The Roommate Equation

by Jillian Quinn

  “Dylan messed up, and I never forgave him.”

  She digs her elbows into the table, holding my gaze. “You’ve said that before, but what was so bad?”

  Should I tell her?

  A brief pause passes between us, where I consider telling her the truth. Willow is my only real friend in Los Angeles. I have acquaintances I met through school and acting but none one I would trust with my secrets. I want to tell Willow everything. Maybe once I tell Willow it won’t feel like someone’s cutting into my chest with a knife. But it hurts too much to relive the most painful time in my life. Because one drunken night with Dylan changed everything for me.

  “We got a little carried away one night,” I say in a hushed tone. “Sex with Dylan was… an experience. Like I would lose myself with him. And he did the same with me. One night, we were drinking and forgot to use a condom. We were so smashed and so horny, and so damn in love.” I blow out a deep breath. “I did love him… Maybe a little too much.”

  Her eyes widen. “Did you get pregnant?”

  I nod. “I took like ten home pregnancy tests, and after a nervous breakdown, I drove to Cambridge to tell Dylan. He didn’t take it well. We got into a huge fight. Dylan said a lot of horrible shit that he still says he wishes he could take back.”

  She stretches her hand across the table until our fingers touch, her eyes fixed on me. “He didn’t want you to have the baby?”

  I shake my head. “Dylan sort of went off the rails after I told him. I mean, we still talked, but we mostly fought. He didn’t want to have kids while he was still in college. He couldn’t deal, not with Date Crashers starting up. Dylan and my brother were flying back and forth between Cambridge and Silicon Valley to take meetings with venture capitalists for their first round of funding.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I hated the person he became. He handled the situation like a jackass. I told him I was done with him and that I would raise the baby alone.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “But you don’t have kids.”

  My heart slams into my chest, racing so fast I can barely catch my breath. “It was an ectopic pregnancy.”

  She gives me a confused look.

  “The fertilized egg implanted in my fallopian tube instead of my uterus,” I explain. “But I didn’t know it at first.”

  Willow slips her fingers between mine and squeezes my shaking hand. “I’m so sorry, babe. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you, going through that on your own.”

  “That’s not the worst part,” I say, my stomach in knots. “I have damage to my fallopian tube from the surgery.”

  Her grip on my hand tightens. “Can you still have kids?”

  I shake my head. “The doctor doesn’t think I can. She said it would be near impossible for an egg to implant, and if it does, there’s a higher risk of having another ectopic pregnancy.”

  She glances down at our joined hands and sighs. I use my free hand to wipe away the fallen tears that slide down my cheeks. We sit in silence for a moment, and when our eyes meet again, Willow’s blue irises are watery. The look on her face is the reason I have kept my business to myself.

  I don’t want anyone to pity me. After years of trying to accept my future, I still struggle every day with the possibility I will never have children.

  Willow wipes the corners of her eyes and leans back in her chair. “Does Dylan know?”

  “I told him I had a miscarriage.”

  She picks at the chipped polish on her index finger and lets out a deep breath. “I take back what I said earlier. Maybe you should stay away from him. I had no idea what I was talking about… If I had known I wouldn’t have—”

  “You didn’t know,” I interrupt.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she says with sadness in her eyes.

  “You’re the only person I’ve ever told. I tried to tell Dylan so many times but… I don’t know. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t think it would matter if he knew the truth. We can’t change the past.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” Willow says in a hopeful tone. “The word itself says I’m possible.”

  I flash a smile. “Audrey Hepburn. I love that quote.”

  “It’s true,” she says, her expression mirroring mine. “You could still have kids.”

  “In my case, I think the doctor is right.”

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “Because of Josh,” I admit. “After the first six months we were together, we stopped using condoms. I told him what the doctor said, and he wanted to test out the theory. Josh wanted to be a father, so I knew he wouldn’t run away if I got pregnant. And I loved him. I thought we would get married someday. But after two years, I never got pregnant.”

  “And that’s why he left you for the bartender?”

  I nod in response. “She got pregnant a few months after Josh moved out.”

  She groans. “Stop following your exes on Facebook. It doesn’t do you any good.”

  “I deleted the app from my phone, so I wouldn’t feel the need to stalk Josh and his perfect life… or check up on Dylan.”

  “You can avoid Dylan until you move back into your apartment,” she suggests. “His house is huge. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, you would think, but somehow, we keep finding ways to run into each other.”

  “I would let you stay with me, but we don’t have any room. Harley has an entire bedroom dedicated to her art, and you would die from the paint fumes if you slept in there.”

  Willow doesn’t have two cents, but she does have a best friend and roommate who is mega-rich. Harley McQueen is the daughter of a video game developer who runs one of the world's largest tech companies.

  I wave my hand to dismiss her concern. “Don’t worry about me. I’m like a fish. I can adapt to any situation.”

  Before Willow can get in another word, my cell phone rings. I remove it from my purse and sigh when I see Sloan’s name.

  Is he checking up on me again?

  “What’s up?” I cradle the phone against my ear and pop a tortilla chip into my mouth, chewing loudly.

  “How’s my favorite sister?”

  I laugh, almost choking on the chip. “I’m your only sister.”

  He snickers. “Did Dylan tell you about our meeting with Exact Match?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  “We need this to go well. The deal depends on it.”

  “And you want me to come babysit someone’s wife?”

  “Something like that. Will you come with us?”

  “It depends on the time. Vinnie has been up my ass all day.”

  “We’ll pick you up after work. Dylan’s making your favorite for dinner.”

  “I have a lot of favorites,” I counter with heavy sarcasm.

  What curvy girl doesn’t love her food? I have my love handles to maintain.

  “I’m doing what?” Dylan groans in the background, sounding more irritated than ever.

  “I’ll pass on whatever Dylan’s making for dinner. I prefer my food without poison,” I joke.

  “He won’t poison your food,” Sloan promises.

  Vinnie clicks through on the other line, and my heart skips several beats. He’s been even more annoying than usual because of the new clients we’re meeting with this week.

  “I have to go, Sloan. My boss is calling. I don’t know if I’ll be done at seven tonight.”

  “Let me handle him,” he snaps.

  I shudder at the threat in his tone. “Please don’t get me fired, Sloan.”

  “We’ll see you at seven.”

  Then, the line goes dead.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ash

  After I get back to work, Vinnie is in his office, yelling at two junior agents at the top of his lungs. I slowly inch toward his desk as he throws a screenplay at an agent’s head that misses his ear by a few inches. The script hits the wall on the other side of the room and pages tear off
and scatter on the floor.

  I attempt to collect the pages and Vinnie growls, “Leave it.”

  “You,” he says to the agent. “Take that piece of shit and get the fuck out of my office. Now!”

  Assuming the piece of shit is the script, I hand it the agent, who doesn’t make eye contact with me as he leaves Vinnie’s office with his head hung low in shame.

  I have to remind myself of the big picture. Sitting on Vinnie’s desk for a year or two could eventually lead to better opportunities. If I work hard and write as much as I can in my spare time, I will one day write a screenplay worth showing to Vinnie. My dream is to have a Hollywood star like Nico Chase cast in one of my films. I might not be what directors want behind the camera, but it doesn’t mean I will give up on my dream.

  Vinnie snarls at the male agent in his late twenties, who shoves a hand through his dark hair and stares at his dress shoes. He’s impeccably dressed, styled to perfection, and looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin. My boss brings the worst out of people, while also inspiring the best. He takes more of the Steve Jobs approach to management, yelling at employees until they perform at their highest levels. Some people crack under pressure, while the few who have what it takes survive here long-term.

  “Get Sarina Lopez back in this office,” Vinnie says to the agent, “or you can pack your shit.”

  The agent sighs. “Yes, sir.”

  He leaves Vinnie’s office in a rush, and I don’t blame him one bit. I would high tail it out of here if I was allowed to leave. But since Vinnie summoned me, it must be important.

  “You wanted to see me,” I choke out.

  He tips his head to the chairs in front of his desk, and my stomach does a dozen summersaults. I hold my breath when our eyes meet, unable to read his blank expression. Did my idiot brother call Vinnie and piss him off even more? Am I getting fired because of it?

  “I need you to talk to Nico again,” he says, digging his elbows into the wood as he leans forward, his dark eyes meeting mine. “He refuses to choose a script.”

  “He seemed pretty interested in The Fallen Empire. What happened to that one?”

  “The studio doesn’t want to cast him in the main role.”

  “So, what are his options? What am I supposed to say to him? I’m an assistant.”

  Vinnie shakes his head. “No, Ash, you’re more than my assistant. My clients like you. They trust you. They see you as…” He presses his lips together. “Like a normal person. Someone they can relate to.”

  I laugh at his comment. “But I can’t relate to them. I’m a nobody, and they’re movie stars.”

  “Nico likes you,” he shoots back. “And Nico doesn’t like many people. Please, talk to him for me. I have enough on my plate right now.”

  For months, Vinnie has considered dropping Nico as a client. He’s had more than a few chances that Vinnie wouldn’t have given to most of his clients. Nico was one of Vinnie’s first clients that turned into a major box office star. Because of their relationship, Vinnie coddles him like a son instead of treating him like a professional.

  “I’ll call him now,” I offer as I get up from the chair.

  “No, go to his house. He’s not answering any of my calls. I was lucky to get a text message from him to let me know that he’s alive.”

  “Is he still drinking?”

  He nods. “I would say so.” Vinnie pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and groans. “This is my fault, you know. I pushed him to take the role in Twelve Steps. Goddamn method actors. They get so wrapped up in portraying their characters perfectly that they become the person. I didn’t expect him to turn into an alcoholic. It was a good gig with a lot of money and a great director attached to the project. I did what any agent would have done.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I say with a weak smile. “You didn’t make him drink. He could have played the role without falling down the rabbit hole.”

  “I wish he would enter treatment. But he doesn’t see his drinking as an addiction. That’s the problem with addicts. They wait until it’s out of control before they will admit they need help. I hope it doesn’t come to that with Nico. He’s like a son…” Vinnie clears his threat. “Anyway, I need you to stop by his house. I’ll have Miranda handle your desk for the afternoon. Make sure Nico is still breathing and ready to work.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Once I reach my desk, I remove my cell phone from my purse and scroll down to Dylan’s number in my recent calls. My heart hammers in my chest as my finger hovers over his name. I hate to ask him to drive me again, but he did offer to help me out until I get paid.

  “Yes, princess?” Dylan says on the third ring.

  I shake my head and laugh. “Aren’t you cute?”

  “No,” he shoots back. “Babies are cute. I prefer devilishly handsome.”

  I laugh in his ear. “Oh, my God. You’re so full of yourself. Stop it.”

  He snickers. “You know you love it.”

  You know you love me.

  There’s so much subtext behind his words. I still care about Dylan, and no amount of time or distance will ever change that. He was my first crush, first kiss, first love, my first everything.

  “So, let me guess,” Dylan says. “You need another ride.”

  “You seem to be enjoying this way too much.”

  “I like having you in my debt.”

  “Dylan,” I groan.

  “Fine. What now? You need me to take you to Starbucks again?”

  Dylan might be a pain in my ass, but he’s been super cool lately about helping me with my errands. Even though he will never admit it, he enjoys spending time with me, and I don’t exactly hate it either.

  “I need a ride to Nico Chase’s house.”

  He blows air into the phone. “That asshole again?”

  “What’s wrong with Nico?”

  “Are you kidding me, Ash? After the way he treated you last time?”

  “He’s an idiot. And famous. All of the stars Vinnie reps have the same air of entitlement.”

  “It doesn’t mean they can get away with treating you like shit.”

  “I don’t have time to debate about celebrity behavior with you. So, will you take me to Nico’s house or what?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” He sounds annoyed with Nico. “But if that asshole—”

  “Don’t,” I interrupt before he can finish his thought. “Please don’t interfere with my job. I don’t care if he thinks I have a fat ass or whatever he said to me last time. This isn’t about me. I’m there to do a job. That’s it. And I need this job, okay?”

  “Whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll meet you out front in ten.”

  After I run to the bathroom and gather a few more scripts Nico might like, I stuff them into my messenger bag and sling it over my shoulder. Dylan is double-parked in the street out front of my office, with the top of his convertible down and looking like a hot pilot in dark aviator sunglasses.

  My heart hammers against my ribcage. Even after all of these years, Dylan still looks like the boy I fell in love with, except now he’s a man who drives me crazy.

  He’s dressed in a white oxford, with a royal blue tie loose around his neck and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Of course, he folded his suit jacket on the back seat. I laugh as I get into his car.

  He flips up his sunglasses, his blue eyes meeting mine. “What are you laughing about?”

  “You,” I admit with a smile.

  “Oh? Is that so? What did I do now?”

  “You being your control-freak self.”

  I blow him a kiss, and he raises a curious eyebrow at me.

  “Women,” he says under his breath.

  Instead of pushing me, he shifts the car into Drive and then pulls onto Wilshire Boulevard.

  “Don’t you have a company to run? For a CTO, you have an awful lot of time to drive me around town.”

  “That’s the beauty of being the CTO. Sloan handles most of
the day-to-day shit.” Dylan punches the gas and flies through the yellow light as it turns red. “I handle the tech.”

  “Makes sense. Sloan is a people person. And you’re… not.”

  He chuckles. “Hey, I’m a people person.”

  I shake my head. “No, you’re not. But if everyone on earth turned into a cyborg, I’m sure you’d be okay.”

  “You’re a person,” he challenges. “And I’m talking to you right now.”

  “Not successfully,” I joke.

  He slides his hand to my knee and squeezes, causing my body to go perfectly still. I can’t breathe when he digs his long fingers into my skin.

  “See, I’m a people person.” Dylan smirks. “I got you to shut up.”

  My legs tremble, and I do my best to keep my traitorous body from revealing the instantaneous effect Dylan has on me. There goes my heart again, fighting to break free from my chest, beating so fast my lungs feel as though they are draining of air. Every inch of my body is on fire, brought to life by his simple touch.

  Stupid, stupid body.

  Glancing down at the placement of his hand, I bite my lip and look up at him. His hand slowly slides up my left thigh, and when his fingers move over my bare skin, I accidentally moan. Oh, no. He heard me, and now he’s giving me one his boyish grins that does dangerous things to me.

  “Dylan,” I whisper, covering his hand with mine when he reaches the top of my leg, his fingers tapping my inner thigh. “What are you doing?”

  We stop at a red light. The silence between us is almost painful. He continues to tap his fingers on my thigh, gripping the steering wheel with his left hand. My undersexed body wants him to continue his slow exploration, but my brain is screaming for him to stop.

  “I’m distracting you,” he says after a long pause. “And proving a point.”

  I tip my head to where our hands are linked on my thigh. “What point does this prove?”

  “I wanted an excuse to touch you,” he says, his voice deep but level and so damn sexy.

  He moves his hand to the shifter when the light turns green, now turning right toward Nico’s house.

  I squeeze my legs together, which helps with the shaking. “Why would you want to touch me?”