Page 11 of Something Unforgettable

“Mylifeisover.”

Xavier didn’t sigh at Isabella’s dramatics, but only because he was very, very good at his job. Drama was the norm when dealing with A-listers. In this case, it was the third time her life was ending in the last ninety days, so he wasn’t particularly worried. Everything was fixable with the right combination of time, money, and connections. Xavier had two of the three in spades.

And did anyone really have enough time?

“What did Michael say?” Michael was her agent and had been with her since she was a teenager.

“Why does it matter?” she snapped. “Nothing he can do will fix this.”

Xavier’s eye twitched. “Isabella,” he warned. She knew better than to take her anger out on him. The last time, he’d kindly suggested that she take her business elsewhere and gotten a tearful apology and tickets to his favorite sold-out Broadway show delivered to his office the next morning.

This time she backed down. “He quit, okay? And I don’t even care. This is all his fault.” She let out a rehearsed sob that had Xavier pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t uncalled for. Arguments could be made for both sides when it came to placing blame. Yes, her agent should have told her it was a terrible idea before things got to this point, but Isabella was known to be a steamroller when she wanted something—the result of being Hollywood royalty, no doubt. Xavier wasn’t the type to back down or give in, though, unlike her former agent.

“All right, here’s what you’re going to do. Since you don’t currently have representation, you need to call Gabriel.”

“I don’t like Gabriel,” she muttered, the tears gone from her voice, replaced by exhaustion.

“You want the best for this, darling,” he soothed. “And Gabriel is the best.” He wasn’t blowing smoke, either. Xavier had trained Gabriel himself. He might be a tad blunt when his clients fucked up, but that was often necessary with celebrities. Xavier appreciated that the man never caved under pressure, no matter how famous the pressure was. And he was experienced enough that he would be able to help her until she either hired someone new or begged for Michael’s forgiveness. There was no one Xavier trusted more.

He was sure Gabriel would have more than a few things to say about her decision to wear an iconic dress, borrowed from a private collector, to an awards show. The media was having a field day speculating about the damage she might have caused. Xavier only had so much sympathy. He doubted she’d consulted anyone ahead of time—if she had, they would have arranged a replica. But it was too late for finger-pointing now. The damage was—quite literally—done.

“But why can’t I have you?” Isabella asked, voice thick with tears again.

“Because,” he reminded her, stretching his patience to the limit, “you need someone who’s able to devote the time to you that you deserve, and in this instance that’s not me. Call Gabriel, darling,” he told her again, interrupting a new round of catastrophizing. “He’s the one who can make this go away.”

Xavier ended the call and took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the petrichor scent of the outdoors. He was always struck by just how loud the quiet could be in the mountains. The buzz of traffic was replaced by the hum of insects and the chirp of birds. Instead of car horns there were diesel tractors. People shouting in the streets was traded for the occasional whinny of a horse or bark of a dog. Xavier wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it, but he did enjoy it.

“Do you even know the meaning of a vacation?”

Xavier glanced over at Micah—the young man his ex-husband slash best friend had fallen head over heels for—and flashed a winning smile. “Of course I do. The problem is that my clients don’t. It’s what I get for working with celebrities.”

Micah made a face as he came to stand next to Xavier at the railing. His dog, Milo, darted past them and out into the yard, sniffing around. “Sounds terrible.”

Xavier chuckled. “I could ask you the same thing. When was the last time you had a real vacation?”

“You know,” Micah replied. “You were there.”

Micah and his husband, Ryan, had gone to New York with Nick over the summer to experience Pride in the city. Xavier had played host and enjoyed the hell out of showing them around—and spoiling them a little.

“Boys who live in glass houses,” Xavier teased.

Micah laughed. “All right, I’ll stop bugging you.” He paused dramatically. “But only if you tell me about Finn.” His eyes glittered with triumph.

Xavier huffed out a chuckle. Persistent little shit. “There isn’t much to tell,” he hedged.

Micah snorted. “Try again, Xavi,” he said, stealing the name only Nick got away with using.

“I’m taking him to lunch tomorrow at that little café near the park.”

Micah bounced on his toes and Xavier almost expected him to clap his hands with glee. The kid had the soul of a matchmaker and loved to see his friends happy—it had taken approximately a week of knowing each other for Micah to start hinting about men who might be interested in him.

“That’s so awesome. Finn is the sweetest kid ever.”

Xavier squinted. “Didn’t you go to school together? How is he a kid when you’re the same age?”

Micah shot him a devilish grin. “He was a freshman when I was a senior.”

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