Page 130 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

There is no better friend than him.

No better lover.

No better anything.

And I need him. I want him. Maybe all I’ll ever get is scraps of him between his red-carpet girls, but I think there’s something more there. I caught a whiff of it, like the smell of his soap lingering in the bathroom.

I can’t wait any longer. I’m desperate, so I put through a call as I stand and slowly head to the office.

It rolls to voicemail instantly. He has it off? Or out of service? Or let the battery die? Whereishe? He’s never been out of touch like this before.

A voice nags at me that maybe he’s blocked me. That maybe he doesn’t want to know me anymore.

This can’t be happening. I can’t lose everything. The flannel husband. My job. My best and most important friend.

It’s too much. All the losses stacking up. I can’t face it. I don’t want to go in that office and set my downfall in motion.

I hold my phone up, as if all it needs to get Zachery to respond is open air.

But there’s nothing.

The scene comes to me unbidden, like I’ve done it too many times lately and my mental scriptwriter has a life of its own.

INT. CASTING OFFICE—DAY

KELSEY, 25, looks grim as she walks up to the door of the casting office where she works. She hesitates outside to draw in a deep breath and steel herself.

She enters to greet her coworker, her good friend JESTER, 55, who is wearing a pale-orange-and-white ensemble, like a Creamsicle.

He looks up, his face in a lament. Outside, the thunder cracks, and the rain starts to pour ...

I’m not far off as I walk inside the office.

Jester looks ready to cry.

And my desk is empty, the entire surface cleared of everything.

A box sits at the foot, my books and mugs and the glass unicorns my mother bought for me tossed inside.

I gasp, rushing forward to check on them. One of the unicorns has a chipped horn. “How could you?” I say to Jester.

“My love, I’m so sorry. Desdemona was in a rage. She did it before I got here.”

My anger is white hot. “There is no reason to break my things. These are important!” I pull out the photo of me and my mother. The corner of the glass is cracked.

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Desdemona says, standing in the doorway to her office. “The backstabbing bitch is worried about her doodads when she ought to be concerned about who the hell will ever hire her again after this stunt? I’ve already made all the calls. You sure took your pretty little time coming back here. You needed a couple of days off? Or you only do your dirty work from home?”

She walks into the room like an oversize crow, black pants with a black shawl over a black short-sleeved shirt.

I wish she would fly away, but I’ll stand up for myself andLimited Fate.

“It was a smart move, Desdemona. You were out of the country.” I tug Kleenex from a box to wrap my unicorns before they get any more damaged.

“It was an attack of my status and authority.” She advances on my desk, leaning on both hands to peer down at me like a vulture. “You were aware I took Jason Venetian off my roster after his agent was so dismissive, and yet here we are, scheduling a live camera test with him for Drake Underwood.”

I gather all my gumption. This is definitely what Reese would do. “He expects me to be there. I chose the scene for the test. I contacted the agents. I spoke to him in person!”

“So did I. And I explained that I had an impertinent know-it-all who got too big for her britches, and she is no longer employed here.” She kicks at the box, and I gasp again, trying to keep it from flying across the floor. “Now get out.”

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