Page 18 of Relationship Goals

“Deal…” I pause, studying her. “But only if you tell me about what the hell is going on between you and Tristan Gold.” I point between her and the door. “I picked up on that tension between you two.”

She laughs uneasily, then blows out a breath. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’m just kidding,” I backtrack, not wanting to overstep. Ugh. Why is making new friends so hard?

“Oh please, no you weren’t.”

Her phone rings. She gives it a pained look.

“It’s only fair.” She scribbles something on a sticky note hiding in a gold box on her desk. “Here’s my number. Text me where you want to meet, okay? I have to take this. The front office is right back through there.” Michelle points. “I’m really looking forward to lunch and to working with you.”

She’s smiling so broadly at me that when she picks up the phone, her voice immediately dropping to a businesslike lower register, it low-key shocks me.

I jot down a mental note to make sure I do that same kind of code-switching on-screen.

I can’t stop smiling as I walk back to the lobby, sending Jean a short update via text.

My time with the LA Aces is already yielding some great notes for the role.

And I have a date with a really hot soccer player who said I’m pretty.

Things are looking up.

Chapter Four

Abigail

I don’t knowwhat to wear. Clothes litter the bed, the floor. I don’t want to be overdressed. I don’t want to look like…like I’m trying too hard. My hair’s up in a ponytail, and besides putting a fresh layer of lip stain on, I haven’t touched the makeup I put on for my meeting earlier today. Thank you, setting spray.

“Just shadowing Michelllle,” I sing, pulling out my favorite pair of jeans and slipping into them. “Gonna get that Oscaaaaar.”

“Beautiful singing,” my best friend, Darren, says from where he’s half paying attention on FaceTime, my phone propped up and plugged in on my nightstand.

“I’m manifesting through opera. Maybe I could pitch that method to a magazine or daytime TV show,” I tell him.

“Oh, they will snap that up, for sure. I can see it now, just Lin-Manuel Miranda your way to your dreams.”

I laugh and then return to the problem at hand.

“What the hell am I going to wear?” I ask him.

“Something cute,” he says. “Something simple, because I’m not there to do your makeup.”

“I didn’t do too badly this morning,” I sputter.

“Of course not, Abs, but you know I love a smoky moment on a date.”

“Fair enough,” I muse.

Sighing, I attempt the double-inhalation breathing that’s supposed to calm me down when my heart’s beating too fast. I’m counting chickens before they’ve hatched—we won’t even start filming for another few weeks.

“I can do this!” I sing-yell.

“Yes,” Darren agrees. “You can do this. We can do this.”

“I’m proud of you,” I tell him, grinning.

“I’m proud of you, Abs,” he says instantly, and from the clinking noises going on over the phone, I bet he’s reorganizing one of his makeup kits.

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