Chapter 17
“I was really dreading this, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected.
I actually had some fun,” Rhys Stillwell, a fallen-from-grace childhood actor, says to me as we film with our room-temperature hot dogs.
He’s apparently launching a redemption arc on his ruined image, so, naturally, eating dogs with me was the best place to start.
“So much fun you’ll be leaving with your own footlong?” I ask in the bland voice for the Sausage Talk schtick. Rhys chokes on the innuendo.
“You’re quite the little perv,” he says through a laugh, as if this man doesn’t have a reputation for sleeping through all of Hollywood and most of Broadway.
We wrap up from there, Rhys being whisked off by his handlers and saving me any sleazy post-filming flirting.
I collapse into my chair and scroll through my phone, smiling at a text from Rylie.
Have a great day, kitten 3
I snort as I type back: Don’t tell me what to do 3
He sends a wall of eye-rolling emojis then one blowing me a kiss. I’m not sure how I managed to get so lucky.
“Excellent interview, Eva.” William’s voice over my shoulder startles me so badly, I jump out of my chair, sending my phone flying into my makeup kit.
“William. Hi,” I say, clutching my chest and trying to ignore the surge of panic that follows the tail-end of the shock. “What are you doing here?”
He gives me a cool, appraising look, then sweeps it around the room. “That’s what happens when you run things, Eva,” he says, fixing his stare back on me. “You keep a close eye on everything.”
I nod, fighting the urge to squirm. “Of course. Yeah. And clearly you’re very good at that,” I say, trying to kiss as much ass as humanly possible.
His expression doesn’t change. “Yes, I am.”
We stand there in silence for a moment, and I pray he doesn’t notice the growing rings of sweat under my arms.
I tried to implement some of Rylie’s advice in my response to Landry, letting her know how seriously I take my job and listing out new initiatives and ideas I’d been pursuing, putting my efforts there to stay ahead of the curve.
She never responded but I also wasn’t fired on Monday so I’ve been cautiously optimistic I played it right.
“I got your email,” William says at last, swooping into my space to take my vacated seat. That was the second part of my good graces plan—reaching out to William directly, cc’ing Landry and Aida of course, to blame the lack of content on Rylie.
William hooks an ankle over his opposite knee, then straightens his expensive-looking watch, waiting for me to respond.
I clear my throat, shifting from foot to foot. “Oh, good. Yeah, like I said, I’m just as frustrated as you are by all of this. But I swear, I’m doing everything I can.”
It’s a lie and I’m sure he knows it, and I hate maligning Rylie like this, but it was his idea.
He even suggested I tell William he has once again ghosted me.
I fought Rylie on it at first—I already did enough work to assassinate his character at the start of all this—but he cut my endless stream of protests off with a tender kiss.
“I’d rather you lie to your boss about me blowing you off than us both have to record things for the internet lying about how we feel for each other,” Rylie told me. “I can promise you, Soundbites isn’t looking for content that highlights how much we like each other.”
I had trouble arguing with that. So, with his blessing, I sent an email back to William saying I hadn’t heard from Rylie since our last recording and was furious about it, but doing all I could to get through.
I then reiterated to William how dedicated I am to my career and my dreams of branching out in the topics I cover, even pitching a few story ideas. He didn’t bother to respond.
Like mother, like son, I suppose.
Aida hasn’t been much better, taking my confrontation avoidance with her after the Zoom call and playing a reverse Uno, so now I’m the one being ignored. She’s also been swamped with new projects to produce, so I’m trying not to take her silence too personally.
William’s coal-black eyes study me intently. “Yes, the photos of you circulating on the internet certainly prove just how hard you’re working.” He pauses long enough to sneer. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you the cardinal rule of this business, Eva?”
My stomach twists as acid rises up my throat. Like a fool, I shake my head.
He leans in, giving me a smile that’s simultaneously conspiratorial and threatening. “Don’t screw the talent.” There’s a beat. “Or at least don’t be so obvious about it.”
My pulse saws through my veins, humiliation flooding my system as I splutter. He stares at me with taut patience like I’m an ill-behaved child.
“Those photos aren’t me,” I finally get out, entire body hot and prickly. He arches an eyebrow. “I mean… yes, those photos are of me but I wasn’t… that wasn’t… Rylie and I didn’t… It was a random hookup. Terrible time. Had to make a quick exit. You know how it is.”
William looks at me like he has absolutely no idea how it is.
“He used a sheet as a curtain,” I say weakly, not sure why I feel the overwhelming compulsion to give him all the gory (and false) details.
“I see,” William says after a terrible stretch of silence. He plucks invisible lint off his impeccably tailored suit pants. “Such a shame about Mr. Cooper. We really could have made something of you if he’d continued participating.”
I can’t decide if I want to melt into the floor or blow up in his face. I force a smile. “I hate to think making something of myself is reliant on a man,” I say, shocked I’m able to keep my voice even and pleasant. “And I think with new opportunities, I can really find my stride.”
He gives a shallow shrug, attention drifting. “Opportunities come with the data to back up their likelihood for success.” He sighs. “Such a metric-driven world we live in now. Makes you wonder if things were actually better in the old days when you could simply sleep your way to the top.”
My face must express my horror, because William takes one look at me and laughs. “I’m joking, Eva. Jesus, what kind of person do you take me for? Where’s your sense of humor?”
I let out a forced laugh that sounds like a vinyl needle scratching against a record. “Sorry,” I say, not exactly sure what I’m apologizing for, but feeling like it’s necessary nonetheless.
William stares at me, lips curving into a pitying smile. With a glance at his watch, he stands, smoothing the clean lines of his crisp suit. “I’m sure you’ll figure out how to make things work. I better head out, though. Have a meeting with investors soon.”
“Good luck,” I say meekly, fighting the urge to cry.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Those cold eyes stare straight into me. He turns and strides to the door, then, over his shoulder adds, “If you see Mr. Cooper, let him know our legal team will be in touch.”
“Legal team,” I screech for the fiftieth time as I pace Rylie’s bedroom floor. He’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, tracking my movements, a dreamy smile on his face. “What is wrong with you?” I say, turning on him. “Why are you smiling , you knob?”
Rylie grabs my wrist, tugging me to him until I tumble into his lap. “It’s really sweet to see you so concerned about me,” he says, placing a messy kiss to my cheek. I thrash about like an angry cat. He holds me tighter, nuzzling against my neck.
“Are you even listening to me? William is making legal threats over all of this! It’s serious, and you’re moved by my concern ?” I squirm even harder.
Rylie wrestles me to the bed, pinning my hips between his thighs as I flail my head back and forth across his awful denim duvet. “Eva, stop.” Rylie cups my cheeks in his palms, his steel eyes chaining our gazes. “Don’t. Worry.”
“Don’t worry? Don’t worry ? Tell me, Cooper, in the history of humankind, has saying that ever actually stopped someone from worrying? Especially around you? Your energy could put a monk in a spiral.”
“Says the woman who would give bull riders a run for their money,” he says with a laugh as I buck against him again, that boyish smile of his popping out.
“But if you’d listen to me for half a second instead of working yourself into a panic, you’d realize that I am not worried about his flimsy legal threat because, believe it or not, I know a little bit about what I’m doing when it comes to my work. ”
I still, breathing hard as I glare up at him. “Say more.”
He laughs again, bobbing his head down to kiss my forehead.
“I’ve signed agreements for partnerships with companies before.
” He adjusts his weight so he’s resting on his knees, hips hovering over mine.
He picks up one of my fisted hands, slowly massaging the joints until I release my grip.
“I learned a long time ago the importance of having a good lawyer review everything and I always, always make sure I have a right-to-termination clause at any point if I stop agreeing with the messaging of the collaboration.”
He kisses my palm, then lays it gently on my chest, picking up my other hand and repeating the process, lulling me into some kind of trance.
“I agreed to our initial interview on Sausage Talk and cross-promotion between my podcast and the show for profit sharing on sponsors and advertisers. I didn’t agree to a set amount of deliverable content, which is why I’m not worried about what William said.
My lawyer isn’t worried about what William said.
Which means you should not be worried about what William said.
He’s grasping at straws here, which is why he made the threat to you in the first place. It’s very transparent.”
“I don’t have to worry?” The idea seems like a trap. If I don’t solve all his problems, what am I good for?
“You don’t have to worry,” Rylie repeats, sliding off my hips and stretching out next to me. He gathers me to him. “I have it all handled, sweetheart.”
I open my mouth to argue, scrambling for some way I can prove myself useful here, but he cuts me off with a kiss.
“But I appreciate that you care this much,” he whispers against my lips. “That means more to me than you could ever know.”
The tension ebbs like a lazily retreating tide, and I let Rylie kiss me some more, luring me into a sense of calm. Could… could that be enough? The simple fact that I care and he knows it is enough to make me worth it?
Rylie pulls back, fixing me with a startlingly intense look. “You’ll always be worth it,” he says, threading his hands in my hair. I realize I whispered my thought out loud. “Always,” he repeats. Then shows me how much he means it.