by Dani McLean
I snorted a laugh in the empty room, then set myself up in a visitor’s chair with my laptop ready.
Jeff hurried into the office moments later, sweaty and out of breath. “Miss Adams, good to see you again.” Jeff dropped unceremoniously into the chair behind the desk and looked at me expectantly.
“You, too, Mr. MacMillan.” We sat in mildly awkward silence as we waited for Julie to return.
Thankfully, the wait was short. “Here you go, hun.” I nodded in thanks as I took the glass of water from Julie and waited as she made herself comfortable before beginning. I was here with a proposal, after all.
“So firstly, thank you for letting me come by today. I know how busy you both are, so I won’t take up too much of your time. We’ve talked previously about expanding distribution and how we might promote the new style.”
“The dark, yes. It should be ready for transfer from the casks in a few weeks, all things considered.”
“Fantastic. I can’t wait to try some. Now, I’ve already started talking to customers and bars that I know will be a good fit for the new style, but I wanted to suggest a launch event. Something small and tasteful with a mixed guest list of industry professionals and general patrons. It would be a way to build up the brand and generate some good word of mouth. But it would have to be self-funded, and I would need your go-ahead.”
I watched as Jeff considered this, then shared a look with Julie that I was too nervous to decipher. It wasn’t dismissive, but it wasn’t overly enthusiastic either.
“And how much is this going to cost us?” Jeff asked.
Ah. I knew this would be the sticking point. Luckily, I’d come prepared, and I moved to place my laptop on the desk, facing them. “Well, that is entirely up to you. I have some examples here of some events I’ve prepared in the past with itemized budgets so you can see what’s possible.” I paused, giving them a moment to scan the details on the screen. “If you agree, then you tell me what the budget is, and I’ll work within that.”
Jeff sighed, looking conflicted. “If you think it will help in some way, then I’ll consider it, but I’ll need to know more before we can make a decision.”
I nodded with understanding, already filing away some initial ideas that might work.
He continued, sounding apologetic about his reticence. “I can’t deny I’m nervous about this, but I guess we need to trust that you and David know what you’re doing. Say what, send me this,” he pointed to the screen, “so we can look it over, and we’ll get back to you.”
My adrenaline ran out in the early evening, and I surprised myself by clocking out at six p.m., hours earlier than usual since we’d started the company.
Part of the problem was proximity. My apartment was walking distance from the office, and the area wasn’t prone to dangerous encounters, so I could work as late as I wanted and be home in the same amount of time it used to take me to get to the station.
Really the problem was a severe perfectionist streak that meant I found myself working more than was probably wise.
So it was a novelty to leave work before the sun had set.
I headed straight from the office to Tiff’s apartment, knowing she would be eager to get the details about my time with Jackson.
Actually, knowing Tiff, she was more than likely dying to tell me, “I told you so,” since she’d practically engineered the whole thing, but I didn’t care. I’d had the best night of my life, and she could take the damn credit.
“Normally. I’m more of a parade girl, but I’ll settle for a national holiday,” she said by way of hello as she opened the door.
“Ok, yes, get it all out now. You were—”
“Right? Fantastic? The best wing woman ever?” she said, thrilled.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn’t. Not with the shit-eating grin that took over my face.
Tiff actually looked impressed. “That good, huh?”
“Incredible,” I answered.
“I do know how to pick ‘em.”
I shrugged off my blazer and draped it over my bag before dropping onto her couch. It may have been sourced off a street corner, but the thing was insanely comfortable. I did not want to think too hard about why that was. “Yes, thank you. I would never have even left the house if you hadn’t invited me.”
“I know.”
“And I wouldn’t have even met him if you hadn’t forced me to sit next to him and been so annoying trying to get us to talk to each other.”
“I know.”
“And I probably would have left without him if you hadn’t—”
“Audrey, I know!” she grumbled. “I take it back. I don’t want the parade anymore.” For all of Tiff’s swagger, she actually didn’t enjoy people heaping too much attention on her. It was one of her most endearing qualities and a big part of why I loved her. She was confident enough in herself not to need anyone else’s validation.
“Good, because that’s all the credit I’m giving you.”
“Now tell me everything. How big was he? I’m guessing above average.”
“Oh my, God, I’m not telling you that!” I paused. “What’s average anyway?”
Tiff lost her breath laughing.
10
Jackson
I was an idiot. Two weeks had gone by, and I was still thinking about Audrey.
It wasn’t unusual to think fondly of a woman I’d slept with, but this felt different. I felt compelled to see her again.
I’d thought about that night endlessly, and while I normally wouldn’t pursue something beyond a single night, I hoped there could be a middle ground between the one-night stands I’d had and the ”forever” that I should probably start aiming for. Especially since Audrey had been pretty adamant that she didn’t want anything serious either. It could be perfect for both of us.
But how? I didn’t know her last name, and all I could remember about her job was that it was in alcohol sales, or was it marketing? Damnit, I’d been too hypnotized by her smile and the way she spoke her mind, not to mention the way that dress had hugged the swell of her breasts.
I’d been right, too. Every inch of skin that it alluded to looked better exposed.
And more than just wanting to get into her bed again, I wanted another chance to see those dancing hazel eyes, her crooked smile, and delicate features.
Jesus, I needed to pull my shit together.
“I mean, it’s only my left leg. I can live without it.” Sarah’s casual tone pierced my thoughts.
“Wait, back up. What are you talking about?”
Sarah’s glare told me she knew I hadn’t been paying attention. Shit. “Oh, so now you’re listening to me? What has you so distracted anyway?”
I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Nothing.”
She raised a single brow but offered nothing in return. Ugh, she was becoming more and more like Mom every day. Not that I’d tell her that.
I quickly debated whether to tell her the truth or not. I settled for not. “Sorry, it’s just a work thing.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”
She picked up her coffee and carefully considered me across the table. “Ok, this can’t honestly just be about work.”
“Why not?”
“Jace, I’ve known you my whole life. I know work problems versus girl problems.”
“I’m a grown man. I don’t have girl problems.”
She cocked that same eyebrow in response, mocking me.
“It’s nothing,” I said, nervously scratching my neck. “I might have met someone.” I blurted out.
She sat up straighter, instantly intrigued. “And?”
“And nothing. It was a one-time thing. I didn’t even get her number.”
Sarah deflated, groaning. “Ugh, guys are the worst! You obviously like this girl enough that you’re sitting there with heart eyes still thinking about her, and yet apparently you were either too horny or too stupid to get he
r details? I feel sorry for you.”
I was still stuck on the heart eyes comment. “And why is that?”
“Because. If you’d done the decent thing and taken her on a date instead of banging her like some floozy—”
“Jesus, Sarah.”
“Then you wouldn’t look like someone who just lost the Oscar.” She took a bite of her toast. “You’re the floozy, by the way.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I said wryly.
“So?” she asked, waving her toast towards me.
Was I meant to know what she wanted me to say? “So … what?”
She huffed. “Are you going to see her again?”
“I told you—”
“So what, you have no other way of contacting her? How did you even meet her anyway? An app? Friend of a friend?”
Ah. That was it: her friend, the bartender. If I went back to the bar, maybe she would give me Audrey’s number or some way to contact her.
Sarah was a genius.
“Anyway, she must be pretty special to have you pining over breakfast.”
“Yeah …” I smiled. “Maybe.”
I met Terry at some trendy restaurant that looked exactly like every other trendy restaurant in Chicago. With the show in its third year, it was time to start thinking about my long-term goals.
Before the show had started, and for most of my career, the focus had been on chasing the job that would put me on the map. Step by step, audition by audition, inching towards a point where I didn’t have to worry about what would come next. Where I could pick and choose the jobs offered to me and have the career I wanted, as well as the financial stability to look after the people I cared about.
Terry was already seated when I arrived, but he stood to give me the customary half-handshake half-hug that industry folk had perfected. “Hi, Terry.”
“Hey, my man! How are you?”
Terry didn’t tend to use my name. It was always “my man!” Or “there’s the next McConaughey.” No idea why; he was either being ironic or he just really loved McConaughey. I’d known him for six years, and the closest I could tell? It was both.
“I’m good. Been back on set for a week now. It feels good.”
“Good to hear.” He sat back down and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit! Do you want a drink? Coffee? Cocktail?”
A waitress appeared by my side as soon as my ass hit the chair. “Just a black coffee, thanks.” She nodded and left.
“Now, I don’t want to push,” he started, but I knew he really did. It was his job, after all. “I still need an answer on that teen romance series. They’re really vying for you. If you want it, we should act soon.”
I sighed, avoiding his eye. That bland teen romance would probably be a cash cow, but nothing about it excited me. Minus the show's supernatural elements, it was the same thing I’d been doing for the last two years.
“I know. I just need a bit longer.”
Terry rubbed at his jaw. “If you take too long, it’ll be out of your hands. Are you sure you don’t want to just jump on it? I could make some phone calls today. Get the wheels moving.”
“I don’t know, Terry.”
“Hey, you don’t have to take it. There’s nothing wrong with just sticking with what you’re doing now. There’s plenty more buff leading man roles out there if that’s what you want. You just need to tell me if you want to be Thor or you want to branch out like that weird-looking guy from those wizard films.”
“Daniel Radcliffe?”
“Is that him? The one who played a glittering vampire.”
“Robert Pattinson.”
“Oh, yeah. Like him.”
“You do at least remember my name, right, Terry?” I was only half-joking.
“Of course! Don’t be stupid. But yeah, you probably want to tell me which way you want to go with these offers. I mean, do you want to go Hemsworth or Patterson?”
I didn’t correct him on the name. Though the reference inevitably changed, he’d been touting that line for at least a year now, pointing out my two options: lean into the action hero slash heartthrob gig or start pursuing more serious indie roles.
“The show’s not going to last forever, J. You should have a plan.”
“I know. I’ll think about it.”
“Now for the good news.” He placed a thick envelope on the table before me.
“What’s this?”
“Take a look.”
I opened the envelope and slipped out the first page. It was the Michael’s script. The same one I’d been chasing since I’d heard about it. The same one everyone and their cousin had been after.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?” I said, which resulted in a belly laugh from Terry.
Subversive was a fantastic indie script, ripped from the blacklist. Addison Michaels, the writer and director, had become a studio favorite after last year’s sweep at Cannes and Venice. His latest project was the hot new thing on everyone’s wish list, a dark comedy attracting some serious talent if industry gossip was to be believed.
But I would have to fight for the role and really sell Michaels on hiring me. Even with the show at its peak—hell, probably because of it—I didn’t expect to be his first choice for the role of a male submissive who plans with his lover to kill his mistress and steal her millions.
Because despite the buzz surrounding it, Subversive was a passion project at heart, and I’d heard Addison Michaels had full control on casting.
I also knew that I could kill this role, and I had no doubt I could convince Michaels to hire me in it. Still, it was a risky career move on my part. Hollywood was littered with stories of great scripts that became bad movies. Or worse, shelved movies.
And I knew the show likely only had another two or so seasons before the novelty wore off. Even if the audience was still there, I didn’t want to be playing this role in another four or five years.
I had to get this job.
The lot was bustling with various crew members when I arrived on set the next morning. I had barely set my bag down before Naomi, the production manager, spoke over my shoulder.
“I should have known I’d find you here.” She stood a few feet away, at the edge of the padded area where we practiced fight choreo, and motioned towards the staff I was holding. “Did Felix bring out the surprise yet?” Felix was our props master.
“Not yet, but now I’m excited to see it.” The best part about being on a vaguely sci-fi show? The cool fake weapons.
She moved closer. “Anything else you’re excited to see?”
Naomi and I had been casually flirting on and off most of last season, but it had never gone beyond the occasional line and a handful of lingering glances for one reason or another. Her move from assistant to manager had been hard-earned last year, and I suspected she hadn’t wanted to invite the inevitable gossip that would come if we were seen together.
So she’d kept it light, and I had enjoyed the flirtation. This seemed like more, though, but I now found myself not interested in following through.
She moved closer. “You look good. How have you been?”
“Good. You?”
“Busy. Exhausted. The usual.” She chuckled, tucked a stray curl behind her ear. I’d often thought about running my hands through those curls, but it wasn’t her silky strands I was itching to touch now.
“I could use a drink later. I need to unwind a little. You should join me if you’re interested?”
“Thanks, but, uh, I can’t.”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”
A few months ago, I would have jumped at the chance, hell, probably even a few weeks ago. But then, I hadn’t met Audrey yet.
I couldn’t remember the last time I felt anything more than lust for someone, and I didn’t really know what the hell to do about it.
Impulse drove me to many places. Some would call it recklessness. Sarah likely would. It was what convinced me to pursue acting, it had gotten me this r
ole, and it was what led me back to The Basement that night to see if I couldn’t convince a certain bartender to give me the number of her friend.
As I entered the bar, I briefly considered tracing my steps to see if I could find Audrey’s apartment again, but that felt creepy and unnecessary. As long as the blonde was here—what was her name again?—I was sure I could charm her into offering Audrey’s details. I hardly thought I’d have to do much; she’d practically forced us together that night, so maybe she’d gladly help me out.
That said, I had snuck out in the middle of the night without even a goodbye.
I suddenly wondered if this was a terrible idea.
My chance to turn back disappeared as quickly as it had come because the blonde—Tiffany, that was it—in question spotted me. She was serving a couple who were standing at the bar, and as our eyes met, I tried a friendly smile, hoping that if she was pissed on behalf of her friend, the most she’d do was kick me out, not kick my ass.
Especially since there were witnesses here.
Although I somehow doubted that that would deter her.
My stomach unclenched as she waved me over, clearly suspicious. I took a seat at the bar while the couple took their drinks and moved to a booth across the room.
“Well, well, this is a surprise.” Her tone was light, but her gaze cold, sizing me up.
I remembered how blunt she’d been the other night and decided to go for sincerity over charm. “I’m an idiot.”
It appeared to work. She barked out a laugh and visibly relaxed. “That’s for damn sure.”
“I want to see Audrey again, and I thought you might help me get in touch with her.”
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. She simply leaned back against the cabinet behind her and crossed her arms. At least she was smiling. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a good person who believes in second chances?”
“I don’t know … Audrey is my oldest friend. I barely know you.”