Page 122 of That Reunited Feeling

The security guard catches up to Tom and takes him by one of the beautiful biceps protruding from his T-shirt. “Sir?”

Tom throws down the duffel bag slung over his shoulder and swats off the guard like he’s an irritating fly. “I’ve had quite enough of security jackasses for one day, thanks.”

He marches toward Axel, pointing at him. “She isn’t too old or too stupid or too incapable of anything,” he continues. “Other than to work for a patronizing, self-important twat.”

“Who the fuck are…” It’s possible to see the exact moment the penny drops in Axel’s tiny brain. “Oh! Tom Dashwood!” He suddenly beams. “Hi, I’m Axel. Producer with Spearmount Films.” He offers his hand—the one not holding the substandard poster—to Tom. “Delighted to meet you.”

“I couldn’t belessdelighted,” Tom says, as if he’s weighing whether to punch him or if he’s not worth the sore knuckles.

My brain’s still backfiring. What the hell is he doing here? And why is he yelling at the man who’s currently my only hope of a decent job? It’s fantastic and awful and exciting and terrifying and incredibly confusing all at the same time.

Tom ignores Axel’s outstretched hand, and holds his hand out to me instead, tipping his head back toward the door. “Come on.”

What? Where does he want me to go? And why?

While all I want to do is jump into his arms and have him carry me off wherever the hell he likes, I can’t just leave. I can’t have him ruin this job for me. At the moment, this is my best chance to get my foot in the door of anything halfway good. I cannot fuck this up. And I cannot let Tom fuck up my life yet another time.

“What? Come on where? You can’t just drop out of the sky, show up at my workplace, and drag me out.”

But, good God, he looks amazing in that blue shirt.

“You’re better than this, Hannah. So much better.”

“Sir, I need to ask you to leave.” The security guard peers around Tom, who completely ignores him.

“It’s okay.” Axel shoos the guard away. “This guest is very welcome.”

The guard shrugs and trudges off down the hallway, grumbling something about having run up the stairs for nothing.

Axel turns to me and frowns. “Why didn’t you mention Mr. Dashwood was in town, Hannah? Very remiss. You could have set up a meeting aboutWest Coast Vibe.”

West Coast Vibeis one of Axel’s fantasy projects—a documentary about California hippie music in the sixties and seventies.

His frown morphs into an ass-kissy smile as he turns back to Tom. “It would be so great to get you involved?—”

Tom holds up his hand. “Stop talking.”

Axel falls as silent as if Tom had slapped him.

“Oh”—Tom continues, jerking his thumb toward the door behind him—“and fuck off.”

“Ha! You’re so funny. The dry British wit must have rubbed off on you after all those years there.” Axel giggles, unable to comprehend anyone might want him to actually shut up and fuck off. “I’ll get Hannah to fetch us some coffee and we can talk in my off?—”

“Seriously,” Tom says. “Sling your fucking hook. I need to talk to Hannah.”

“But this is my offi—” Axel starts.

That’s it.

The shock, fear, excitement, and whatever all those other feelings are that I don’t have names for because I’ve never feltthem before, that have been whirling around inside me since Tom appeared, finally erupt. Kind of like that school volcano experiment, which probably uses some of the chemicals Dylan started the fire with.

The eruption launches me to my feet, and I slam my hands onto the desk.

“Enough!” I shout over both of them.

If Axel were a cartoon character, his eyes would be making aboi-oi-oi-oingnoise as they shoot out on springs. Tom gives me a knowing that’s-my-girl smile and nods.

It’s a little terrifying now that they’re both looking at me, but I’ve made this stand and I’m going to run with it. “Both of you shut up.” My cheeks are on fire. But I still need to be at least a little bit polite to my boss. “Axel, could you please give us a moment?”

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