Page 57 of A Love Song for Dreamers

Ian’s smile doesn’t waver. “Annie, I know we planned to more formally discuss my involvement in funding after the reading next month.” The event is a tradition, taking place at Ian’s apartment, involving half a dozen actors plus the writing team and a host of prospective funders from Manhattan’s elite circles. “But I think we can movesooner.”

My heart kicks in my chest. “Really? You never sign on to a project until all the pieces are in place and you have a chance to discuss it with people youtrust.”

“But this is your project.” He lifts his glass in a toast. “If I commit first, getting the rest of the funders lined up will be simple. We can get this where it needs to be.Together.”

Suspicion crawls up my spine. “What exactly does thatmean?”

“It means we’ll meet every few days while you’re finishing the book. In New York, obviously. I’d like to be on top of myinvestment.”

“WithMiranda.”

Ian hesitates. “I don’t see the need to use herunnecessarily.“

There it is.I shift in my seat as hecontinues.

“I know how shows are developed. I’m experienced, and you’re talented. Together, we make a goodteam.”

I shiver as I feel his leg brush mine under thetable.

Our meals come, and he digs in immediately, but Ican’t.

“We’re not getting back together,Ian.”

He stops chewing halfway through a bite, brows lifting on his handsome face. After he swallows, he plasters on a smile I’ve seen a thousand times. “You’re getting emotional. Reading something into this that isn’tthere.”

“I didn’t read into the part where I walked in on you fucking an eighteen-year-old actress on yourcouch.”

When I rise, he’s out of his seat too, reaching for me. “Hey. Comeon.”

His hand grips my arm. I stare at that hand until he releasesme.

“This isn’t about me,” he bites out. “It’s abouthim.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” Except as I say the words, they don’t feel entirelytrue.

“Maybe you never touched another man while we were together. But you held back. It’s my job to see the beauty in things. That’s what attracted me to you. On stage, you’re this wild thing. Full of emotion and passion, unrestrained. But you were never that woman withme.”

I’m shaking my head, but hecontinues.

“At first I thought I wasn’t doing the right things to bring it out of you.” He cocks his head, studying me in a way I can’t deny him. “But that was a lie. Which meant you were saving it for something else. Someoneelse.”

His words trip me because he’s never said them before, not while we were together or after we brokeup.

“There’s always a silver lining to these situations,” he continues. “I believe in your voice, and I have all the connections in the Manhattan arts community. I can make it easy for you to get this show produced. Or”—he adjusts the cuffs on his jacket—“I can make itdifficult.”

Cold washes over me at his barely veiledthreat.

I know I could work with him, turn away his advances. I trust myself, and I know he has the money and connections to make my dream areality.

I fold my napkin and set it on the table next to myplate.

“You’re right, Ian. There is a silverlining.”

His eyes soften, as if he knows I’m seeingreason.

“What is this wine?” I askhim.

Ian balks a moment, surprised, but tellsme.

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