I know I should eat the Luna bar I put in my purse this morning, but my stomach seems to have closed up shop for the day.

• • •

In order to help with the transition, P&D brought in a few team members from New York. And just like Brad suggested, early that afternoon I have a one-on-one with a senior agent I’ve met on several occasions, a woman I deeply admire. Her name is Joanne Simms, and she’s a shark. She started in Features and has moved over to the television side, but she knows everyone. At first blush, she’s the sweetest human you could possibly meet. But in negotiations the gloves come off. She’s my Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes. If you’re in her parking spot, she will ram her car into your car without a second thought. And then maybe set it on fire.

Her temporary office is in the corner and has a beautiful view of downtown and the mountains beyond. This office was recently occupied by Tom Hetchum, head of Legal at P&D. Tom is no longer with us.

Joanne beckons me in, and while she finishes up a call, I stand near the window, trying to calm my racing heart. I love the view of LA from this side of the building. It reminds me how many people there are here, how many opportunities, how much space there is for everyone in the sprawling mass of buildings. I’m not an optimist, but I’m not exactly a pessimist, either. I’m a wait-and-see-when-you-have-more-info-ist. My opinions spend ninety percent of their time in a holding pattern before swooping in like a hawk.

And right now my opinions need Joanne to get off the phone and tell me this is all bullshit and everything will be fine.

In the end, she doesn’t tell me that. But there’s a hopeful vibe to the meeting, anyway. Joanne is hilarious, she loves her job, she loves what she does. And she’s a woman who never lets the old boys’ game get in her way. She is exactly what I want to be.

We talk about her list, about the kind of list I have and where I’d like to see it go. We talk about the clients I’ll likely inherit from the agents who were let go, and how to manage my current clients’ panic along with the panic of those actors passed off to someone new. We have a conversation that feels a lot like long-term planning, and although I won’t get to work with Joanne much because she’s in New York and in television, just knowing she’ll be around for a while is reassuring.

At the end of the meeting I feel a million times better about my place here, and I generally feel like Carter and I can find a way to make this work. At the very least, I feel confident that I’m needed—and that upper management at P&D knows that.

The hallways are quiet as I leave Joanne’s office, and I have a moment of peace to myself to sit and think about this morning. I saw Carter heading into John Fineman’s office earlier, and instinctively I want to wait for him. I feel so much better after talking to Joanne, and I want to infuse a conversation with Carter with some of that hopefulness. But when I see him emerge, I immediately sense his meeting did not go as well. His position is admittedly more precarious than mine, and I do really like him. I don’t want him moving to New York any more than I want to move there myself.

“How did it go with John?” I ask.

He smiles a little drily. “I think that was the most talking I’ve ever done in a one-on-one meeting before.”

I laugh. “John is not known for his conversation skills. I sat next to him at a company Christmas dinner and let’s just say it’s amazing he does any deals. He’s not known for being very . . . sociable.” I feel a little like I’m marking my territory here, emphasizing my familiarity with people he’s only just meeting. I know I should pull back and be more of a team player—Carter is the new guy, after all. So I go for encouragement: “I’m sure you were great. I bet everyone loves you.”

Carter studies me for a few breaths, and I get the distinct impression that he knows exactly what I’m doing. “It looks like things went well with Joanne.”

I nod, smiling. “When are you meeting with her?”

“Later this week.”

“Do you want to grab some lunch?” I ask. “I could fill you in on what’s what here. Who’s sleeping with who and where the good coffee is hidden.”

He looks away, unsmiling as he squints at a point in the distance down the hall. “I think I’m just going to grab a sandwich and catch up on all the emails I need to deal with,” he says. “I’ve got a million things to handle right now. Maybe some other time?”

I know people. I can easily spot the careful stepping back. “Okay.”

I watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

And then he looks up and gives me a pained smile. “I’ll see you later?”

He turns to head down the hall and his posture immediately changes. His shoulders are straight, and his ass looks amazing in his dark dress pants. Heads turn. A few interns lean in and discuss him when he’s walked past, their expressions eager, admiring. It’s as if the star quarterback has just strolled down the hall. My high from my meeting with Joanne deflates as I see exactly what they see: confidence, charisma . . .

Competition.

chapter nine

evie

“How can you not like brussels sprouts?” Amelia asks Daryl, holding the fork in front of our friend’s scrunched-up face. We’re doing an emergency happy hour, with food instead of drinks. I am not a consistent stress-drinker, but I am a fantastic stress-eater.

Daryl gently pushes away her hand. “Because they taste like ass in my mouth?”

“I’m up for ass in my mouth,” I say. “I’ll take her share.”

Amelia studies me for a moment before dropping them onto my plate. “Careful who you say that to.”

“Speaking of: We should have invited Carter,” Daryl says. “He’s cute and probably freaking out just as much as we are right now.”

Daryl’s department was hit a little differently than was Features. They still have cuts, but it’s far cheaper to keep Daryl than to buy her out. She’s safe for at least another year.

I shake my head, quickly swallowing an enormous bite. “He didn’t want to.”

So far I’ve only given them the bullet points:

• Hiding in my office, worrying I was going to be fired.

• Meeting with Brad.

• Thinking I might not be fired.