Chapter 6
The offices for Kellynch Productions were empty and dark when Anne walked in Friday morning. Thank God.
She arrived early, bundling up in her peacoat and knit hat to face the first below-freezing temperatures of the year on her trek from the Uppercross.
She told herself it was because there was work to do—the network needed to see past contracts and she needed to make sure all the footage had been sent over as promised.
The fact that it had given her a convenient reason to avoid another run-in with Freddie Wentworth was just an added benefit. At least that’s what she told herself.
The office was on Fifth Street and Third Avenue, just a few blocks from Tompkins Square Park.
The rent was eye-wateringly high, which was made worse by the fact that there was no strategic reason to be there other than her father being able to brag about the address.
When she had first come on board to save the company, she had begged him to relocate, but he was adamant about staying.
So the cuts came from other departments, and she had picked up the slack.
Honestly, she hadn’t minded. She needed a distraction to keep herself from pondering just how far her life had veered off course.
Such as going to your closed-down office to pick up a few documents rather than risk running into your ex? a voice murmured in her head.
She frowned. Apparently, old habits die hard.
Bianca Russell used to say Anne’s brain was a perpetual motion machine.
Since she was little, she would lose herself in a task, be so absorbed that the world would almost fall away.
Anne never had the heart to tell her mother that the skill was born out of necessity, to avoid her parents’ screaming matches, another attempt at finding control in a world where she felt like she had none.
It was also what helped her deal with being an introvert in a beautifully extroverted city.
When she got into NYU, it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.
There was no question she would live at home—the apartment was just a few blocks from campus—but it only made it harder to make friends, to find her place.
So she threw herself into school, taking on extra classes, volunteering for study groups. It worked for a while, too.
Then she met Freddie.
He made it impossible to hide. She didn’t even want to. They were like two puzzle pieces that fit so perfectly, they didn’t have to worry about anything else. Then, when they finally did, it was too late.
The weeks after he gave her that ticket to Buenos Aires, she had tried to pull away slowly, hoping it would ease the conversation she knew they eventually had to have.
The one she’d practiced for days, had taken careful notes on so he didn’t think she’d come to the conclusion to break up lightly.
She didn’t mention the fact that she was doing it so he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to go to Argentina—forcing him to live with that would have been just as bad as letting him stay.
Instead, she’d only asked to stay friends.
And then he blocked Anne’s number.
She hadn’t realized at first. But after not hearing from him for a week, then two, she had tried to call him. The phone rang and rang, and it wasn’t until the eighth ring that she realized why it wasn’t going to voicemail: He had blocked her.
The confusion was followed by anger, and then pain, then such a heady mix of both that there was nothing to do but fall back on that need for control again.
She threw herself into school, and then her job at the hedge fund, not taking time to celebrate her graduation or even move out of her father’s apartment.
That was the point. She had needed to stay in motion, to keep her brain engaged so it wouldn’t linger on what she’d lost along the way.
Except it didn’t work. Diving headfirst into her job only made her notice every detail that she hated, the lists of numbers that were only that. Flat and binary.
She had tried hard to ignore that, too. But it only lasted so long before she knew she needed to quit.
That was the first time she had looked up Freddie. The day after she walked out of that office building on Wall Street for the last time, she’d caved and pulled out her phone. She opened Instagram and typed out his name.
And there he was. Speaking Spanish.
It had been an odd reintroduction. Did Freddie speak Spanish?
Apparently so. He was also still in Argentina, implementing the same hydroponics system he had perfected at his parents’ house, in a village near Patagonia.
Over the next few years she would occasionally check in, but the posts became less frequent, until finally they began to redirect to another account: Wentworth Hydroponics.
Those photos were more polished, and the ones that featured Freddie became less and less until they stopped altogether.
In some of her more desperate moments, she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to run into Freddie again.
In her imagination, it was always somewhere familiar, like they both had been struck by the need to visit their favorite bench on the High Line again and found themselves there at the exact same moment.
Or maybe they would bump into each other while Christmas shopping near Union Square, maybe even at Fishs Eddy where they used to go.
They’d reach for the same mug, then laugh, and it would be like old times again.
But in all her daydreams, she hadn’t anticipated the version of Freddie she met yesterday. Serious. Impassive. Like he didn’t know her at all.
It was the worst kind of irony. She had broken her own heart—and his—so he wouldn’t have to compromise himself or his dreams. Change who he was or what he wanted. Yet, from the looks of it, he had gone ahead and done that anyway.
Good job, Freddie, Anne thought bitterly, then pushed all thoughts of Freddie Wentworth away. She was good at that.
She pulled off her knit hat and flipped on the overhead lights, illuminating the empty office.
It was an open plan, with a glass wall office for her father in the corner.
She couldn’t remember a time when he had ever actually used it, but it was there, still waiting.
Her desk was in the other corner, tucked into one of the tall windows facing the Hudson.
She knew what she had to grab—a few hard copies of contracts and budgets, her three succulents from the sill, and maybe a few packs of Post-it notes and labels for—
“Anne Elliot.”
The sound of her name sent Anne’s heart into a tailspin. She spun around, half expecting to see Freddie himself stepping off the nearby elevator. But instead, she found Theo Travers.
“Theo! Hi,” she replied, the relief sending a smile to her lips. “Sorry, you startled me. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
He smiled, too. “Ditto.”
Silence fell as they stared at each other. He looked good—better than he had in recent months, when the stress of the series was weighing heavily on them both. Or maybe it was the fact that he was in jeans and a Yankees baseball cap, instead of his usual work attire of slacks and a button-down.
The air in the empty office suddenly felt heavy. Had she ever been alone with Theo before? In all their years of working together, she couldn’t recall a moment that hadn’t involved an editor nearby or a production assistant waiting around the corner.
“So…” She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Just had to pick up a few things. Didn’t think it would be so long before we’d be back in the office.”
A pang of guilt hit her chest. Amid the show’s hiatus, the sale of the apartment, and the return of Freddie Wentworth, Anne had totally overlooked the fact that her life wasn’t the only one turned upside down recently.
“God, I’m so sorry. I should have checked in.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m sure you’ve had enough to deal with,” he replied with a wince.
She smiled. It was true—Theo had witnessed enough of Walt Elliot’s behavior to sympathize.
“So, what have you been up to?” she asked, pushing her blond hair away from her face. God only knew what it looked like after she took off her hat.
“Funny you should ask,” he said, looking slightly guilty. “I was going to give you a call but I was still figuring out how to tell you…”
“Tell me about what?”
He seemed to consider, hand cupping the back of his neck as his brow furrowed. “I’m thinking of breaking off and starting my own production company.”
She blinked. She didn’t know why she was surprised. Yes, Theo had worked on Divorce Divas for years, but his fealty wasn’t required. He could go work on any show, for any network—that’s how television usually worked.
“Theo, that’s great!” she said. And she meant it.
“Yeah?” he asked, venturing a small smile. “I thought you might have an issue, since this is your dad’s company and all. But I had a call with a network exec last week and soft-pitched a show. He seemed really into the idea, so it might have legs.”
“Congratulations,” she said. “To be honest, I’m relieved. I’ve been worried about what everyone was going to do.”
“Well, they haven’t greenlit it yet.” He shrugged. “I have a meeting in a few weeks to pitch the higher-ups, and they want to see a prospective budget, how it would need to be staffed up. So I’ve been working on that and… it’s a lot.”
Anne almost laughed. She was the one that dealt with all the logistics and paperwork at Kellynch, so she knew his sentiment was the understatement of the year.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
His expression turned sheepish. “Is it bad that I was hoping you’d ask that?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’ve done so many of those, I see them in my sleep.”
“Good,” he said with a relieved sigh. “Well, I’ve tried to create one, but it’s a bit of a mess. Could I send it to you and get your thoughts?”
“Sure.”
He smiled again. “Anne Elliot. Always coming to the rescue.”
“I try.” She forced a laugh. “Just email them to me when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” Then his head cocked to the side. “You know, if all goes well and this gets the greenlight, I’d love to bring you on board,” he said after another moment. “What do you think? Theo and Anne, running their own show. Could be fun. That is, if you’re ready to leave this place.”
Anne paused. It could be a good opportunity, especially right now when it felt like she had none.
But it also felt odd, like trying on a sweater that you’d outgrown.
She never wanted to work in television—she hadn’t even really enjoyed it.
Still, at almost thirty, it was the only long-term job experience she had.
“Let’s get your pitch in good shape, then we can go from there. All right?” she offered.
“All right.”
His voice was deep, and the words seemed to hang in the air expectantly. It was enough to make Anne’s pulse trip.
“What are you doing right now?” Theo asked after a moment. “Feel like grabbing a drink? We can exchange war stories.”
She laughed, pushing her hair away from her face again, a nervous motion. “How about a coffee after I go over that budget for you?”
He smiled again, but this time it felt so loaded that Anne couldn’t help but blush. “It’s a date.”