Chapter 33
thirty-three
. . .
Stella
The Tangerine Talent offices hum with the kind of controlled chaos that makes my heart race in the best way.
Phones ringing, assistants power walking past with coffee and contracts, the distant sound of agents negotiating seven-figure deals.
This is my world, and after joining Blair to help her start her own agency, I've managed to work my way up to an agent. I finally feel like I belong here.
I'm reviewing notes for my next meeting when my assistant, Tatum, pops his head into my office. “Ava St. James is here.”
“Perfect. Send her in.”
Ava sweeps into my office like she's making an entrance at a premiere, which, knowing her, is exactly the effect she's going for.
At forty-seven, she's still stunning in that timeless Hollywood way, all sharp cheekbones and perfect posture.
She's also stubborn as hell and convinced that her Oscar win fifteen years ago should be enough to carry her career forever.
“Stella, darling,” she says, settling into the chair across from my desk with the kind of grace they don't teach anymore. “I've been thinking about our last conversation.”
“And?” I lean forward, trying to read her expression.
“You want me to do television.” She says it like I've suggested she start doing dinner theater in Oklahoma.
“I want you to expand your horizons,” I correct gently.
“The landscape has changed, Ava. Some of the best roles for women are on streaming platforms and starring in limited series now.
Look at what Meryl did with Big Little Lies or Nicole Kidman with The Undoing.
These aren't your grandmother's TV movies.”
Ava sighs, examining her perfectly manicured nails. “When I started in this business, there was a clear hierarchy. Movies were art. Television was—”
“A paycheck,” I finish. “I know. But that was then.
Now we have show runners like Shonda Rhimes and Mindy Kaling creating stories specifically for streaming, and they're winning Emmys and Golden Globes.
We have A-listers lining up to be part of anthology series because they know that's where the meaty roles are.”
I pull out the folder I've been preparing for weeks.
“I've identified three projects that would be perfect for you.
There's a limited series about political wives in the seventies that shoots for four months and would put you in contention for every award show next year.
A recurring role on that new legal drama where you'd play the senior partner who mentors the young hotshot lawyer. And…” I pause for effect.
“Beyoncé's team reached out about a cameo in her next music video.”
“Beyoncé?” Ava's eyebrows rise.
“Think about it. One day of shooting, global exposure to an entirely new generation, and you'd be working with one of the most influential artists of our time. It's not selling out, Ava. It's staying relevant.”
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning. Ava's smart. She knows her last three films barely made a ripple at the box office. She knows the offers have been getting smaller, the roles less interesting.
“You know,” she says slowly, “when Blair first assigned you to my account, I thought she was pawning me off on the junior agent because my career was circling the drain.”
My stomach drops a little, but I keep my expression neutral.
“I was wrong,” she continues, and her voice is warm now, almost surprised. “You see possibilities where I only saw problems. You understand this business in a way that…well, frankly, I underestimated you completely.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. Coming from someone with Ava's experience, that's not just a compliment. It's validation.
“Set up meetings for all three projects,” she says, standing and smoothing down her designer dress. “And Stella? Next time I doubt your judgment, remind me of this conversation.”
As Ava stands to leave, her voice takes on a gentle, sympathetic tone. “I wasn't going to say anything, but I spoke with Helena Voss before coming here.”
I look up at her, confused about where she's going with this.
“She mentioned you and Brandon aren't together anymore?”
My pen freezes halfway through signing a contract. The words seem to echo in the suddenly too-quiet office. Brandon told Helena we aren’t together?
“Well,” I manage, my voice perfectly steady even as my stomach plummets, “we're working through some things.”
Ava shakes her head with a small frown. “I have to say, I'm surprised after seeing you two together. I think there was something really genuine there. I hope you can work things out. Sometimes, the best relationships go through rough patches.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, somehow maintaining my composure as she heads out of the office.
The moment the door closes behind her, I set down my pen and stare at the wall as her words replay in my head. Why would Brandon tell Helena that we weren't together anymore? And did he tell her that before he fucked me or after?
Is that why he was quick to skip over a talk about anything last night? Does he not want to be together?
I sit there, staring at the closed door, with Ava's words echoing in my head like a broken record. Brandon told Helena we weren't together. After everything that happened between us.
My hands are shaking as I try to process what this means. Did I completely misread the situation? The thought makes my stomach churn.
I'm so lost in my spiral that I don't hear my office door open again.
“Knock, knock,” Natalie's voice cuts through the fog. “Hope you don't mind me barging in, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd see if you might have any extra passes for that indie premiere this weekend. The one with—” She stops mid-sentence. “Hello? Earth to Stella?”
I blink, finally focusing on her concerned face. “What?”
“I've been talking for like thirty seconds, and you haven't heard a thing I've said.” She settles into the chair across from my desk. “What's going on?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don't know.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe I completely misunderstood everything. Maybe he just wanted to sleep with me, and now that he has, he's done.”
Natalie's eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, slow down. Who are we talking about here?”
“Brandon told Helena we're not together anymore,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “After we… God, maybe I'm terrible in bed. Maybe he realized he doesn't actually want me, and now he's trying to figure out how to let me down easy.”
“Wait. Hold up.” Natalie leans forward. “You and Brandon slept together?”
I nod miserably. “Last night. And the night before. And this morning. It was incredible, Natalie. Like everything-I-didn't-know-I-was-missing incredible. But then he goes and tells Helena Voss that we're just friends? That we're not together?”
“Tell me who Helena is.”
“She's this director he's trying to work with.
And she's gorgeous, by the way. And successful. And probably closer to his age than I am.” I can hear my voice getting higher, more frantic.
“Maybe he realized he could do better. Maybe he was just being nice because we were fake dating and things got out of hand.”
“Stella—”
“I should have known better,” I continue, the words pouring out like a dam has burst. “Brandon doesn't do relationships. He's told me that himself. He keeps things casual, keeps things fun. And here I am, catching feelings like some pathetic—”
“Stop.” Natalie's voice cuts through my rambling. “Just stop for a second and breathe.”
I take a shaky breath.
“Now, tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning.”
I tell her everything. About Brandon and me. And then about Ava's casual bomb that Brandon told Helena we weren't together anymore.
“And you haven't talked to him about this?” Natalie asks when I finish.
“How can I? What am I supposed to say? 'Hey, I heard through the Hollywood grapevine that you told someone we're not dating. Was last night just a pity fuck?'“
“First of all, stop calling yourself pathetic and stop assuming the worst. You're spiraling.” Natalie stands. “Second, this calls for wine. You're staying at my place tonight so we can properly analyze this situation without you torturing yourself alone.”
My phone buzzes on my desk. Brandon's name flashes on the screen.
“Don't answer that yet,” Natalie says, reading over my shoulder as I pick it up.
Brandon
Hey, want to hang out tonight? Have to get to bed early for an early call tomorrow, but we could grab dinner or just watch something?
My heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when I see his name, even though I'm furious, hurt, and confused.
“What do I say?” I ask Natalie.
“Something neutral that buys you time to think.”
Stella
Natalie just walked in with a girlfriend crisis and will probably be late. Catch up tomorrow?
Brandon
Definitely tomorrow. Have fun with the girl talk and sleep well.
I stare at the simple message, looking for hidden meaning that probably isn't there.
“Come on,” Natalie says, grabbing my purse from behind my desk. “Let's go get wine and figure out what's really going on here. Because I have a feeling this is all a big misunderstanding.”
I hope she's right. But right now, it feels like my heart is breaking.