Page 49 of Hot Set

“You’re right,” I said, forcing my voice even. “I have the FBI, so it doesn’t matter.”

I dug my nails into my palms. No, it didn’t affect me. But of course, I cared! It was impacting people I’d worked with, people I cared about. Couldn’t Brandon understand that? The sense of injustice rose inside me. Heat rushed to my face. Why couldn’t Brandon understand how terrible this was?

Brandon’s face remained inscrutable. Whether or not he was angry or distressed was impossible to tell, which made it all much worse.

“Well, then,” I said.

It seemed there was nothing else to say. I scratched at my palms.

“Alex—” Bioncia said.

“I’m going home,” I said.

And I walked past both of them, focusing only on the exit. Suddenly, this place felt hot and claustrophobic. Brandon was right, though. I had the FBI; my dream job. A burst of wind buffeted me as I opened the door. I practically trembled withanger, but beneath the anger, frustration and surprise bubbled up, like waves lashing against some shore.

There was something like heartbreak. Something dark and hard seemed to curl inside my chest. But what was it? All my thoughts had clustered together. After the set doors closed behind me, I stood still for a moment, trying to sort everything out.

An image played out in my head, of Brandon coming after me and apologizing. It was completely illogical, but I wanted him toknowhow hurt I was. He’d just dismissed my concerns. I had expected better of him. And maybe that would’ve been fine if it wasn’t competing with guilt. Maybe Brandon reallyhadtried, and I’d been too harsh on him.

I walked to my car and slammed the door behind me. A low sigh tore from my throat, as I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe the cosmic forces or God or something had aligned just right and shifted everything into a new light. I could join the FBI without having to worry about abandoning everyone working on the film.

I wouldn’t have to worry about my feelings for Brandon. Not when we’d just had this big argument. I sucked in a deep breath of air, but it didn’t seem to help. My chest still ached. I curled my fingers around the steering wheel and dredged up half-forgotten memories of meditation classes I’d taken back in my undergrad. Despite never telling Brandon how I felt about him, my feelings still seemed to have blown up in my face.

After my thoughts cleared a bit, I felt safe enough to pull away from the curve. I fixed my attention firmly on the road before me as I left the movie warehouse and Brandon behind, maybe forever. There was no point lingering in the past, wishing for a future that would never happen.

Chapter eighteen

Brandon

My father’s charity galas werefamousin high society circles, and if there was one thing I really admired about him, it was his dedication to charity. I tapped my pen against the desk that was, perhaps temporarily, mine. Back when I was a teenager and in undergrad, I’d worked here often, doing little things, answering emails mostly. Sometimes, I helped plan events. But that had all fallen apart along the way, and my poor, long-suffering father kept this office cleared for me, ready for the few, sporadic months when I could be coaxed into this massive skyscraper and forced behind a desk.

I let my gaze drift to the window, downtown Bluehaven spread beneath me. It was beautiful. My fingers itched to be on those busy streets and in the sunlight. Working here was like working in some extravagant, glass and steel cage. I felt a bit like a spoiled brat and a bit like a monster for not being able to muster more enthusiasm for saving whales. The problem was that Iknewthiswas just the beginning, just a foot in the door. After this whole thing was finished, my father would expect me to fall into line.

I had a wild fantasy of cutting up all the credit cards I had, throwing them like confetti across the room, and plunging into the unknown. It seemed like it would besogratifying just to run away and start somewhere else. But I had to be practical.

I’d never worked an actual job in my life. Not arealjob, anyway. Not a job that Ihadto work. They’d all been frivolous, short pursuits that could easily be dropped at a moment’s notice with few—if any—consequences.

I let my attention drift to the email I’d opened. It was from a friend of my father’s, a printing company who’d joined in this massive charity gala. Many business owners would’ve dropped them a generic thank you email, but my father liked to be very personable with his correspondence, so every email was answered personally.

My phone rang, and I picked it up with a mingling of gratitude and dread. It was a welcome distraction, but who knew whom would be on the other end of the line? “Hello?” I asked.

“Hey, Brandon!” Seth greeted with his usual aplomb.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. Somehow, Seth’s usual enthusiasm was worse than cold disdain or anger. Perhaps it was because Iknewthis was all my fault. I needed someone else to acknowledge my feelings, to agree that I was all wrong.

“Hey, Seth,” I said with considerably less enthusiasm.

“Are you dying yet?” Seth asked mischievously.

“Only on the inside,” I said, sighing.

“So, you’re in the same boat as the rest of us,” Seth replied.

“Yeah.” I paused and scuffed my shoe against the edge of the desk.

What about Alex?Surely, Seth would know something about how he was doing. Alex’s flushed cheeks, bright with indignation, flashed before my mind. In that moment, he’dlooked so determined and patient at the same time, it took my breath away.

Seth sighed. “Look,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about this. And I’m sure you are, too. We can’t just drop this. There has to be something—”

---