Page 13 of The Rom-Commers

“And he just randomly calls you?”

“He’s just one of those people who’s everywhere.”

Logan was acting cool, but it was a strange welcome to LA. I’d barely left the airport and I already had an enemy.

Another little pause before Logan said, “You’ll never see him. Charlie can’t stand that guy. He’s a total dude-bro.”

“But he’s your client?”

“He’s everything that’s wrong with the world,” Logan said. “But, yes. He’s my client.”

BIT OF Arocky start there.

But here was the bigger, more important picture: I had a job working for Charlie Yates—whether dude-bro T.J. liked it or not—and I was absolutely, undeniably on my way to Charlie Yates’s house right now.

I’d never thought of Charlie Yates as even having a house before. I assumed he just lived in some kind of ethereal writing-god plane.

“It’s not exactly a house,” Logan said. “More like a mansion. The exterior was featured in a Nancy Meyers movie.”

Why did that make it scarier?

“Maybe we should stop by the hotel first,” I said.

“What hotel?”

“Am I not staying in a hotel?”

“Can you afford to stay in a hotel for six weeks?”

Wow. I clearly hadn’t thought this through. “Am I staying at your place, then?”

Logan burst out laughing at that and then explained his husband, Nico, ran his own knitting-classes-to-the-stars micro-empire called Knit& Bitch out of the guest room in their multimillion-dollar cottage in Santa Monica… and had filled all available space in their home with yarn.

Guess not.

“Where will I be staying, then?”

Logan shrugged. “With Charlie.”

Like a reflex: “Charlie who?”

“Yates,” Logan said, likeDuh.

With Charlie Yates?I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Wait. I’m going to belivingwith Charlie Yates?”

“Stayingwith,” Logan corrected, like that was different.

“This is way too close for comfort,” I said.

“You’ll never even see him,” Logan said. “He’s got, like, five guest rooms.” He glanced over at my stricken face. “It’s basically a resort.”

How had I missed this basic information? Was I so starry-eyed at the prospect of going to Hollywood that I couldn’t think straight?

“What other details haven’t you mentioned?” I asked as Logan zoomed us through traffic like the other cars were slalom poles.

“Just go with it,” Logan said. “Details are overrated.”

Were they?

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