Chapter 21
Between my good news and Heather’s electrolyte-packed hangover cure, I start to feel much better. To shake off the last of the aftereffects of girls’ night, I decide to go for a run. But this time, when I arrive at the beach path, I hang a decisive right, toward Santa Monica, to avoid the Muscle Beach gym area. I want to be at 100 percent before I chance another encounter with Jenn.
Afterward, I shower and dress so I can swing by my agent’s Beverly Hills office. Once again, for confidentiality reasons, I need to go in to sign a nondisclosure agreement and pick up my audition sides. My audition sides for a series regular! A series freaking regular!
The Rebecca Sloane Agency isn’t physically big, just a small outer office with Rebecca’s office behind it. But the framed movie posters on the walls—a mix of major studio blockbusters and critically acclaimed indies, all starring Rebecca’s clients—speak to the agency’s real size. Honestly, I’m lucky to have scored representation here.
Rebecca’s door is closed, I see. No telling if she’s in or not. But both assistant desks are manned. I walk over to the smaller one on the left.
“Hi, Kevin,” I say, in person for a change. “I think you have something for me. Carrie Adams,” I add, just in case he doesn’t connect the dots.
“Hold, please,” he says, which seems more than a little strange, considering I’m standing right here in front of him. But then I understand that he’s talking into his headset. And I’ll admit, it’s a small comfort to learn that I’m not the only one he keeps waiting.
After putting the call on hold, Kevin finds an envelope with my name on it as well as a clipboard with a standard NDA clipped to it. “Here you—” He hesitates as his keen gaze finally takes me in. “— go ?”
Crap , I think as I hear the confusion in his tone and see it in his eyes—and no wonder! When I visited the office about a week ago, my body looked decidedly different. It’s only now that I realize I dressed carelessly after my shower, in cropped leggings and a tank, without any thought to camouflaging my newly acquired slayer physique. And now it’s on full display for my agent’s assistant.
So stupid of me.
Kevin has Rebecca’s ear all day long. Even an offhand word from him about my bigger build could mean dire consequences for me.
So before he has a chance to give voice to the questions that are obviously running around in his head, I snatch everything out of his grasp. “Thanks,” I say, quickly tucking the envelope under my arm and scribbling my signature on the NDA. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get out of your way. Wish me luck!”
I make a hasty escape, and I can only hope that Kevin doesn’t feel compelled to share any of his observations about me and my changed appearance with his boss.
***
I force myself to wait until I get home to pull out the sides and read through them. Looks like I’ll be reading for the role of ADA Cassidy Carmichael. After a quick first scan of the pages, I see that there are two scenes: one is set in a restaurant, where Carmichael is having lunch with the DA; the other is a courtroom scene, where she delivers a closing argument to the jury.
As I go back and read the content more closely, I feel a little thrill ripple through my body. Unable to contain my excitement, I have to get up and pace. I swear, it’s like this role was written for me, like the writers on this show somehow peered into my soul and penned my personal truth as an episode of a procedural crime drama.
I have to land this part. I just have to.
***
I spend the afternoon preparing for tomorrow’s audition, and overall, I’m feeling pretty darn good. Except the closer it gets to sundown, the less I’m able to concentrate. Thoughts of Nick keep invading my brain.
If a slayer falls in love with a vampire, the slayer loses their power.
I need to talk to him about this. I know I do. I need to gather up some of my newfound strength, tell him what I’ve learned, and see what he has to say about it.
The problem is, if it turns out Nick really has just been leading me on, it will straight-up break my heart. And even worse? If it turns out his feelings are genuine and I tell him about my doubts, I could end up breaking his.
Seems like a real lose-lose to me.
So I’m scared. I’m scared of rocking the boat. I’m scared of learning the truth. I’m scared of losing what I have—or what I think I have—with Nick.
And it’s not just that. I’m also scared that if I lose Nick, it’ll get into my head and screw with my brain and make me tank the audition tomorrow. Then on top of losing him, I’ll lose this amazing opportunity too.
So would it really be so terrible to push this conversation with him off for just one more day? Just twenty-four measly little hours?
I mean, Nick and I don’t work on Mondays. And although we’ve agreed to nightly training sessions, we didn’t make specific plans to see each other this evening. It’s not as if I’d be canceling on him or anything.
And he had band practice last night. He should certainly understand if I want to take tonight off to practice my lines.
I wish I could talk this all through with Liv or Heather, but Liv’s phone is going straight to voicemail. She probably had to turn it off because she’s on set and they’re filming. Heather isn’t answering either.
I stare at my phone for a while, silently weighing my options as the daylight disappears and the room gradually goes dark all around me. Then, still not sure what I’m going to do, I text a tentative greeting to Nick.
Hey
Then I wait. And wait. And wait some more. Maybe he’s not awake yet? Or he hasn’t checked his phone? Or—
Just then, the three little dots appear. Nick is typing. Stops typing. Types some more. I hold my breath, waiting for the message to—
Hey.
That’s it? That’s all I get? After all that three-little-dot action?
Okay, I guess it’s my turn. I type and hit Send.
Good news. I have an audition tomorrow
I wait again, watching those three little dots. Did whoever created the little dots think they were doing us all a favor by letting us know that someone was in the process of messaging us? Or did they actually have a real sadistic side, knowing full well that the dots would become a prime source of emotional torture?
The dots disappear. Then—
That’s great.
No emojis, I notice. Last night, it was all hearts and smiley faces. But tonight? Nothing.
My index finger hovers above the keyboard on my touchscreen as I try to decide what to text next. I type, delete. Type some more. Delete that too. Now I wonder if Nick is watching the dots. I wonder what he’s thinking. More than that, I wonder what he really thinks about me.
So I decide to ask him.
Tomorrow.
Need to prepare. See you Tuesday?
The response comes almost immediately. He uses my words—or Heather’s words, really—from last night.
K. Later.
It’s not the first time that one of us has jokingly echoed back what the other has said. Only this time, I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be funny or… not .