Page 133 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Everything worked out exactly as it should.

Just not for me.

Chapter 43

KELSEY AND THEFOOL

Turns out, Desdemona was good on hernever work in this townthreats.

I called Arista, Jacobs, and Jenny Wolfgang first, knowing they hate the Demon the most, and might be sympathetic to my plight.

Nobody responded.

None of the companies I’ve interned with, volunteered for, even as a gopher, were interested. I think Desdemona went down my résumé to be sure.

But there are many ways to work in Hollywood. I try catering, delivery, even being a driver.

Nothing. Nobody will even accept my application.

The coffee shop I worked at was willing to take me back, but they had only ten hours a week available. That’s not enough for food and gas, much less my East LA apartment.

My choices are few. I can spend the rest of my savings in LA trying to break back in. I have two months or so I could fight this.

Or I can take that money and start again someplace else. Somewhere easier.

I’m not sure what to do.

For the first week, I try to stay up on industry gossip to help my predicament, looking for an in. I was too proud to text Zachery after heignored my pleas. I checked for his name on social media and instantly regretted it. He’s tagged all over the place with that actress Desdemona told him to court. They went to Venice together for an entire week.

I can’t even think about that. It’s too much.

I search for any information being leaked aboutLimited Fate, but there’s nothing. I’m dying to know what happened.

Two weeks after I got fired, I spot a photo of Desdemona in London and know it’s safe to go see Jester.

When I come in the door, he stands up to pull me into his emerald arms. He looks like an extra inThe Wizard of Oz, but I love it. I’ve missed it.

He pulls out a box ofPeanutsmugs. “I got these in a few days ago. Zachery ordered them for the office before you two left. I want you to have them.”

Hearing Zachery’s name physically hurts, a pang in my chest. He never responded to my crisis messages, not ever. Whatever happened between us is clearly over, even the friendship. He ruined it. I ruined it. I don’t know. Our relationship became collateral damage.

I hug the box. “How is he?”

Jester shrugs. “He hasn’t officially quit, but he’s not here, either. Last I heard he was in Ibiza. We’re not talking.”

I drag my old chair next to Jester’s desk. “Why not?”

“He ditched us when we needed him most.”

“For the soccer shoot?”

Jester waves that thought away. “That was irrelevant in the end. I’m talking about when Desdemona learned you staged a coup on that movie.”

“Did you tell him I got fired?”

“I did.”

Is this why he stopped coming in? Or is he washing his hands of this entire part of his life?

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