“If you could attend the fundraiser and stand by me.” He held up his hand as if warding off an objection I hadn’t yet made. “Not as my fiancée, obviously, but as a supporter. As someone whose priorities are my own.”
I chewed. Swallowed. Sipped water. I knew I’d agree, but I didn’t want to throw myself at his feet. He didn’t deserve it. Or I didn’t.
I’d heard a lot about what Daniel deserved. I’d heard that he was a worthless scumbag, and I’d heard promises to make his life in the mayor’s mansion a living hell. Those promises meant nothing to me. No one would hurt Daniel over infidelity. In five years, it would be forgotten. So I’d kept my venom to myself in public, and I released it around my family and Katrina.
But something came into my mind—a vision of Antonio beating Daniel’s head against a car. I smelled the blood and heard the crack of his nose as it broke from the impact. I imagined a tooth clacking across the metal, his contorted face as he said he was sorry, and Antonio and I partnering over the difference between his regret and his remorse.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
I changed the subject. “We decided the public appearances weren’t working.”
“And normally, I’d think it would just remind everyone of my weakness. But in this case, if people see you forgiving, they might follow. I can’t win unless I do something.”
I leaned back, appetite gone. “I can see the op ed pieces now. Another political wife forgives her overambitious man’s failings with other women. Judge her. Don’t judge her. She’s a feminist. She’s the anti-feminist. She’s a symbol for all of us. None of that falls on you. It’s all on me.”
“I know.”
“You are so lucky I don’t want Bruce Drummond in office.”
The air went out of him. He didn’t move, but I saw the slight shift of his shoulders and the release of tension in his jaw. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“I’d still marry you if you’d have me back.”
“Daniel, really—”
He leaned forward as if propelled. “Hear me out. Not as the maybe mayor. As me. Dan. The guy you taught how to walk straight. The guy who bit his nails. That guy’s going to be seventy years old one day, and he’s going to regret what he did. I want you back. After this campaign, win or lose, let me love you again.”
Joy, terror, shock, sadness all fought for my next words. None of them won the race to get from my brain to my mouth.
“I swore I wouldn’t do what I just did,” he said. “But I miss you. I can’t hold it in anymore.”
My words came out with no emotion in them. “I’m not ready.”
“I’ll wait for you, Tink. I’ll wait forever.”
I didn’t respond because I couldn’t imagine myself being ready, and I couldn’t imagine committing myself to anyone else.
nine.
On Monday, I had twenty minutes before my meeting with the fleet guy and the studio rep, exactly enough time to get briefed by Pam.
“Studio’s sending a courier,” she said, leaning into the screen. “They said you could handle it.”
“Wow,” I interjected, “they don’t even pretend to care.”
Pam dropped her voice to nearly inaudible. “Rumor is Matt got the cash for his short from a Hollywood loan shark, and Overland covered the note to the tune of way too much. So if there’s a bus coming, he might get thrown under it.”
“They need to get their own accountants to do their dirty work. They have the best of the best.”
She slipped her rhinestone horn-rimmed glasses halfway down her nose and looked at me over them. “What do you think you are?”
“Adequate, since you asked.”
She shook her head and went back to work. I cleared my desk of a few million in incidentals before going to the conference room to do Arnie his favor.
The conference room was huge, set into the office’s bottom floor. Two sides were glass, looking over the reception area, and the other two walls were glass, looking out onto Wilshire Boulevard. It was designed for big faces to be seen together by the rest of the agency and by whomever was waiting in reception. Appointments might be based around making sure Mr. Twenty-Million-Dollar-A-Picture Actor was seen shaking hands with Mr. Academy-Award-Winning-Director in front of Ms. Top-Agent just as Ms. Actress-Who-Refused-The-Nude-Scene waited for an appointment. Like everything in the entertainment industry, it was maximum drama, maximum visibility.
Every time I went into that particular conference room, I checked the smoothness of my stockings, the lay of my hair, the seams between my teeth, even when I was just meeting a messenger to pass over audit materials. What used to arrive in a banker’s box of paper and ledgers and folders now came in the form of a flash drive and a manila envelope with a few summary sheets, which were useless. They were delivered by a short man in shorts, sneakers, and a flat cap. Matt’s line producer.
“I’m Ed, nice to meet you,” he said as he shook my hand and slid the hard drive and envelope onto the table.
“Nice to meet you too. What do we have here?”
“Everything up to the minute for the whole production. Hope you can help with this. It was kind of unexpected.”
I was about to respond and open the summary schedules so I could ask intelligent questions. Then I was going to finish my work and pick up dinner. I was feeling a turkey sandwich, salad, and bottle of water.
But that got shot out the window in a storm of hormone shrapnel when I saw Arnie coming through reception with a man in a dark suit named Antonio Spinelli. They were talking, but through the window, I saw Antonio’s eyes flick up at me and a smile stretch across his face. I frowned when Arnie opened the door to the conference room.
“Ms. Drazen,” he said cheerfully, “how is the handoff going?”
I slid the papers from the envelope just to distract myself, but my hands shook with rage or nerves. Possibly both.
“Just got here,” said Ed.
“This is Mr. Spinelli,” Arnie said in full agent-smarm. “He rents exotic cars to the business.”
“I know,” I said, cutting off my boss in a way I never would. I immediately caught my faux pas and held out my hand. “We’ve met.”
“Ms. Drazen.” He took my hand, and I felt tingling heat between my legs. “I wanted to say hello before you started.”
“Hello,” I said flatly, releasing his hand but not his gaze, which seemed just as physical.
“Great,” Arnie said. “I’m heading into a meeting.” He shook Ed’s hand, nodded to Antonio, and left.
When the glass door clicked behind him, I spoke. “We’ve got it from here, Ed.” I shot him a look. We were on the same side. I was watching out for him.
As if he understood, he nodded. “Later.” Ed tipped his cap and left.
Only the pull of the air between Antonio and me remained.
“This is flattering,” I said, “but it’s not going to work.”
“You can’t prove they didn’t take care of the cars?”
“Oh, you name it, I can prove it.”
“Good, I wanted the best.”
“You got me instead, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got me.”
“So you say.”
I tried not to smile. That would only encourage him. The last thing the arrogant ass needed was encouragement. “I won’t deny I’m attracted to you. I’m sure I’m not the first. But I’m not a conquest. I don’t like being chased, especially not through the offices of WDE. This is my job, Mr. Spinelli, not a mousehole. You can’t stick your paw in and hope to catch me. I don’t care to mix business with displeasure. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
I reached for the flash drive and envelope, and he stood in my way, getting close enough for me to catch the forested smell of his cologne.