Page 116 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

But no matter.

It’s fine. TJ has his writing business to tend to, and he’s always played business close to the vest.

Deep breath.

This is probably something that’s been in the works for a while. Deals like this take time. Except, wouldn’t that then mean he came to LA for a meeting, rather than... for me?

My stomach drops with an all too familiar feeling.

Then plummets when the top of a photo peeks out from the screen. I scroll down, and I burn as it fills the screen. It’s Robert Walsh and TJ smiling for the camera on Sunday night at the Mark Taper Forum.

The caption reads:Robert Walsh working his deal-making magic with author TJ Hardman at intermission Sunday night duringPillow Talk.

I close my eyes, draw another deep, calming breath like I’m doing yoga. But fuck yoga. I get out of bed, frustration fueling me as I pull on boxers and workout shorts then call Holly.

My fingers slip as I hit her name. Dammit. I try again, and she answers after a quarter of a ring.

“Good morning, Jude.”

“Hi, Holly. But is it really a good morning?” I ask, strained. “What in the bloody hell is going on with the Webflix meeting?”

She sighs sympathetically. “Ah, did you seeThe Hollywood Scoop? Webflix acquired another property instead. They’re going forward with that one. It’s total bollocks if you ask me, and I hope it fails magnificently.”

I want to laugh. I love her support.

But instead, I huff, drop my forehead into my hand, and look for a silver lining.

“And so when are we rescheduling? They said they wanted more queer romance. That’s what we’re going to do, right? Reschedule? There has to be room for more than one? Christian Laird was keen on signing up. That should help greenlight a project,” I say, and I sound desperate because Ifeeldesperate. I’m hanging on for dear life, clutching this opportunity.

She sighs. “It’s not being rescheduled, Jude. I’m so sorry. They backburnered your project.”

I can barely speak. All I manage is a strangled “Why?”

“They greenlit this book late last night, and it’s replacing the project they wanted to develop with you. It’s calledTop-Notch Boyfriend. I hate it on principle. Like, with the fire of a thousand suns. Have you heard of it?”

Yes, the author fucked me. In every sense of the word.

No wonder he’s out for a run. He’s probably formulating a script of what to say to me. Because he clearly came to LA to work a deal. Then he learned of my projects, called his agent, and used my inside information to steal my opportunity from under me.

The guy likes Agatha Christie. He loves to weave tales of mystery. But I learned a thing or two from him about following clues.

That call I overheard Monday morning? When he saidBut I’ll believe that when it happens?

He knew this Webflix thing was in the works then, even if he doubted it. And he chose not to say a word to me.

I shake my head, amazed that he almost pulled it off. But I’ve cracked the case of TJ Hardman. My visitor was working the deal on my deck. That’s why he didn’t invite me to Amsterdam. There’s no Amsterdam. Amsterdam was probably a code name for this secret deal. And if so, he had time to tell me, but he didn’t.

“Yes. I’m familiar with the author,” I say to Holly.

“Seems they’re making that project the Webflix marquee gay romance.”

It’s ten thousand slaps in the face.

I am such a sucker.

“Which is a total mistake if you ask me,” Holly goes on. “Everyone loves Brits. There are literally studies out there about how much Americans love our accents.”

I can’t believe I’m about to say this. It’s the end of any self-respect I have left. But I say it anyway because, apparently, I’ve lost all my dignity. “Any chance there’s a role for me?”

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