Page 37 of Texts From My Exes
The doorbell went off again—long, impatient. Followed by more camera clicks from outside.
“Do they think we’re going to cheerfully answer if they keep aggressively ringing?” Harper muttered.
I glanced at the peephole. Not paparazzi this time. A man in a suit, sunglasses, and the confident stance of someone who’s never once had to wait for a table. A familiar man in a suit.
I opened the door a crack. “Not buying anything.”
“Ezra Wyatt?” His voice was pure PR-polish. He knew exactly who I was and I knew who he was. He looked past me. “And you must be Harper, my wife and I have been watching along with the Network.” Bullshit he probably just got caught up this morning and saw dollar signs in his Cheerios. Asshole. “A goldfish? Really?”
She appeared at my shoulder, arms crossed. “Yeah well apparently there are worst situations, and you are?”
“Graham Lang,” he said smoothly. “I represent a network of shorts that buys out series from content creators and puts them on other streaming services. I think we should talk.” I almost laughed and added. “Oh and takes the entire IP so enjoy!”
Sadly, I couldn’t say much so Harper let him into the living room. I already knew what she was thinking, if a network or streaming service grabbed her series or added to it then she’d have more than enough proof for the lawyers to keep the apartment. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a great career as a teacher, it’s that Harper wanted to prove it was enough, and her Aunt, crazy as she was, wanted to give her the opportunity. I don’t think dear Aunt Trudence saw this plot twist coming. A tv show, with a network showing that she could earn a living being creative? It was the final piece of proof that would end the discussion, and sign the papers.
Graham perched himself on the edge of the couch like he was about to deliver a sermon, I glared at him from the armchair. He looked completely comfortable, most evil things did since they had no souls.
“The episode last night was… unexpected,” Graham began, pulling a sleek folder from his briefcase. “But the numbers don’t lie. Views are skyrocketing. Engagement is through the roof. People love you together and so do I. I think if you just extended this series past the two dates with whoever you choose,” he glanced at me. “No offense.”
“None taken.” All of the offense was taken actually.
“And if you maybe allowed us to add in one or two more dates with some other lucky gentleman in order to show that new love can exist, well then we’ll have enough episodes for a short and to sell to a few streaming networks, not only would you be paid well but I did a little digging and it looks like you’re doing all of this in order to prove you can make a living this way. I for one think it’s brilliant your Aunt left you such a legacy of self-reliance and you’re hell bent on keeping it alive.”
He didn’t. Again, he saw dollar signs, and if she signed on for this it wouldn’t just be this show and it wouldn’t be this easy, I had to find a way to explain that without exposing myself and my own sordid past—great.
Harper blinked. “Actually, we were just trying to think of how to maneuver all of this and that might be the answer!’
No, do not get the excited face. WRONG face to make to the guy, wrong face! Back away Harper! I open my mouth, then shut it. No. It wasn’t the time to talk about it. Later.
He grinned. “I hoped you’d say that.” He pulled out his phone and showed her a few headlines and trending hashtags.
#VexAndHarper #HarperIsLucky #IsItHotInHereOrIsItVex
“You’re trending in seventeen countries,” Graham finally said. “The chemistry is undeniable. Which is why the network wants to capitalize on it immediately.”
My stomach dropped even further. “Capitalize how?”
“A multi-date arc,” he said, like it was obvious. “Public appearances. Interviews. Maybe even a joint live stream along with the other guys that got away, she still has a few more dates left and like I said we’ll possibly add more if you’re open to it, I mean, you had one night with this guy do you really think he could be the one in the end? And how would you know, plus it seems like you were genuinely caught off guard about his past life, did you know he used to work?—”
“—-Don’t bore her with my past.” I interrupted. “We’ll need something in writing for her to look over.”
He grinned. “Done. I already had something mocked up this morning before coming over, I tried calling your phone Harper, sorry to be so aggressive I just didn’t want someone else running in and snatching this opportunity from me, because honestly, the wife loves shows like this. I’m partially doing it for her.”
Wife number five, also he has a mistress but sure, do it for her, yay…
Harper’s mouth fell open. “That’s so sweet.”
All people lie especially good-looking ones. Had I taught her nothing?
“I must be insane, but I think it’s a good idea,” she muttered.
I disagreed, but by explaining why I was exposing myself. What if my past wasn’t something she could handle? What if the real details of it, the sordid details made her run? My anxiety was already pressing against my ribs, hard and insistent. I’d walked away from all of this once for a reason. But now…
Now Harper was in it, too.
And if the only way to keep her from getting shredded by the same machine that once nearly ate me alive was to play the part, then I’d do it especially if it meant keeping her from that part of me she didn’t need to see.
Even if it killed me.
