Chapter 20
After Margaux left, Thatcher scurried away—probably in hot pursuit of his new agent. AJ and Charlie tried to stick around, but I sent them home, with firm orders for AJ to make Charlie rest.
And once they were gone, I sat in that empty multipurpose room and felt sorry for myself.
I don’t know how long I was there, but eventually, a woman in an enormous skirt and a Mickey Mouse cardigan poked her head in and told me they needed the room for game night. I got to my feet and left. To be fair, she was nice enough to invite me to join them.
To my surprise, dark pressed up against the conference center’s big windows, and the halls were mostly empty.
The day’s official programming was over, it seemed, and everyone was off having fun—or, if they were like me, lying down in a quiet room after way too much peopling.
I wandered down the abandoned hall, passing a table stacked with empty pizza boxes—my friends from the other day, maybe—a fallen scarf, a tube of lip gloss, an empty tote bag.
There was something post-apocalyptic to all of it.
Expectations to the contrary, I’d never been all that excited about stories like the Rapture—I didn’t necessarily want to live in a world where all the people were gone.
(God knows I didn’t want to be in charge of everything after they left.) But there was something weirdly pleasant about the sudden absence of people in that moment.
I was passing the bar when someone whistled.
A few small groups occupied tables and booths in the bar, but it appeared that most of the conference-goers had left for other watering holes.
Julian sat at a two-top, one hand raised to flag me down.
I gave a weary wave back. I wanted to keep walking, but Julian would come after me, so I headed for his table to tell him tonight wasn’t a good night.
“Hey, there he is,” Julian said, and he got out of his seat and came around the table to pat my arm. “Whoa, what’s up? What happened?”
“Uh, you know, it hasn’t been a great afternoon. I think we might have to reschedule.”
“God, I’m sorry. What happened? Here, sit down. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re upset.” And to my surprise, Julian sounded upset. “What’s wrong?”
I let him guide me into the chair, and before I could think about what I was doing, I started to tell him all of it: my (to borrow Margaux’s word) bumbling attempt at an investigation, and the confrontation with Margaux, and Thatcher’s lie.
“And you know what?” I said when I finished.
“I know the worst part is that—that she’s getting away with it.
If there’s even something for her to get away with.
And I hate that Thatcher lied. I mean, how shortsighted do you have to be to believe that lying for Margaux is going to get you the career you wanted?
But I can’t even deal with that right now, because I feel like such an idiot. ”
“You’re not an idiot,” Julian said.
“Ha.”
“You’re not.” He leaned across the table and put his hand on my forearm. “You’ve worked harder on this investigation than anyone.”
“To prove I’m innocent,” I said. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
Julian shook his head. “Because you care about people. And because you believe in justice. And those are good, powerful traits.”
“Yeah, well.” (And I fully admit that at this point, I was veering into a real pity party.) “It looks like I’m not exactly TV detective material. I mean, you can’t have a show based on all the murders I solved when I biff the big one.”
“You didn’t biff it,” Julian said. “It’s ongoing. You had a setback.” He frowned. “Where’d you learn all this negative self-talk?”
“Uh—Sesame Street?”
Julian laughed. “God, and you have a sense of humor too.” He almost sounded despairing about that fact. “Why are you so hard on yourself? Look at what you’ve done. Look at everything you’ve accomplished. My God, Dash, you outsmarted Vivienne Carver. You’ve faced down psycho killers—”
“I don’t know about ‘psycho’—”
“—and you’ve kept your friends and family safe, and you’ve done all of it while writing this amazing book. I mean, is there anything you can’t do?”
“Fold the laundry. It’s going to give Bobby a stroke one of these days.”
A grin glowed on Julian’s face. His hand still lay on my arm. But he said, “Bobby needs to check his priorities.”
“I’m pretty sure Bobby’s always got his priorities in line. I’m usually the problem.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re great.”
And maybe it was the mention of Bobby’s name, but I was suddenly aware of Julian’s hand on my arm, and something spiny twisted through me.
“Since we’re on the topic,” Julian said, “I wanted to mention something. When you come to L.A., maybe—maybe play down the boyfriend bit.” Whatever he saw on my face made him rush to add, “I’m not saying lie.
But you’re a hot commodity, Dash. You’re young.
You’re attractive. You’re smart. And you’re going to find that a lot of powerful people are going to want to have—well, they’re going to want to hope, you know?
They want to believe it’s at least a possibility. ”
“But I do have a boyfriend.” I slid my arm out from under Julian’s touch. “Bobby.”
“I know. And you can do whatever you want; that was free advice, so take it for what it’s worth.”
“Okay.”
“I know tonight’s not the night to talk business.
But I’m going to kick myself if I don’t make one last pitch.
” He flattened his hands on the table. “Dash, I’m a huge fan of yours.
Personally and professionally. I mean, this isn’t standard operating procedure.
You get that, right? It’s not like we fly out to meet someone every time we’re interested in a property.
But you’re different. You’re special. And that’s why I’m here: because I believe in you, and I believe in this idea, and I want to make it happen.
Whatever I can do to make it happen, you tell me; I’m all yours.
What do I have to do to make this—” And he gestured between us. “—happen?”
That spiny thing twisted inside me again, but I said, “You don’t have to make a pitch or sell me or anything.
I ran the offer by some people I trust, and I’m interested.
I’m excited about the premise. The show sounds amazing.
And the terms are good, although I want to talk some more about contingent bonuses for key milestones, like series pickup and season renewals. ”
Julian glowed. “Really?”
Somehow, in spite of the day I’d had, I smiled. “Really.”
“Dash, that’s incredible. That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks.” He turned around to flag down the server. “We have to celebrate.”
And then I remembered.
The dinner.
I took out my phone.
“Everything okay?” Julian asked.
I had two missed messages from Bobby and a missed call. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed them, but there they were.
Are you okay? said the first one.
And the second: Dash, I’m worried. Please call me.
Bobby picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Bobby, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time. And then he said, “I thought something had happened.”
“No, I—” I almost said, I forgot, but I managed not to. “I’ll be right there, and I promise I can explain.”
The silence was longer this time. And then Bobby said, “They won’t hold our table.”
“I’ll call Talmage. I’ll explain.”
“No,” Bobby said. “I’ll see you at home.”
And then he clicked off.