Page 19 of Power Games

"I'm not excited," she lied. "I'm...hopeful. Even if he gets divorced, there's a good chance he won't be interested in me. I mean, I couldn't be more different from Izzy."

"Yeah, and he wants to get rid of her."

"The point is, he married her in the first place. She's his type. And maybe he'll just want to play the field for a while or something. Who knows? But still. If he gets rid of her, I'll try my chances."

Rob snorted. "I can't wait to see that. Vanessa McNamara, the seductress."

She grabbed the closest harmless object, a cushion on the sofa where they were chilling out, and threw it at Rob's face. Of course, she missed.

“I can totally seduce a guy, Robbie. I have tits.”

He was right though. She wasn't what one would call an expert temptress. Still, if—when—Charles was free, she'd fucking try. She had to, or she'd spend her whole life regretting it, calling herself a coward.

"I'm teasing you, sweetie. He called you to ask about his divorce. I'm pretty sure the fancy-pants has about three dozen suitable advisors who could have weighed in on the issue, using stats and maybe even graphs." Rob grimaced. Excel was his nemesis. "Now, I'm not what one would call an expert in heterosexual men, but I’m pretty sure that means he's interested."

She perked up.

Was he interested? He was charming, and flirty toward her, but from what she could see, charming and flirty was basically his factory setting. She didn't read anything into it.

"Also, I think I figured out our break-up drama. I'll get Kaia to steal me away from you. She's always saying how she wants us to fake date."

Kaia Lowery had started around the same time as Vanessa; she went indie first, just like her, and then she was picked up by the same studio. The main difference between them was that Kaia was all goth, black lipstick, pitch black hair, while Vanessa went for sweet and wholesome. For some reason, people assumed they couldn't stand each other. In fact, they got along great. Rob was undoubtedly Vanessa's best friend, but Kaia wasn't far behind. Vanessa had other friends from high school, college, artists she'd met all around the world, and even socialites who weren't completely soulless, but she had a special bond with Kaia and Rob. They were both in showbiz, so they got it when she complained about a long day, fuming about an out of order paparazzi who’d followed her in the bathroom, and such things.

Vanessa's mind went back to the benefit, just four days ago. She'd babbled about her job for ages.

"I fucking hate my trainer. Seriously. She's evil."

"Why don't you fire her and find someone else, then?" Charles had asked.

Vanessa pouted.

"Because I don't hate,hateher, I just hate,wish she wouldn't make me do that many painful voice exercises and yell at me when she thinks I'm not pushing enoughhate her. You know."

Normally, that was when she lost people, who put it down to the eccentricity of artists and rolled their eyes.

Charles nodded like he got it. "I get it. Just like I hate my trainer when he tells me I can do another ten burpees, that I have it in me, shouldn't sell myself short, and I mentally make a list of all the sharp objects I could shove inside his eye socket while doing it."

He did totally get it.

"Ew. No one can do another ten burpees. That's just gross."

"Extremely. But I'm glad you don't hate your training enough to fire her. She obviously does great work."

He'd listened. He'd asked. He'd laughed and been entirely awesome for three hours.

So, some non-artists could make an effort, if they wanted to. It was just that most people didn't bother. But Charles Grant cared.

Charles Grant, who may soon be single.

“Or,” Vanessa told Rob, “you could just come out, instead of jumping to Kaia.”

She knew why he didn’t. Bigotry was alive and well in their industry. His name had been put forward as a potential younger James Bond for an origin story. There was a chance that his sexuality could cost him roles like those. As his friend, Vanessa still pouted, and encouraged him to just be him at the first occasion.

Rob poked her arm. “Tell you what: the day you’re getting married? I come out. Might as well celebrate the loss of your V-card in style.”

She laughed, opening the second bottle of wine she’d brought with her and pouring a couple of glasses. “Deal. Let’s drink to that.”

8

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