Second Act (Backlot)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

BLAIR

“Who’s the hottie?”

My assistant Stella leans over my shoulder to get a closer look at my searched images of Sophia Ford, the twenty-four-year-old best actress Oscar winner, and her brother. Sophia is on my list of dream clients to represent. With any luck, I’ll convince her to sign with me before summer’s over. However, her brother should have received an Oscar for his role as the popular guy in high school who can make you believe anything he wants.

“His name is Wyatt Bradford, and he’s not that hot.”

He is that hot.

Dark blond hair, short on the sides and a little longer on the top, but in this pic, it’s slicked back. His eyes gaze into the camera and are the same ice blue I remember. Still tall and still working out, I see. That shirt is struggling to stay buttoned across his toned chest. His tan suit wraps around his body, hugging his muscular thighs, and is that a crease right there, or is that…

“Ohmygod, Blair, you can see the outline of his penis!” Stella shrieks behind me.

I slam the laptop closed, stand, and walk away from the desk to get a breath of clean, Wyatt-free air and shake his memory out of my head. I haven’t spoken to Wyatt in twelve years. He looks good. Exactly like a selfish dick who would lead you on and then stomp all over your heart. But still undeniably hot.

“Were you able to get passes for the Pink Slip season two premiere?” I ask Stella as I grab my phone. She follows me out of my office as we head down to the conference room for our team huddle.

I discovered that Sophia is obsessed with the dark comedy about managers killing off employees who aren’t meeting their potential in the office. I’ve seen a few episodes. It reminds me of a Hunger Games meets The Office mashup. It’s dark but funny.

“Of course I did.” She gives me a disappointed look for daring to doubt her. “I’ll have a courier bring them to her tomorrow. You still want to go, too, right? And will you have a plus-one?”

I see the look of hope in Stella’s eyes, always rooting for me and my “one day it will happen” plus-one. I both love and hate that she’s a hopeless romantic.

“Just me.”

“Well, I’ve got something better than a plus-one for you. Sophia agreed to meet with you. She’s shooting at Everest Studios this week and can meet between her scenes.”

“The greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life was hire you,” I say while going in for a hug.

Stella started interning for me during her senior year of college, and I hired her as soon as she graduated. It’s been three years now, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. She’s my secret weapon, and some days, I think she knows me better than I know myself.

“Oh, stop it, Blair. I hate it when you get dramatic about things that are literally in my job description.” She blushes, but I know she loves the praise.

As one of the top female talent agents in this city, I have a reputation as a girl’s girl. I was in law school during the #metoo movement and had a front-row seat to the shift for women. The opportunities I had to impact and support legislature during law school were historical. Too bad I only realized I didn’t want to be a lawyer after I graduated.

So, I moved to LA, and in a moment of right place, right time, I met Lance Wynn. He’s the CEO of The Wynn Agency—a talent agency known around Hollywood as TWA. He seduced me with the idea that I could make a difference. As an agent, I could find and sell stories that might change the world, stories that might shed light on topics like poverty, discrimination, or injustice. Plus, my background and law degree would give me a leg up in the negotiation and contract process. Lance sold me when he grabbed my hands across the bistro table we were sitting at for lunch and told me he believed women were the future of this industry.

That was my first lesson about how this town works. Tell your client whatever they want to hear to close the deal. I do focus on women—I almost exclusively sign female talent—but getting Lance to take any of my projects seriously, or prioritize them, is getting harder. After the pandemic, it’s like the Hollywood mindset has reverted to “the good old days,” and the scramble to make money has the industry leaning on the tried-and-true superheroes and sequels.

But I’m determined to prove the future is female. That’s the reason for the Sophia Google search. Her current agent is an icon in the industry, and she’s old school. Rumor has it she’s retiring this fall and Sophia’s looking for someone who can capitalize on her recent accolades and prevent her from being cast in stereotypical roles.

I want to represent her. I know I would be a perfect fit for her.

If Sophia agreed to meet, then it’s my opportunity to lose. She wouldn’t entertain the conversation if she weren’t open to the idea of representation. I have some leads on a few significant projects I know she will be interested in, and I know I can convince her I’m the right choice. The premiere this week will help spotlight some of my contacts and relationships, too.

“Fine. But you know it’s true.” I take a seat at the large conference room table while Stella joins the other assistants in the chairs along the wall. The assistants are the lifeblood of this agency, but God forbid they get a seat at the table.

When I open my laptop, the image of Wyatt is still on the screen. The search took me right down the rabbit hole to Wyatt’s bio. He works for his father’s law firm, which isn’t a surprise, but he had other dreams.

As general counsel, Wyatt guides the firm’s attorneys on a wide range of matters, including client intake, legal ethics and professional responsibility, engagement management, and policy development and compliance.

Wyatt earned his Juris Doctor from the UCLA School of Law, where he served as an editor of the UCLA Law Review . He graduatedmagnacum laudefrom the University of California, Los Angeles, with a bachelor’s degree in political science and a minor in accounting.

My investigative skills must be lacking because I could only find his bio on the law firm’s website. It doesn’t tell me anything about if he’s single or dating or what he’s been doing for the last twelve years. Would it kill him to get an Instagram account? I’d even settle for a Linked In account.

“Ok, please tell me we’ve booked Timmy to host the SNL season finale,” Lance says, diving right in as he pushes through the door and sits at the head of the table.

“Done. And we’ve booked Olivia as the musical guest, too,” says Brian, another agent and Lance’s pet.

Lance looks up from his phone as a grin stretches across his face. “That’s what I’m talking about. Teamwork makes the dream work.”

It takes all my physical control not to roll my eyes.

“When does shooting begin on Speed 3 ?” I ask. “I may need Sandy for an appearance.”

“In two weeks. Just let me know, and I’ll see if we can make it work.” Brian leans back in his chair, feeling cocky and comfortable. Another sequel for the win.

“Blair, what about Michelle? Were you able to lock her into the lead for Aquaman 3 ?” Lance directs his question to me, but his attention is on the phone in his hand.

“Almost done. There’s also a lead opportunity for her in Elizabeth’s next untitled project.” Yep. That gets his eyes up.

“Instead of focusing on projects that aren’t a priority, perhaps you could focus on signing talent?” Lance stands and walks out before I can respond, and I take a sip of my coffee to regulate the rage bubbling under the surface.

“Ignore him,” Stella says.

“Easier said than done.” I grab my phone and coffee, and rise from my seat.

Stella is infringing on my personal space before I reach the exit of the conference room. “So, you gonna tell me the backstory on Wyatt?” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down, smiling at me.

I pick up my pace back to my office, trying to avoid this conversation. “I’d rather not,” I mumble. Why does it feel like I can’t breathe?

I’m quiet for a beat too long.

“Oh, my God–is he an ex? Did you sleep with him?” Her hands fly up to her cheeks.

I told you she knows me.

“It’s ancient history.”

“When? I know everyone you’ve dated.” She puts her first and middle fingers of both hands up to air quote “dated.”

“It’s nothing. We went to high school together. I haven’t seen him since.” I play it off like it’s no big deal, but my heart feels like it’s being squeezed between Wyatt’s metaphorical hands to remind me I’m still not over the hurt.

I’ve dated casually, been married—and divorced—and had no trouble recovering and moving on with my life. But one mention of Wyatt Bradford has unlocked the secret compartment of emotions I buried a long time ago.

“Do you know Sophia, too?” Stella asks.

“I don’t. Well, not really. I knew Wyatt had a little sister, but she was a lot younger than us. She dropped part of her last name, so I didn’t put it together immediately.” I think back to one of the few times I met Sophia. Her father signed her up for a junior golf camp at the country club where I worked. She joined her father and Wyatt for lunch that week, and I was their server. I doubt she would even recall the interaction.

“He probably doesn’t even remember me.” I sift through the files on my desk to signal the end of this conversation. Thankfully, Stella catches on quick and just smiles before she turns to go back to her desk.

“Actually, Stella? Cancel the courier and set the meeting with Sophia for tomorrow if you can. I’ll hand deliver the Pink Slip passes. It’ll be a great icebreaker to start the conversation.”

There’s no reason the topic of her brother should even come up, so we can keep it buried where it belongs until I’ve proven I’m the right agent for her.