Page 51 of See You Next Tuesday

“I don’t think so at all,” Anya replied, her voice high and anxious.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a professional writer? You can’t write something better than this?” Jeff raised his voice, and anger flared in Gabe’s chest—how dare he speak to Anya that way?

Gabe stepped into the room where they were filming, a library with a fireplace. The video crew looked terrified, Anya looked stressed, and Jeff Rooney looked absolutely irate, a stack of papers rolled up in his hand.

“Hey.” Gabe kept his demeanor calm. “Everything okay in here?”

“Hardly,” Jeff sniffed. “This script is obvious and pedantic.”

“It was approved by your team,” Anya said shakily.

“It shouldn’t have been.” Jeff smacked the script down on the table. “Jo Sessego is running against one of the most insidiously fascistic members of the Senate, someone who wants to strip Americans of our most precious civil liberties, and you want me to talk about sunshine and puppies and a brighter tomorrow? It’s asinine. It’s drivel.”

“Whoa, Jeff, that’s my fault,” Gabe said.

“Why?” Jeff sneered. “She wrote it.”

“But I dictated the message,” Gabe said firmly. “Anya—Anya would never write something like this. You have no idea how much she cares—about Congresswoman Sessego’s values, about always doing the right thing. She has the strongest moral compass of anyone I’ve ever known.”

Gabe caught Anya’s eye for a moment. Her expression was surprised and confused, but intensely focused too. He felt pulled to her, like there was a fiery thread connecting his body to hers—but he couldn’t get distracted. He had to keep talking.

“Campaigns need people like Anya, but they also need people like me. She wants to make the world a better place––but me? I want to win. I don’t care if the message is asinine. I care that it tests well with women moderates—the same women who watch your movies, and a must-win demographic for our campaign. If you want to shout into the wind about civil liberties, I’m sure Anya could write you some bang-up prose. But if you want to help Jo Sessego get to the Senate?” Gabe tapped the same stack of papers Rooney had deposited on the desk. “This is what people want to hear.”

Jeff took that in for a moment, then eyed Gabe wryly. “Doesn’t give me a ton of faith in the electorate.”

“Me neither.” Gabe smiled. “But we do our best with what we have.”

Jeff looked at the script, considering…

“Mr. Rooney?” A woman with earphones and a clipboard rushed into the room. “We need you out front. Guests are starting to arrive.”

Jeff turned to Anya and the video crew. “You guys okay to film after dinner?”

Anya nodded with visible relief. “Absolutely.”

“Great.” Jeff followed the clipboard woman out of the room.

The video team started adjusting their gear, a whir of noise and movement, but Anya stood perfectly motionless, still staring at Gabe.

“What?” he asked. His throat felt dry.

“Did you mean any of that? Or were you just convincing Rooney to do the video?”

He smiled sadly, remembering the way she’d looked the first day he met her, stubborn and gorgeous in the morning sunlight, so intensely ambitious and optimistic it took his breath away.

“Anya, I meant every word.”

Chapter 10

By the time the fundraiser was over and Rooney finished filming, it was nearly midnight, and Anya was worn out. She handed her ticket to the valet, then felt a little pulse of surprise when she saw Gabe sitting on a bench. She’d assumed he left with Jo and the others while Anya and the video team stayed behind to work.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re still here?”

He looked up. “My stuff’s in your car.”

“Right.” Anya swallowed. Between their tense drive earlier and Gabe coming to Anya’s rescue with Rooney, she wasn’t really sure how to talk to him now. “Um, are you staying in Brentwood with the rest of us? Or going back to your hotel?”

“Neither.” Gabe looked uncomfortable. “My parents live like twenty minutes from here? I can call a cab.”