“She was recently dropped from Lorimac,” Evie says.

“That’s right.” Brad laughs. “She made them three million dollars last year and they still dropped her like a hot potato.”

“Who was handling her before?” she asks.

“Chad.” Brad gives a sardonic grin. “He was happy to pass her off.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was.” Evie laughs knowingly, and something itches inside me to enter this banter so I don’t continue to feel like the newbie.

It’s just that I have no idea who Chad is.

Brad leans in, giving her a confident nod. “I have zero doubt that you’re the one to handle her.”

This feels like a sharp stab.

And I’m growing uneasy, because aside from her current list, he’s given her a big name, with the probability of signing two more, and all three of these clients are huge commissions.

Why the hell was I starting to feel bad about jumping in and taking Dan Printz?

Brad settles in again, looking back to his stack of folders. “Next up, Keaton Avery. I’m sure you remember that little tiff he had with the paparazzi last year, so I want to make sure image repair is at the front of your mind.”

Her pen slows on the pad in front of her, but she doesn’t question or object. Keaton was in an Oscar-nominated film last year and is poised to become the new art-house darling.

Fuck.

“Trent Vanh,” Brad says. “Just wrapped filming on the final season of Burn Brightly.” I lean back in my chair, feeling feverish. Trent won an Emmy last year. “He’s hoping to transition to film, so we’ll need to land him something big, and fast.”

Brad pulls out the final folder in the Evie stack. I feel my blood pressure rise about ten points and wonder what else he could possibly have.

“Last we have Seamus Aston, YouTuber.”

And goddammit. My hands curl into fists in my lap. Evie sits up, leaning her elbows on the table.

“Incidentally, Seamus and Jamie starred together in the new Scott film, so the two of you will have promo for that to coordinate. Seamus had seventeen million subscribers on his channel, along with pretty much every millennial endorsement you can imagine, and was just cast in what some are predicting to be the biggest film of next year. But,” Brad says, and leans back in his chair, “he is an epic asshole.”

You would know, I think.

As if on cue, Evie reaches for her handbag at her feet and pulls out a small tube of hand cream. Despite how tense things are, I know what she’s doing and have to stifle a smile as I watch her squeeze a dollop into the center of her palm and start vigorously rubbing her hands together.

“Not a problem,” she says.

This pulls a grin out of Brad. “That’s what I like to hear, kiddo. Glad you’re taking our talk to heart. Team player.”

Evie’s reputation is as an agent who keeps her cool and can handle divas, but there’s something else lurking here. Brad is being so nice to her about it, like he’s helping her to the top of a mountain. He’s intending to either let her plant the flag or shove her off the sharp ledge on the other side.

“I know the scales seem a bit tipped right now,” he says to me. “But Evie knows this town and the people in it, and like I’ve said before, it’s one thing to land talent—it’s another to keep it.”

“Got it,” I say.

Yes, Evie has more contacts, experience with features, and several more years in the business than I do, but that doesn’t necessarily make her the better agent. Logically, I know that what Brad is saying makes sense. But there’s a part of me that can’t help but bristle.

We end the meeting and begin gathering up our things. My optimism has dissolved. Yes, we can work as a team, and yes, we have complementary skills. But do I want it to appear that I’m learning from her, and benefitting from her experience? I’m trying to talk myself down, but my pulse is racing and I can barely look in her direction.

I stall to let Brad and Evie leave the room first, but I’m not surprised to find Evie waiting in the hall when I make it outside. She stops me with a look, leaning back against the wall. She’s got a head start in this race and seems to know it.

“So, that was interesting.” She folds her arms over her chest.

“That’s one word for it.”

“About that strategizing,” she says, looking away. “Like I said, I have an appointment at five, but we could still get together afterward. It might be nice to download all of this.”

Fuck.

My heart is a hammer against my breastbone; my stomach is a pit of guilt. “You know, I forgot that I told Michael I’d watch Morgan tonight. She has swimming and I said I’d walk her down to the pool and stay until he’s free to pick her up.”

“Oh,” she says, and she knows I’m lying. She knows. “Another time.”

“Of course.”

Evie is a master of the calm mask, but I can see the tightness around her eyes. “You happy with your list?” And the tiny amused tilt to her voice tells me she wouldn’t be if she were me.

“Yeah,” I say. “Combined with what I’m bringing, I’ll be busy. You?”

“Thrilled,” she says, and grins. “Glad you jumped in on the Dan Printz thing after all. I don’t know how I’d find time for him and Adam, Sarah, Seamus . . .”

I pause, trying to hold back my first reaction: to call her out on her passive-aggressive shit. I fail. “So you were pissed about my email to Brad about Dan?”

“I wasn’t pissed,” she says evenly; she was totally pissed. “It’s just funny that only a few hours before, you were calling me to say we should keep our lines of communication open. Then you swoop in to grab a client Brad was thinking of giving to me.”

Is she serious with this?

Neither of us likes this situation. Each of us sees the other clearly—at least I think we do. I would still give my small finger to bang her until the sun comes up, but in this moment, when Evie is staring at me like I’m an opponent on the other side of the field, I decide I have to close one door to keep another open. I can’t do both things right now. And if I can’t get the girl, at least I can keep the job.

“I did keep our line of communication open,” I tell her. “I CC’d you on the email, didn’t I? It was all in plain sight. There was no ‘swooping’ about it.”