Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
I consider those words as the meeting wraps, and as TJ and I leave the office and step into the elevator together. Maybe I could stand here getting drunk on his aftershave, but I’m nosy too, so I ask the question that’s been nagging me. “Why exactly do you need a door number two?”
TJ stares at the elevator doors as we chug downstairs as if he can’t bear to make eye contact. “I’m late with my book. My agent thinks going on some dates will inspire me,” he says, and he sounds like he’s in so much pain.
Not writing seems so unlike him. He wrote two books a year for a while. “Do you think it will help?” I ask with no snark, just concern.
He meets my gaze, shrugs a little helplessly. “No idea. But nothing has worked so far, so maybe this will.”
I don’t even have to imagine how bad he feels since I know what it’s like when your most precious skill goes missing. “I hope you write again soon.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
When we reach the lobby, it occurs to me maybe he’s been too caught up in his deal to write a book. “Is it because you’re busy with the Webflix deal?”
He scoffs. “You have no idea,” he says, and actually, he’s right.
I don’t have a clue what happened to him and his career. I haven’t followed TJ as I did in the seven years after London.
This time around, it hurt far too much.
When I go home later, I look him up in The Hollywood Scoop. A headline from Rikki Finch reads Delayed Again!
Turns out several months ago, the Top-Notch Boyfriend director took a long vacation. Then the lead actor landed another project, then the writer quit, was rehired, and quit again.
It’s a rom-comedy of errors, the gossip site writes.
For a few heavy seconds, my heart aches for him. I know what it’s like to want something that doesn’t happen.
And to want someone you can’t have.
6
MY NEW NEMESIS
TJ
Aspen spins me around in the leather barber chair, playing his why-do-you-need-a-haircut game. “I’m getting a you-have-a-work-thing vibe,” he says.
Before I can say no, or maybe yes, since I’m only seeing Jude tonight for work, the owner of Two Bits on Madison Avenue raises a hand to silence me. “Nope. I was reading your energy all wrong. Let me try again.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got all evening for you to figure it out.” There’s no way he’ll guess the truth—you have a fake date with the only guy you ever loved, and you were right to be jealous about the rock star after all.
I introduced my former barista to Jude. Serves me right—William pretty much warned me back in London that he crushes hard.
You win, William. You got the guy who got away from me.
Except, I let Jude go. I couldn’t handle any more of his particular brand of devastation. I couldn’t even pick up the phone when he called a few days after I left Los Angeles because I knew I’d cave if I heard his voice.
But I have to go through the motions tonight. I doubt Mason’s right. I don’t think fake-dating Jude will inspire me whatsoever. But maybe the act of dating and all the assorted prep for it will unlock some ideas.
Hence, the haircut. Aspen is a wizard with scissors. As Astronaut Food’s newest tune plays in his upscale shop, I wait for him to guess again. “You’re finally going to ask me out, and you want to look your finest,” he says, gesturing to his frame. A fun and handsome Black man, with arty tattoos of flowers curling around his arms, and clothes plucked straight from the designer racks, Aspen is not short on dates.
I laugh. “Somehow I think that whoever your new boyfriend is would take issue with that.”
“Oh, hush. I’ve only been seeing Tommy for one week. Who the hell knows? But he’d take pride in it,” Aspen says with a wink.
“As well he should,” I say.
“Let me try one more time to read you.” He draws a big breath. Then smiles victoriously. “You’re desperately in need of an emergency cut for the one reason every client desperately needs one. You have a hot date tonight.”
I roll my eyes, about to say no way.
Except, fuck.
I do need to say I have a hot date tonight. I need to be all giddy and excited, as per Slade’s orders to sell this fake romance to, well, everyone in the world. Including my barber since he’s not in the vault. The vault has maybe four or five people in it—my agent, Jude’s agent, Slade the publicist, and my friend Hazel, who pretty much knows everything since we have the same type of brain.
Overactive writer brain.
Aspen taps his toe. “Sooooo. Is it a hot date, Hardman?”
I meet his gaze in the mirror, plaster on a smile, and prepare to lie when the door swings open with a loud clang.