Chapter 3
It’s two days later and Simone still isn’t back. The only communication I’ve had with her is a couple of texts telling me how to deal with some of her clients and that she’s fine. I’m having serious doubts, though.
My mind has conjured up a gamut of reasons for her absence. She could just need some time off. Maybe she’s burned out, but that seems so unlike her. She once worked through a root canal—taking calls between procedures and getting annoyed when no one could understand her because of the numbing.
Maybe she’s had some plastic surgery that she doesn’t want anyone to know about.
She often jokes that her goal weight is “one surgery away.” But that seems unlikely too.
If it were a planned procedure, she would have made better arrangements to make sure everything was taken care of before she left.
So, what, then? Something terminal? Oh gosh, please don’t let it be that.
Regardless of my worries, I’m handling it.
And like a champ, I might add. I drafted the statement for the Bailey and River breakup, got approval from all parties—and there were shockingly few changes from Luke—sent it to People magazine first for the exclusive, then released it to the rest of the outlets and journalists on the list.
We must have done our jobs right because the statement was enough to appease all the gossip sites and influencers, and they really didn’t have much to say on the matter.
Translation: The story is boring.
Don’t get me wrong. Tessa found plenty of “the show is ruined!” posts, but not the avalanche I was expecting. Which is good because Bailey and River have to convince fans their characters are falling in love when filming starts in less than two months. A messy public breakup threatens that.
Because there was no huge fallout, there wasn’t much to follow up on. Which means Luke Wilder gets to go back to being a distant, vaguely irritating memory. Exactly where he belongs.
“This one time, Jon Hamm came in and sat in my station.” Colin, my date for tonight, regales me with another server story. “Great guy. Fantastic tipper.”
Yes, that’s right. I gave in and let Sam set me up with Colin from work.
What can I say? She caught me in a good mood after I released my first A-list statement.
And yes, it was because Simone couldn’t do it, so once again, a default situation.
But the point is, I did it, and it went well, and a little celebratory date was in order.
Not that this date so far, or this hole-in-the-wall Thai place, feels particularly celebratory.
The restaurant is tiny, with more tables than the space has room for, mismatched chairs, a fish tank in the corner by the door, and a Buddha statue by the cash register. The place smells of lemongrass, coconut milk, and something frying in the back. My mouth is watering.
For the food. Not my date. Unfortunately for Sam, Colin isn’t “perfect” for me. He’s nice and boy-next-door cute with wavy dark-brown hair and a dimpled chin, but I could tell from the instant we shook hands outside the door of the restaurant that he would not be a contender for kiss number fifty.
It was something in the way his hand grasped mine. It was a little like shaking a cold, dead fish. You can tell a lot about someone from a handshake, and this one said I kiss like a cold, dead fish.
You don’t kiss as many men as I have and not learn a thing or two. Or twenty.
Still, it’s good to get out tonight and put on a pair of jeans for once, since I was told the dress code was casual.
I rarely get to dress down in my line of work, which requires business formal, even when I’m not going anywhere but the office.
You just never know when you’re going to have a client stop by or an emergency you have to drop everything and run to.
And yes, I’ve literally had to run. Those are the times you wish you were wearing running shoes rather than heels.
“Oh, and I’ve also served a couple of Kardashians,” Colin tells me.
I offer what I hope is an interested expression. This is definitely his go-to—the spiel that works on most women. But I work in PR. Celebrity sightings aren’t exactly exciting for me. Not that I’d tell him that.
“That’s crazy,” I say—something I’ve already said twice. Get it together, Claire.
I’m saved by an older man in dark jeans and a gray T-shirt with something spilled down the front of it, bringing us our food. At least we can focus on that now instead of which stars Colin has fetched refills for.
“Smells amazing,” I say, picking up a serving spoon and dishing myself up some pad see ew, ready to dig in.
My Apple Watch buzzes against my wrist, and I look to see that I’ve got a text from Sam asking how the date’s going, followed by a bunch of heart eyes and dancing ladies. Sam is an emoji overuser. She’s also at work right now, so she shouldn’t be on her phone.
I don’t respond. I try not to use my phone while on dates because it’s rude. But I have to have a way to receive texts just in case there’s some kind of PR emergency. Which, for me, has only happened twice, but is a regular occurrence for Simone.
She once left her nephew’s birthday party—someone she treats like her own child, since she can’t have any of her own—to save an A-lister who had accidentally sent some nudes to a gossip site instead of to her boyfriend.
Well, accidentally on purpose. It’s a whole thing in this industry.
Colin lets out a little moaning sound, and I look up from my watch to see that he’s leaning his head back with his eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned. He looks as if he’s having an out-of-body experience. Or maybe even a seizure.
He slaps the table, making it shake, and I jump a little in my seat.
He moans again. “This curry is insane,” he says.
Okay, not a seizure. Colin just really likes his food.
I look around the room, giving polite smiles to some of the other customers, letting them all know that everything is fine and my date is just having a moment with his green curry.
Perhaps, in the future, he should consider eating in the privacy of his own home if this is how he wants to enjoy his meal.
“How was that?” he asks me when he’s finished whatever he was just doing and his eyes are back on me.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, not following.
He sets his fork down, rubbing his palms together. “I’m auditioning for a commercial next week. For the part of man who really likes his food. It’s method.”
You know what? I take it back. I want to hear about the celebrities Colin has met. Every one of them.
“Ah,” I say, nodding my head. I probably should have guessed that Colin is an aspiring actor since that’s what most of Sam’s coworkers are doing: waiting tables until they land a role.
Sam knows I don’t date actors, or aspiring ones. Not because I hate them, but because of . . . well, things like this. I’m guessing that’s why she didn’t offer this information. She was probably hoping Colin would be so perfect for me, I’d overlook that minor detail.
I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and guess that she didn’t know he was into method acting, because if she did and still set me up on this date . . . well, I might have to throttle her.
“I think I can do better,” he says.
“Why don’t—”
He cuts me off by throwing his head back and moaning, even louder this time. Everyone is looking our way. The entire restaurant. The man who brought us our food is standing just outside the kitchen door, frozen in place while taking in the scene as he holds a plate of something hot and steamy.
That’s it. Sam is dead to me.
“That is incredible,” he yells throughout the small room, slamming a fist on the table this time. My fork rattles against my plate.
I need an escape plan. I don’t think I can take another minute of this.
My watch buzzes on my wrist, and I’m sure it’s another text from Sam. Whoever it is, I’m going to pretend it’s an emergency and get out of here.
Tessa: 911
My eyes widen at my watch. Did I just will a crisis into existence?
I grab my phone out of my purse, which is hanging on the back of my chair, while my date continues moaning over his food, this time swinging his head back and forth as he exclaims how perfect the flavors are.
I’m about to text Tessa back when my phone vibrates in my hand. This time the text is a link, and I quickly click on it. It takes me to the go-to account for anonymous celebrity blind items and gossip.
Which recently separated power couple from a certain beloved fantasy franchise may not have had the amicable split their joint statement suggested? Sources close to the situation say one half was spotted getting very cozy with a costar weeks before the announcement was made.
Oh . . . no. No, no, no.
I quickly text Tessa back.
Me: How bad is it?
The little dots appear as I wait for her answer.
Tessa: Too early to say, but so far people are blaming River
That gives me some relief. Except I know how quickly public opinion can change. And cheating rumors are scary because they have a long shelf life. Fans don’t forget, brand partners get nervous; it can follow people to their next audition, and they give studios reasons to start reviewing contracts.
Translation: Cheating rumors are super bad.
Which is why I need to be ahead of this—ahead of whatever might come next.
“What did you think of that one?” Colin asks.
“Huh?” I look up from my phone.
“My acting? It was good, right?”
I’d completely forgotten where I was for a moment. Which is crazy, considering how weird the situation with Colin is.
I stand up from my chair.
“I’m so sorry, Colin,” I tell him, yanking my purse strap over my shoulder and then pointing at my phone screen. “I have a work emergency and I need to go.”
I’m sure Colin will think I just made this up, and even though I was about to do just that, I’m actually telling him the truth right now.