“After six months of ‘private conversations’ that led nowhere? I was supposed to just keep letting him walk all over me?”
He exhales, regaining that polished calm.
“Sometimes that’s what it takes to succeed in this business. Look at me—I play the game. And now? I just landed a role in Spielberg’s next film.”
That hits.
Hard.
Ryan. In a Spielberg.
And me? Drinking wine straight from the bottle in my shoebox apartment.
“Congratulations,” I whisper. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a scheduled existential breakdown at eight, and I hate being late.”
“Jane—”
The door swings open again.
Savannah storms in, arms full of bags.
“I brought three kinds of ice cream because I didn’t know if you were in a chocolate-drowning mood or—oh.”
Her eyes flick from Ryan to me… then back to Ryan.
Uh-oh.
That expression means even Usain Bolt couldn’t outrun what’s coming.
“Well, look who it is,” she says sweetly. “The ghost of bad decisions past.”
“Savannah. Still charming,” Ryan replies tightly.
“And you’re still opportunistic. Are you here for a photo op or to offer Jane a role in your next blockbuster?”
“I was just checking on her.”
“After tipping off the paparazzi, I assume?”
“He actually came to tell me he’s Spielberg’s new favorite,” I cut in. “Meanwhile, I couldn’t even get cast as the third victim in a CSI episode.”
Savannah ignores me.
The silence that follows says everything.
Ryan has always been calculated.
“Well,” I say finally, “thanks for stopping by. But as you can see, I’m very busy supporting California winemakers.”
I take a swig straight from the bottle for emphasis.
He hesitates… then nods.
“Fine. But my offer stands. Call me if you change your mind.”
The door shuts behind him.
Savannah drops her bags and turns to me, concern replacing the fire in her eyes.
