Page 42 of The Rom-Commers

Charlie let out a long sigh, and then conceded, “We’re working together.”

“What!” Logan whooped out a big laugh, and then he started pumping his fist in the air. “I knew it! I knew it!”

“That doesn’t make you forgiven,” I said.

“Uh, I think it absolutely makes me forgiven. I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you.’ And to that”—Logan bowed—“I say, ‘You’re very welcome.’”

Charlie and I met eyes. Then Charlie said, “Your methods were extremely problematic.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve got two problematic clients,” Logan responded. Then he asked Charlie to confirm: “She’s doing the rewrite?”

Charlie nodded. “She is. Unless she changes her mind.”

Logan looked at me. “Do not change your mind. It just about killed me to make this happen.”

“I’m not planning to,” I said, lifting my hands. Then I added, “At the moment.”

“Okay, then,” Logan said. “Let’s go.”

Charlie frowned. “Go where?”

“To brunch,” Logan said. “To celebrate.” And then, when we hesitated, he added, “And to talk about the contract. Because there’ll be no writing—at all—happening here until we make this whole thing legal.”

WE WENT TOa fancy see-and-be-seen brunch place that Logan loved and Charlie hated (and that my airport-wear was hardly nice enough for), and the first thing I saw as the hostess led us in—and please just go ahead and take a deep breath right now to prepare yourself—was…

Jack Stapleton.

I’m not joking.

Jack. Stapleton.

A-list actor, Jack Stapleton. Sexiest Man Alive, Jack Stapleton. The guy on the billboard right outside the restaurant, Jack Stapleton.

Looking somehowbetterin real life? Wearing slacks with no socks and an Oxford shirt that fit him like it was spun from silk. And havingbrunch—I’m so sorry: if you happen to be holding a can of supplemental oxygen, please take a puff—with Meryl Streep.

The real people, I swear. In a real restaurant. Eating real food.

I’ll give you a minute.

I needed a minute myself, to be honest, but before I’d even started to take it, Jack Stapleton looked up, saw Charlie, rose to his full height, and stepped over to positivelyensconceCharlie in a full-immersion bear hug.

“Hey, buddy,” Jack said warmly as he clapped Charlie on the back without letting go.

The hug lasted so long that the rest of us found ourselves looking around, and that’s when I met eyes with Meryl Streep, still seated at her place.

“Hello,” she said to me, lifting her fork in some impossibly cool hybrid between a wave and a toast.

Was that the most badass fork-based greeting I’d ever witnessed in my life? No time to ponder—because before I could stop myself, I was launching one big burst of nonpunctuated words: “Hello Meryl Streep I adore all your work and I am madly in love with you.”

To which she said, “Thank you,” as if people said that exact thing to her every day.

Which they probably did, right? Who are we kidding?

The full Yates-Stapleton hug shifted next into a side clamp, with Jack Stapleton, only a few inches taller than Charlie, tucking his head to try to ask a few private questions, even though we were all baldly staring. Everything he asked seemed like a follow-up to some other conversation no one else was privy to.

“How you holding up, man?” Jack Stapleton asked.

“Hanging in there,” Charlie said.

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