Page 11 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

I stare at her image on the phone, a picture I took of her a year ago at a premiere party. She got invited not through Desdemona’s efforts but via an actor she’d discovered.

She wears a silver sequin gown that glides along her body like a waterfall. Her blond hair is done Old Hollywood–style, in perfect waves held back on one side with a rhinestone clip.

I stared at her so long that my date walked off in a huff and scarcely talked to me inside the theater.

I took a shot with my phone and made it her contact picture. Because we talk so much, it comes up often.

Kelsey spotted the image once and laughed, remembering the event. She’d brought a guy she barely knew because she was embarrassed to show up alone.

Maybe I should have taken her, but I felt like an old has-been, and she was so bright and young.

And right now, she’s happy talking about the trip.

So I’ll shut my trap. Keep the secret about this night.

She can’t find out that I talked to the fortune teller ahead of time and slipped her money to tell Kelsey it was time for love.

I hoped it might nudge her in a good direction. Get her to go on dates again. She’s my favorite person, and I want her to have everything. I know she isn’t for me. I’m not sure any woman needs to be saddled with an industry joke for anything more than a waltz down the red carpet and a splashy bit in the tabloids.

But with the fortune teller sending her on a romance road trip, my foolish act is going to drive Kelsey right out of my life.

Chapter 5

KELSEYMOURNS THEMUG

I can’t believe it!

After all my work, Jason’s agent turned down our request for him to audition forLimited Fate. I delivered a sixteen-point dissertation to Desdemona yesterday to contact him!

Granted, she quit listening after point three, but it was such a good pitch. She agreed that diversifying Jason out of the gate was a good move. Plus, this director would seriously owe her when he saw what she’d delivered.

And then, this morning, the agent wouldn’t even give Jason the script.

I text an upset message to Zachery and push my thumbs so hard that the phone flips out of my hands and lands on the ceramic tile floor, cracking ever so slightly in the corner.

Dang it!

Jester glances up from a call that has already gone on for twenty minutes, no doubt Jonathan Brady, an actor who once got a role as a corpse on a cop show in 1988 and still thinks Desdemona will deliver a career-changing part. He calls every Tuesday for an update.

Looking at Jester usually makes me happy. His wardrobe palette can best be described asEaster egg.

Today it’s purple pants (Hreski, $50) and a yellow shirt (unknown vintage) with a belt that ties it together in all the rainbow pastels. With his full head of snow-white hair and perpetually pink cheeks, he’s like a Care Bear. Or maybe a fashion-forward leprechaun. He might scrape the five-foot mark in his heeled boots, but that’s pushing it.

We love him.

But right now, nothing can soothe my rage. Not even Jester’s beautifully bright outfit.

He mouths,You okay, babe?as I shove the cracked phone in my dress pocket.

I shake my head and walk over to the tea bar, the one thing I am fanatical about in the office. I get my coffee from a shop, always, but for work I need my calming teas, my all-natural unbleached sugar, and, most importantly, a clean and dry collection ofPeanutsmugs.

Today I’m feeling like Lucy, although I should probably take Linus and try to absorb some of his blanket wisdom.

Jester pounds the mute button on the phone. “I forgot to tell you. Charlie Brown bit the dust. I dropped him when I was washing.”

And that’s the last straw on this devil of a day. I whirl around, pick up my heavy white bag, and tell him, “I’m working from home.”

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I’ll replace good ol’ Charlie.”

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