Page 12 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

Brielle Parker, graduate student, final year, prior concentrations on documentary.

“Brielle,” I announce to the room, “will be here Monday. She will be mentored by both myself and Lance.” I look at him, watching as his head slowly lifts and his blue eyes lock on mine. I’m not including him in this as some way to barter for his love; I see Lance as an equal, and have since the second month he was here. He’s organized, sharp, has a keen eye for detail, never misses a day, and the actors respect him. The ideas he’s passed my way on set have been nothing short of brilliant, and for that and a myriad of other reasons, I view him as my equal. Creatively and otherwise.

“Cool,” Tucker says, pinching a donut hole from the breakfast tray on Lance’s desk. We bring food into these meetings, and Tucker Eliot, the top performer and now partial owner of the Crave & Cure toy line with Debauchery, is theonlyone to eat. “Does she like, wanna work here after or is that not how these things go?”

His wife, Vienna, strokes a hand up the back of his shirt, smiling at him. “I think that’s how internships work, not really mentor/protégé things.” She looks at me, nudging her glasses up her nose as she asks, “Right?”

I shrug. “I’m not really sure, honestly. But… Crave is rapidly growing. Now that we’ve got Lucy Lovegood andLoved by Lucy, our viewership has increased tenfold. If Brielle’s good, I’m not adverse to hiring another director and starting an entirely new series of films. And I think Ezra mentioned these programs usually carry an option to contract at the end. If she works out.”

From the corner of the room—the only other person standing aside from myself—Cohen raises a finger. With his back to the wall, feet also crossed at the ankle, he quietly interrupts. “I didn’t mean to wait until now to bring this up but… it slipped my mind earlier.”

I nod. “What’s up?”

“Scarlett and I need the morning off on Monday. We have an interview at the preschool we’re trying to get Izzie into.” He shrugs. “They only just called us yesterday.”

Scarlett—who is Lucy Lovegood on screen—is married to Cohen. They had another baby together a few months ago and both of them are natural parents. The kind that, when their child is only an infant, is already interviewing for preschools and setting up college funds.

“You know that’s fine.” I tip my head to the side and give him a look. “You don’t even have to run that by me, Co.You know that.”

He smiles, nods, and refocuses his eyes on his feet, cuing me to move forward with the meeting. Cohen has never wanted attention, but the way he pours over Scarlett, taking care of her every need—he’s an honorable, one of a kind man. And I feel honored that he chooses to be here at Crave; Scarlett, too.

My eyes tumble down the paper, but we’ve covered everything so I give the room a single nod. “Have a good day.”

They filter out, Vienna giggling quietly to Tuck, her hand still up his shirt as she scratches his back. I keep my eyes on his shirt where her hand is tucked beneath until they’re turning the corner and out of sight. Such a simple thing, scratching his back. But I burn with jealousy at how casually they can touch each other, at how in love they are.

Lance is looking at me when I look at him, and a thrill runs up my spine because I typically have to be speaking to him about work to get him to look at me. He arches a brow. “She’sourprotégé?” His tone drips with disbelief, like he sees my choice to have the film school student work withusas a ploy to get to him. And it absolutely is not. Maybe the only thing I’ve done in a year that isn’t based on getting him back.

“I see you as an equal, creatively and professionally. Crave is the only thing I have left now. I hope you’d realize that my choice to appoint you to the mentorship alongside myself is because that’s what’s best for the studentandCrave.” I push off the desk, circle it and take a seat behind my computer, not giving him another look. It hurts to be questioned when it comes to Crave, because itisall I have left, and I’ve always honored this place more than anything. “We will work with her together.”

I feel his eyes on me. “Okay,” he agrees, tone lighter, like maybe he feels a little bad for his subtle accusation. “Together.” And then, he’s out of the office, leaving me to sulk, stew and pine; my usual.

“And after today’s shoot, he left without even telling me. And, fuck, I don’t know. He doesn’thaveto tell me anything. I know that. But… It was the first time he’s ever done that. And it just hit me,” I breathe, holding my head in my hands, staring at the lush rug poking up between my bare toes. “We’re nothing but history.”

Claire, my best friend and the best ex-wife a man could ask for, drops her head to my shoulder, looping her arm around my back. “That’s a hard pill for you to swallow, I know,” she says softly. “But honey, I think that’s been true for a while now, Aug.”

I lift my head from my hands and turn to face her, bumping her head from my shoulder. “No,” I argue, though there’s no fight in my voice. “That’s not true. He was… we could… fuck, we talked. He looked at me. There was possibility lingering,” I breathe, my heartbeat increasing as my mind grows more frantic. “But today it really felt like all hope is lost.”

Reaching forward, Claire lifts the whiskey glass from the table, and presses it into my hand. “Just a sip, and lean back,” she whispers, pressing her palm to my shoulders as my body finds the plush couch. I bring the drink to my lips and do as she says, sucking down a small amount of booze. It burns on the way down, but immediately soothes the tenuous ache running through my veins, just slightly.

Slight relief is better than none at this point.

I turn my head, letting it still rest against the couch as I lazily ask, “Was I a selfish prick when we were married?”

Claire’s dark lashes flutter as she blinks sadly at me, her full lips turned down in an expression that can only be described aspity. “No, you weren’t. You were a wonderful partner and you know our divorce had everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you.”

Facing forward again, I focus on the orange flames dancing behind the tempered glass. “I like your fireplace.”

She fishes her fingers up the back of my scalp, and my eyes fall closed at how good it feels to be touched so personally. Even if it’s coming from just a friend. I miss touch.

“Thanks, I do too. It cost way too much but,” she shrugs next to me, “it’s worth it on nights like this.”

I snort. “Nights when your lonely, pathetic ex-husband comes over crying about his love life.”

“Exactly.”

She rises from the couch, moving around the kitchen behind me. I watch the flames dance and flicker, trying my best not to remember the time Lance and I rented a cabin in Lake Tahoe, and fucked like teenagers right in front of it, all night long. We were covered in sweat, and I’m not sure we spoke a single word, round after round, so enamored with the way we made each other feel, how our bodies responded to one another. It was fucking… well, beautiful.

I scrub a hand down my face to keep my eyes from burning, and finish the expensive whiskey. Claire returns with a plate of food, lowering it to the coffee table as she sits next to it, facing me.

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