But Gloria had no right to take Joan—beautiful, honest, fierce Joan—and try to change her to fit these horrible, unrealistic standards.
And now Joan stood there, silent and watchful, looking uncomfortable and rigid, shoulders tense and nearly around her ears.
“I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, straightening.
“No,” I insisted. “I was just explaining?—”
“Ian,” she said firmly. “It’s okay.”
Gloria stepped close and lowered her voice. “You are both on camera right now, creating drama. Not the good kind. And you can’t call him Ian right now,” she snapped in Joan’s direction. “Dorian, you need to walk the red carpet. Joan can meet you inside.”
“That’s fine,” Joan agreed at the same time I said, “No, she’s coming with me.”
I held out my hand, but she didn’t take it. She just stared at me, face hard, jaw set.
“I’ll take you,” Eddie J piped up. He slipped his arm through Joan’s before I could protest. Then he gave me a meaningful look. “I’ve got her. You go to work.”
They turned together toward the theater, and Eddie J led her behind the barricade and away from the red carpet.
Staring after them, I swallowed hard. I’d been uneasy all day. I’d known that leaving Joan alone to get ready had been a big mistake. I should have insisted. I should have demanded?—
“He’s right,” Gloria said, her nails digging into the sleeve of my tux. “It’s time to get to work.”
For the next hour, I did my job. I smiled even though I was miserable. I appeared at ease even though I was an anxious mess. I spoke with the press even though all I wanted to do was hurry inside, talk to Joan, and set everything right. I needed to apologize for the makeover. She didn’tneeda fucking makeover.
When I finally made it into the theater, I wasn’t even surprised that she was nowhere to be found. I pulled out my phone to call Eddie J and tried to head back outside, but Gloria planted herself directly in my path.
“You cannot leave,” she demanded. “We have networking to do at the after-party.”
Ignoring her, I turned away and put my phone to my ear.
“You’d better get out here,” my assistant said without greeting. “She asked to go home, but I have been stalling like a goddamn courtroom attorney.”
I was already moving. “Where is she?”
Eddie J gave me instructions on where to go. Joan was in the car, and the driver was waiting while Eddie J stood outside the vehicle making excuses.
“I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Ian,” Eddie J said.
I sidestepped someone with a microphone. “What does that mean?”
“Gloria,” he said bitterly. “Yourmanagerdid this on purpose.”
Someone with a camera tried to wave me over. I kept my head down and finally ducked out onto the sidewalk. I had a block to go.
Sighing, I admitted, “I know you don’t like Gloria.” It was an old argument between us. “But she’s a good manager.”
“A good manager doesn’t manipulate you. A good manager doesn’t go out of her way to hurt your girlfriend. A good manager doesn’t want to fuck you.”
“Not this again.”
Eddie J made an outraged squawk. “You tell Gloria you’re bringing someone—not a Hollywood someone, not another actress, not a setup for publicity bullshit—but a real-life woman, a person you obviously care about. Of course, Gloria would react like this and try to fuck it all up.”
I didn’t take the time to respond. I didn’t know what to say to any of that anyway. No part of me wanted to think about Gloria’s intent tonight. Because Eddie J was right. It had been purposeful and malicious. But I didn’t want to be worked up and angry when I tried to talk to Joan.
I turned the corner at the next intersection and saw the car idling and Eddie J standing nearby, phone still pressed to his ear.
