Printz previously was repped by Joel Meyer over at Lorimac, who launched Printz’s career in his debut, Edge, produced by Universal and directed by George Stan. Lorimac has been in talks with Sony and Fox to cast Printz in several upcoming big-budget films, but according to Printz’s spokesperson, those will pass over to Carter Aaron, effective immediately.

Aaron, originally from New York, works for newly merged Price & Dickle.

I stare at the screen, uncomprehending.

“Why is this in Variety?” It’s a stupid first question, but I get now why Dave called. Dave was supposed to get this scoop. Dave was going to give Carter a huge spread in the Hollywood Vine print edition in exchange.

“No idea.” His voice is clipped and loud. Carter pulls out his wallet, hastily grabbing a couple of twenties and dropping them on the table. His hands are shaking.

I scramble to follow him as he stands and heads for the door. A few diners near us have stopped talking to watch us bolt.

“Why . . . ?” I have so many questions. Why is this out now? Why did Variety get the scoop? And why is Carter mentioned so obviously?

It doesn’t seem like that’s what’s happening, but . . . Carter wouldn’t do this, right? He knows better?

He has to know better. This is Agenting 101.

“Lorimac knew?” I ask.

Carter bursts from the restaurant. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, Dan couldn’t hire me until he’d fired Joel, but that happened last week and I got the distinct impression Joel was keeping it from Lorimac, positive Dan would come back. I don’t like Joel, but this is no way for them to find out. Fuck.” He does an angry little fist-punch toward the sky. “Fuck!”

Actors leaving agencies is a big deal. A huge deal. Especially talent like Dan; he’ll take millions of dollars with him, and it will not only affect the agency’s bottom line, it will bruise their reputation. This announcement is bad for Lorimac, yes, but it could be just as bad for P&D because it makes us look like shady assholes doing underhanded things to steal talent; none of this should have been made public until we were sure Lorimac knew and had time to prepare their own statement.

More to the point, it makes Carter look like a shady asshole, because he’s mentioned specifically, with very little mention of P&D at all. It’s written as if Carter is the force behind the deal, not the agency.

Tripping after him, I start to form another question. “Carter, why—”

He wheels on me, face red. “I don’t fucking know, Evie, okay? I don’t fucking know!”

I pull back, hands to my chest. “Okay! Jesus.”

Deflating, he hangs his head, reaching for me, pulling me to his chest. I’m still stunned, and come a little reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what just happened. I told Dave he had the exclusive. I met Dan today and we shook on it, I even told him about the offer of announcing with Dave and the Vine—he was thrilled—but he hasn’t seen a contract. I’ve never spoken to Ted Statsky at Variety—I have no idea how he got this.”

Taking his hand, I pull him toward my car. “Let’s go to the office and figure this out.”

It’s nearly eight by the time we get to the fifth floor, but all the lights are on, and I can hear Brad’s voice barking from his office all the way down by the elevator bank.

Carter blanches, glancing at me before heading straight down there.

I follow, and although I’m only a few steps behind him, I stay in the hall. I have no role in this crisis but to be Carter’s support and his colleague, making whatever damage control calls he needs.

Brad’s voice is a terrifying thunder. “What the fuck is this, Aaron? What the fuck is going on? Have you seen this fucking Variety article?”

“I spoke to Dave,” Carter says, managing to sound calm. “This wasn’t me. This wasn’t us. This was an outside leak.”

“The fuck it was!” Brad yells. “You pissed all over this article. You wrote your fucking name in loopy fucking letters all over this love note to Variety. P&D is barely fucking mentioned here. Do you work here? Are you in my department?”

“Of course, Brad.”

“Well, not according to this, you’re not! We get a line at the bottom. No one fucking reads the last line!”

Carter wisely doesn’t point out that everyone at Lorimac will read the last line.

“I’m supposed to meet my wife tonight at an event where she’s getting an award,” Brad yells, “but instead I’m here—trying to make sense of this fuckup. Jesus, Carter, this is a huge shit storm.”

I know I shouldn’t—I know I shouldn’t—but I step in, feeling my heart grow into a solid ball of pissed-off. “It wasn’t Carter, Brad. I’ve been with him since he came back from his lunch with Dan.”

“ ‘Lunch with Dan’?” Brad says, turning back to Carter. “So he did sign?”

“Legal is still writing up the contracts,” Carter says, trying to calm Brad down. “Brad, it’s Tuesday. He confirmed over the phone three days ago. He did a verbal and a handshake today. I know better than to run to Variety—or anyone—with a handshake . . .”

Carter’s voice trails off, because Brad isn’t listening to him anymore. He’s staring at me, and with a cold rush down my body, I realize why.

My heart, my lungs, my stomach are packed into a tight ball of fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, struggling to stay calm.

“I told you this today,” he says through gritted teeth. “I told you about Dan Printz today, Abbey, and this is what you do? You’re so jealous you gotta go screw Dave, Dan, Carter, and P&D in one blow?”

Carter takes a step back like he’s been punched. I am shaking. At my side, my hand forms a fist, and I have to consciously unclench it or else I know it will be flying toward Brad.

“Brad, there is no way—” Carter starts.

“You need to take a deep breath, Brad,” I interrupt, anger making my voice nearly inaudible. “It wasn’t Carter, and it wasn’t me.”

He lifts his chin in a fuck you gesture and scoffs. “This is low, even for you.”

What the hell does that mean?