Page 90 of Love on the Byline

He laughed. “No, of course not.”

Bran’s eyebrows lifted. “Why’d you say it like that? Lornahasn’t been subtle about it.”

“About what?”

The room was filling quickly, bodies jostling for space betweenthe tables, so they took their seats.

“About wanting you to write for her new show.”

“I’ve helped her out a few times, that’s all.”

He was met with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“What? He asks. Dude, why do you do that? Drives mefucking crazy.”

“Do what?”

“Downplay everything when it comes to you.”

Why did he sound like Blake? Had they been talking abouthim? “I don’t.”

“You sure as hell do, and I don’t understand why.”

If he didn’t know any better, Ollie would think Bran wasangry. It was there in the stiff set of his shoulders and the furrow of hisbrow.

“I’m good where I am.”

“Working for me, you mean?”

Confused by his tone, he nodded. “Well, yeah. Where else?”

Bran leaned his elbows on the table. “You won’t be with meforever, Ols.”

He knew that. Of course, he knew that. This gig wastemporary. He’d only planned to work for Bran until...

The dawning realization that he didn’t have atimeline for all of this was startling. It must have shown on his face becauseBran sat back with a knowing smile.

“Are you planning to fire me?”

“No,” he replied. “But I will if you keep turning awayopportunities I know, somewhere deep down, you really want.”

He had to smile at that, however misguided it was. “I’m theone who’s supposed to be looking out for you.”

Bran’s smile brightened. “Nothing says it can’t go bothways, little brother.”

20

The Beverly Wilshire was a grand dame of old Hollywood. As ateenager, Blake would spend hours in the library reading old issues of Glamourand Life magazines and pouring over books about Hollywood. It never occurred toher that she would one day attend one of the most glamorous and exclusiveevents in the country. After parking in a nearby garage, she changed into herparty clothes and texted Ollie to let him know she’d arrived. She hoped shewould find him quickly. The idea of being alone at an event like this wasoverwhelming.

Flash bulbs popped all around her, but she couldn’t see whowas drawing all the attention. She quickly walked through the crowded lobby andmade her way down to the main ballroom. The winding staircase to the bottomfloor seemed daunting in her heels, so she opted for the elevator. Its mirroredinterior would be a bonus, one last chance to check her hair and make-up beforemaking a discreet entrance. She waited until the doors were closed and thengave her lips a touch-up before checking her phone. No response from Ollie. Shethought about trying Bran’s phone but realized, even if he had it on him, heprobably wouldn’t hear it.

The space outside of the ballroom was set up for cocktailhour. Several dozen people were clumped around, drinks in hand, taking fulladvantage of the open bar. In the eight months since she’d moved to L.A. andbegan reporting on the rich and famous, Blake had learned the more money peoplehad, the more they loved free stuff.

She made her way to the furthest bar, situated by one of thearched windows. It was the perfect place to watch the comings and goings and,hopefully, spot Bran and Ollie when they arrived.

“Champagne, miss?”

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