and named.

Remy