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)
“Carrie is the next Meryl, but she’s a no-go since she has a you know what problem,” he whispers, then mimes swallowing a pill.
That seems a bit cold. “And that means I can’t talk to her?”
“Yes, it does. Same for Sebastian. He just split from his wife. They’ll think he’s after you.”
Wait. What? “Why would they think that?”
“He’s closeted,” Slade whispers. “It’s the worst kept secret.”
“Okay. But that doesn’t mean he’d be into me,” I say, pointing out what I hope is obvious. Orientation does not beget attraction.
Slade rolls his eyes. “I know that. But what I know and what the press will decide from a photo are two vastly different things.”
If TJ were here, he and I could float through this crowd together, chatting with whoever we wanted. But since I’m solo, Slade’s calculating everyone’s social capital.
I get it, but I feel like a pig on market day. I swirl my martini, awaiting instructions and counting off another minute.
Slade hums approvingly. “Oh, looky-look. Did I just see Ellie Snow over there?”
I perk up at the mention of my Unfinished Business co-star, who plays Gwen to my Jamie. I crane my neck to see she’s been cornered by a mustached man who looks like a manager hunting for new clients. She has “save me” written all over her face.
This is a job for Actor Man.
“Go, go, go,” Slade says, shooing me.
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I weave through the taffeta and tuxedoed crowd, quickly arriving beside my co-star. “Ellie, do you have a second to discuss the scene where you accidentally picked up my dog from the doggie daycare since you were so frazzled?”
Her big brown eyes light up with gratitude. “Yes, I have so many ideas for that moment. We must discuss them right now,” she says, and I ferry her away to a quieter section of the ballroom.
“You saved me,” she says, holding my arm tight.
“I’m thinking of searching for a secret doorway. A trick wall. Anything remotely resembling an escape hatch. Care to join me?”
“I’m all in,” she says, then lowers her voice to a furtive whisper. “I’m not even sure who I’m allowed to talk to.”
“Me either! Apparently, everyone is on the verboten list, except you. Actually, you probably shouldn’t talk to me. I’ve been radioactive,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll take my chances. Plus, I figure you’re stuck with me. Or should I say . . . stuck with Zoe?”
I blink. “Wait. Who’s Zoe?”
“Oh, our showrunner changed my character’s name from Gwen to Zoe. She said Zoe was better for the quirky girl next door.”
I smile widely—the first real smile I’ve felt all night. “My boyfriend will love that. He has a thing for names telegraphing a character’s trait,” I explain.
Ellie giggles then points at me. “Oh my God, you have it so bad for him.”
I dip my face, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I do,” I admit, then raise my eyes and own it. “And I miss him like mad.” It feels good to speak the truth, plain and simple, at an event where I can’t share much at all.
“When we’re back in New York, let’s all get together. Have a drink. Invent character names for everyone we see coming into the bar, and backstories too,” Ellie suggests, bouncing in her Louboutins.
“I’m going to RSVP on his behalf right now. He’d love it.”
She squeezes back. “It’s a date.”
As we chat more, something catches my eye on the other side of the entrance to the ballroom.
Ginger hair. A sharp nose. A familiar profile. Someone is peering around the French doors as if longing to be invited in.
Then he’s gone as quickly as he appeared.
Maybe I imagined the man I haven’t seen in ages. But he sticks in my mind for the rest of the evening. Perhaps, because I’m not sure what to make of him.
Once I leave The Ritz, I shake off Slade at his hotel then head to mine. Walking alone by the river, I loosen my bow tie and check my phone. There’s no update from the West Coast, so I turn to an audiobook of a celebrity memoir, grabbing earbuds from my pocket and putting the evening in the rearview mirror.
But someone brays down the street behind me. “Jude Fox? I was hoping that was you.”
I recognize that voice. So that was Harry at the hotel. I can’t pretend I didn’t hear him, so I turn around. My former ginger-haired agent is trotting. Wait. Nope. Make that running . . . to catch up with me.
That’s honestly a little ballsy. Maybe a touch stalkery.
But I’m also terribly curious why he’s calling out to me. Does he want to apologize after all this time?
Would I laugh if he did?
I don’t need an apology. I’m so over him and Arlo, but I am intrigued.