Page 7 of Official

XANDER

“What do you mean?” I blink at my boss, Ronald.

“You’re fired, Alexander.”

Fuck, he full named me.

“There’s literally only one thing that could mean.” Flustered, he waves his hands around like a cartoon lunatic, and his face is blotchier than when he’s drunk—and he’s a sloppy drunk. “You need to go. Grab your shit and get out. I never want to see you again.”

He’s one huff away from blowing the whole studio down, and I bet if I called him Ronald McDonald to his face like we do behind his back, it would do the trick.

But I refrain.

What good would it do? Then again, what would it hurt? I’m already fired, right?

I open my mouth, but Zoey steps in front of me. “Daddy, you can’t fire him. We’re in love!”

Cringing, I back away, ready to make my escape from this tension, but Zoey grabs my hand and loops her arm through mine.

“Please let him keep his job,” she so stoically insists, but little does she know, her efforts are in vain.

Ronald wants me here less than I want to be here myself.

When I first started working here as a writing assistant, I thought it was a good idea, but considering how attached this girl has gotten to me, I’d say this firing has come at the most opportune time.

“Honey, he’s manipulated you into sex, not love. Trust me, I know his type.” Ronald throws me a glare.

“You don’t know him like I do!” she whines.

“I know enough—”

“I’ll let you two hash it out.” I give them a tight-lipped smile and rush off before either one has a chance to stop me. Didn’t feel like they were talking to me, anyway.

It’s their problem now.

As for me, I grab a donut from the snack table on my way across the set, with cameras and a million lights aimed at me like I’m on a Broadway stage. People mill about, sipping their coffee, reading through scripts, and minding their own business as the director and his daughter continue their heated discussion in the back.

Zoey was fun, but love?Jesus.

I’ve never even been to her house, and the only reason I know her last name is because it’s plastered all over LA for a new show premiering this winter.

So, no, we’re most definitely not in love. But fucking? Yes. That’s a much more accurate description of what we were doing, and we were damn good at it.

I tainted every inch of her dressing room like I marked her skin with my tongue and bites. She liked living wildly with the creative help, and we gave a whole new meaning to mixing business with pleasure.

It was working out swimmingly too, until Zoey convinced herself she’s in love with me and told her “daddy,” aka director, aka big deal, about me.

And now, I’m out of a job for the summer. How am I supposed to spend my days? With my fucking stepdad and his golfing buddies while they make boring jokes about shit that happened twenty years ago?

For God’s sake, they don’t even know what TikTok is.

No.

No fucking way am I putting up with that torture for the next three months until I take a seat at the table in my own writing room.

My damn dream job of writing for a TV action drama—it’s finally happening.

Obviously, it was time to get out from under Ronald’s clutches, but I imagined it would happen differently. For one, I expected to quit on my own terms. Maybe even storm out, leaving a swirling trail of script pages in my wake.

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