39
Show and Tell
Jude
Lucky me. After a long day shooting a cologne commercial, I get to come home to fresh yellowtail in the fridge and an American hunk in my bed.
Fine, he’s not covered in pancakes, or rice, or bread. But TJ still looks good enough to eat, even sound asleep.
I’m quiet as I brush my teeth, shed my clothes, and pad to the bed. If he happens to wake up, though, I won’t complain. I’ll reward him.
After I slide under the covers, I snuggle against this warm man.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hey, you,” I whisper.
I wait to see if he’ll wake up. He’s quiet for several long seconds, then he slurs, “How was your day?”
“Good. Yours?”
More silence. “Good. Meeting. Stuff.”
I laugh to myself. Press a kiss to his shoulder. “See you in the morning,” I say, and I won’t even be upset that it’s our last morning before he returns to New York.
There will be more. I’m sure of it.
The sun blasts its get-the-fuck-out-of-bed rays at me. I rub my eyes and grab my phone. Ugh. It’s only nine.
I’m tempted to hit snooze and catch some more winks before it’s time to prep for my Webflix meeting.
But my notifications blink like mad red dots.
With a heavy sigh, I push up in bed and click on the text from TJ first. He’s out for a run but wants to talk to me when he returns, especially since he needs to catch his flight.
That sounds ominous, but sometimes he comes across that way because he doesn’t use emoticons and hates exclamation points. Weak writing, he’d say. Writing snob, I’d say.
I’m about to reply when I spot a text from Holly. Webflix meeting canceled. But don’t stress. We’ll sort it out. Call me!
I groan, then slump back in bed.
But wait.
Just because it’s canceled doesn’t mean it won’t be rescheduled. After all, meetings get changed all the time. Plus, Holly used exclamation points, so this must be just a blip.
After I turn on my ringer, the phone pings with a text from William: Does this mean I’ll be seeing more of you and your man in Los Angeles? Sweet! You guys are the best! And seriously, I KNEW he was here for business.
What?
Alarm bells begin to blare. William did say something the other night about TJ being here for business. But what the hell does that mean?
The next text is from Olivia. There better be a British character for you, or I’m suing the world.
My stomach curls with dread as I click on the link she sent.
It’s from The Hollywood Scoop, the insider gossip blog for the industry that’s pretty much never wrong.
With a knot in my throat, I read.
Word on the street is Webflix just acquired the film and TV rights to bestselling author TJ Hardman’s most recent romance, Top-Notch Boyfriend. You remember this one, right? The author was dumped on TV by a guy who runs a chicken café and was in a jealous lather over Hardman’s skyrocketing popularity. (For the record, I’m Team TJ.) The viral video took off, and so did the book. But that’s not why Webflix’s recently elevated Head of Acquisitions, Robert Walsh, inked the deal late last night after meeting Hardman and his LA agents at CTM yesterday. “It was a whirlwind romance with this book and the author. I fell in love with the story from the first page, and we’re thrilled to bring this fun, sexy, heartfelt queer romance to our millions of streaming viewers worldwide,” he told me when I called him this morning for a comment.
All my hackles rise. It turns out TJ wasn’t writing at a coffee shop during my shoot after all. He was off wooing the head of the world’s biggest streaming service. And he didn’t think to mention that when he was texting me about sushi.
But no matter.
It’s fine. TJ has his writing business to tend to, and he’s always played business close to the vest.
Deep breath.
This is probably something that’s been in the works for a while. Deals like this take time. Except, wouldn’t that then mean he came to LA for a meeting, rather than . . . for me?
My stomach drops with an all too familiar feeling.
Then plummets when the top of a photo peeks out from the screen. I scroll down, and I burn as it fills the screen. It’s Robert Walsh and TJ smiling for the camera on Sunday night at the Mark Taper Forum.
The caption reads: Robert Walsh working his deal-making magic with author TJ Hardman at intermission Sunday night during Pillow Talk.
I close my eyes, draw another deep, calming breath like I’m doing yoga. But fuck yoga. I get out of bed, frustration fueling me as I pull on boxers and workout shorts then call Holly.
My fingers slip as I hit her name. Dammit. I try again, and she answers after a quarter of a ring.
“Good morning, Jude.”
“Hi, Holly. But is it really a good morning?” I ask, strained. “What in the bloody hell is going on with the Webflix meeting?”
She sighs sympathetically. “Ah, did you see The Hollywood Scoop? Webflix acquired another property instead. They’re going forward with that one. It’s total bollocks if you ask me, and I hope it fails magnificently.”
I want to laugh. I love her support.
But instead, I huff, drop my forehead into my hand, and look for a silver lining.
“And so when are we rescheduling? They said they wanted more queer romance. That’s what we’re going to do, right? Reschedule? There has to be room for more than one? Christian Laird was keen on signing up. That should help greenlight a project,” I say, and I sound desperate because I feel desperate. I’m hanging on for dear life, clutching this opportunity.
She sighs. “It’s not being rescheduled, Jude. I’m so sorry. They backburnered your project.”
I can barely speak. All I manage is a strangled “Why?”
“They greenlit this book late last night, and it’s replacing the project they wanted to develop with you. It’s called Top-Notch Boyfriend. I hate it on principle. Like, with the fire of a thousand suns. Have you heard of it?”
Yes, the author fucked me. In every sense of the word.
No wonder he’s out for a run. He’s probably formulating a script of what to say to me. Because he clearly came to LA to work a deal. Then he learned of my projects, called his agent, and used my inside information to steal my opportunity from under me.
The guy likes Agatha Christie. He loves to weave tales of mystery. But I learned a thing or two from him about following clues.
That call I overheard Monday morning? When he said But I’ll believe that when it happens?
He knew this Webflix thing was in the works then, even if he doubted it. And he chose not to say a word to me.
I shake my head, amazed that he almost pulled it off. But I’ve cracked the case of TJ Hardman. My visitor was working the deal on my deck. That’s why he didn’t invite me to Amsterdam. There’s no Amsterdam. Amsterdam was probably a code name for this secret deal. And if so, he had time to tell me, but he didn’t.
“Yes. I’m familiar with the author,” I say to Holly.
“Seems they’re making that project the Webflix marquee gay romance.”
It’s ten thousand slaps in the face.
I am such a sucker.
“Which is a total mistake if you ask me,” Holly goes on. “Everyone loves Brits. There are literally studies out there about how much Americans love our accents.”
I can’t believe I’m about to say this. It’s the end of any self-respect I have left. But I say it anyway because, apparently, I’ve lost all my dignity. “Any chance there’s a role for me?”
“That’s what’s so mad about the whole thing. It’s like they didn’t get the memo about sexy accents,” she says, clearly disgusted as an agent should be. “The leads are both American. And supposedly, Christian Laird is attached to this project now. Which is ridiculous.”
The floor drops out from under me.
TJ took every single detail about my hopes and dreams and used them.
My heart hurts. Literally fucking aches. Why do I always fall for men who use me?
I draw a shaky breath. “So, that’s it?”
“That’s it for now, love. But chin up. Kenta and I will find something. That’s our job, and we’re not going to fail. We love you madly, so put this out of your head, go enjoy the sunshine that we never get back home, and we will carry on.”
“Thanks, Hols.”
“Let’s have lunch tomorrow, okay? We’ll strategize over kale and tofu and tea.”
“Sure,” I agree, and she hangs up.
I want to believe this is a misunderstanding. I want to believe it’s a coincidence. But every detail adds up to I got fooled again.
William let slip on Tuesday night that TJ came to LA for business.
TJ bought a one-way ticket.
TJ arranged his schedule for a meeting while I was at a shoot.
The worst part? He wooed the guy the night he came to my show and gave me those fucking blueberries. And then I blew him.
I stare daggers at the photo of him during intermission at my show, romancing my work right out from under me. And he didn’t say a word to me.
Just like Arlo didn’t say a word when he was wooing my agent and then stealing my role. Talk about déjà vu.
This is Arlo all over again. My boyfriend used me to get to someone else.
And the irony of it all? TJ’s not even my boyfriend.
The front door clicks open, and I seethe like a volcano.
“Hey, baby, I’m back,” TJ calls from the foyer. “Want to get kale for breakfast, and I can tell you something? I have a funny picture to show you.”
Ha. I have a damning picture to show him.
Slowly, I head out of the bedroom, my jaw tight. My eyes lock on him as he pushes the front door closed. His T-shirt clings to his chest, and I don’t fucking care.
I hold up my phone, and the volcano erupts. “Why the fuck did you really come to LA? Because it sure as hell seems like it wasn’t for me.”