Page 44 of The Casting Couch

My ears perked up.“Me too.Come on, just follow me.”

Bradley hesitated, like he didn’t trust the universe anymore.Which was fair, but he limped after me, anyway.

And as we headed toward the conference room, side by side, something in my stomach did a weird little somersault.Like… anticipation.Or dread.Or… something else I couldn’t name yet.

Bradley shuffled next to me like a condemned man heading toward the firing squad.Every step looked like it hurt.Hell, even watching him walk hurt.

I kept glancing sideways at him, debating whether to put an arm around his shoulders.Would that be weird?Too much?Too soon?Probably.But… damn.The poor guy looked like he’d been through a full season of America’s Next Top Traumatized Porn Star.

We hit the hallway leading toward the conference room.Carpeted, quiet, the kind of corporate ambiance that screamed “free coffee and passive aggression.”

Bradley cleared his throat.“Do you… uh… do you know what this meeting’s about?”

I shook my head.“Nope.Jack was super evasive.Real ‘I’ll tell you when you get there’ energy.Like a horror movie, but with worse lighting.”

Bradley sighed.“Awesome.”

There was a beat of silence.Then, just loud enough for me to hear, he muttered, “Can’t even sit down…”

I glanced over.“Wait.Why?”

He stopped walking.Turned toward me.His eyes were shiny, like actual tears pooled up along the lower lids.

And in the most broken, betrayed voice imaginable, he said, “That crazy old lady… bleached my asshole.”

I froze.My brain short-circuited.Like, full system reboot.

My mouth opened.Closed.Opened again.

And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I opened my arms wide.“Oh, buddy… come here.”

Bradley didn’t even hesitate.He stepped right into my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I wrapped him up in both arms, pulled him tight… and immediately regretted how hard I squeezed when he made a tiny, wounded noise and whispered, “Ow… my back…”

“Shit, sorry.”I loosened my grip fast, hands going soft on his shoulders.“Forgot about the… uh… full body trauma.”

We laughed, both of us quick and awkward, and then kept walking.

When we pushed open the conference room door, the full cast of characters were already mid-salad.Laura, Liam, Jack, Nessa, and Moira were all sitting around like the judges’ panel on some adult industry version of Shark Tank.Coffee cups were everywhere.Half-eaten chopped salads.Nessa had her phone out like she was live-tweeting Bradley’s suffering.

Jack looked up first.“Grab some food and have a seat.”

There was a buffet spread along the back wall.Sandwiches.Fruit.A giant bowl of mixed greens that looked like sadness coated with dressing.

Bradley made a beeline for the farthest end of the table, keeping his distance from anything leafy.

I drifted behind him, watching the way Nessa’s eyes lit up when she spotted him.Like a cat that discovered a bird with a broken wing.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I muttered under my breath.I parked myself next to him at the buffet line, close enough to block her line of attack.

Bradley hovered awkwardly over the food, looking like none of it made sense to him.Like he wasn’t sure if eating would make the pain better or worse.

Trying to cheer him up, I nudged his shoulder.“You know what helps after a traumatic cosmetic experience?”

He glanced at me, wary.“What?”

“Carbs.Lots and lots of carbs.Bagels are nature’s apology letter.”

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