Page 105 of The Casting Couch

“I swear I didn’t forget if I had a meeting today,” I blurted out before she could say anything else.“I swear I’ve been good, and I haven’t even left the apartment without telling Nico, uh, my boyfriend, or partner, or whatever we’re calling each other, but…”

“Bradley.”She laughed softly.“Breathe.”

I did.Barely.

“You’re not in trouble.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.You don’t have anything scheduled today.But I called because Brian Massey, the guy doing your PSA project, just found out he’s got to fly out of the country tonight.Some last-minute family emergency or something.He wants to shoot your segment today.Won’t take more than an hour or two.You’d be doing us both a favor by getting it knocked out early.”

“Oh.”

I sank down onto the arm of the couch, still breathing hard, but at least I wasn’t seeing tunnel vision anymore.

“And,” she added, “since you’re coming in anyway, we can knock out your weekly check-in too.Kill two birds.”

“Okay.Yeah.Totally.That’s fine.”

“Is now too early, or…?”

“Now is… perfect,” I lied.I glanced down at myself—hair like a bird’s nest, face flushed, wearing nothing but a single sock.“Just give me, like, an hour to get dressed and across town.”

She laughed again.“Sounds great.Brian’s bringing his assistant and equipment.We’re shooting in the conference room.”

“Cool.I’ll be there.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up, and I sat for a second, phone resting against my cheek, just letting the relief wash over me.

Wasn’t in trouble.Didn’t miss a meeting.Just needed to put on pants, pretend to be a Public Service Announcement star for an hour, and maybe get an iced coffee on the way back.

I could do that.

And maybe, if I returned fast enough, I’d still catch Nico asleep.With that same soft snore and smile on his lips.And I’d climb back into bed and hold him from behind and pretend like the real world didn’t exist for just a little longer.

* * *

I’d barely made it through the revolving door before Brooke popped out of her office, clipboard in hand and her usual “I’ve-seen-some-shit” energy dialed to eleven.

“There you are,” she said, giving me a once-over.“You look… awake.”

“Define awake,” I muttered.

She smirked.“Brian and Ruth are in the conference room setting up.I’ll let you do your thing and then we’ll meet for our check-in after.It’s painless.Unless you make it weird.”

“Me?Never.”I gave her my most innocent face.She narrowed her eyes like she knew I was full of shit.Then she disappeared back into her office.

I headed toward the conference room and stepped into what looked like the Dollar Store version of a film set.Green screen duct-taped to a collapsible stand.A single ring light on a tripod.A folding chair in front of the camera like I was about to deliver a TED Talk on personal failure.

Brian Massey turned toward me, beaming like I was the second coming of Lee Strasberg.He was round, pink, and sweating through his armpits already, even though it was barely 9:30 AM.He wore glasses that looked like they belonged to an old welder.

“You must be Bradley!”he said, shoving a clammy hand at me.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied, shaking it.

“This is Ruth,” he said, gesturing to the woman fiddling with cue cards in the corner.

And wow.Ruth looked like she’d wandered off the set of a 1960s sitcom and accidentally stumbled into a parole office.Feathered yellow hair under a massive paisley headscarf.Giant hoop earrings.Lime green caftan with embroidered frogs.And her lashes?I’ve seen tarantulas with less volume.

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