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Howard purses his lips together, seemingly imagining the scene playing out in his head. “At what point do they put on parachutes?”
“Leave that for the writer to figure out,” Gary says. “Focus on the big picture for now.”
I huff. Honestly, work is the last thing on my mind right now. What I care most about is how Luke is holding up in the hospital after his car accident a few days ago.
Howard rests his back against his seat and crosses his arms, revealing a silver watch. It looks exactly like the kind my father wears, which isn’t surprising. They aren’t the same age at all, but after so many years in the entertainment industry, Howard has the stale personality of a seventy-year-old man.
“One of the producers keeps pushing for as much action as possible, while the other wants more romance,” Howard says. “Which one should we side with?”
Another notification sends a vibration against the side of my leg. I take my phone out again.
When are you coming over?Lisa texts.
Gary scoffs as if the answer should be obvious. “Whoever’s paying us the most. As long as we cast big stars for the leading roles, it doesn’t matter what we do.” He turns to me, his brown eyes eager for me to chime in atsomepoint. “Carter, what are your thoughts?”
“About?” I slide my phone into the pocket of my jacket. I can text Lisa after the meeting.
“We can afford to push for big stars on this project, right?” Howard asks, his tone irritated. They’ve both grown tired of my complacency.
I shrug. “It’ll be a hit no matter who’s in it. We’re Cogswell Productions. When have we ever had a flop?”
Gary raises his thick, dark brows and makes a face. My answer must have displeased him. I guess I’ve been letting my partners down a lot as of late. “We haven’t had abighit in a while, though,” he says.
“We’re making money, aren’t we?” I ask.
Howard rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but it would be nice to make something on a massive scale. It’s been five years since our last huge TV show.”
I sigh. Has it beenthatlong? After the first year or so of producing mediocre shows, I lost count of our last great success. Man, in our prime, we really made good television. I can’t remember the last time a pitch meeting made me laugh until my face hurt. I was chock-full of original ideas back then, to the point where I’d wake up in the middle of the night to jot down all the brilliant premises I came up with in my sleep. I smile to myself. Not to sound cliché, but those were the days.
Howard and Gary exchange glances, then direct their focus back to me.
“Once we’ve solidified the plot, we can talk names to attach to the project,” Gary says. “That way, it’ll be easier to hone in on the finer details.”
I nod, then check my watch. “I better head out.” I finish the last of my champagne and rise. “I have another meeting later.”
Howard gives me a wave. While he appears disappointed in me for bailing, he also doesn’t seem all that surprised. “Take care, Carter.”
I dust off the arms of my jacket. “Same to both of you.” I point a finger at them. “This series is going to do great, okay?”
They nod, but neither of them seems convinced. I’m well aware of how terrible I’ve become to work with. Luke would be so disappointed to see his best friend being so indifferent.Heis someone who is passionate about work and life in general. He owns Hotel de la Luz, one of the most esteemed hotels on the Upper West Side, but judging by the genuine smile he always wears, you’d think he worked in an industry that actually saved humanity on a regular basis.
Why can’t I be that passionate about something? Hell, I’d give my left leg to be passionate about breakfast. Instead, I head into work every day feeling nothing but despondence.
As I step out of Per Se, my phone vibrates once more. When I pull it out, I’m met with a single text notification.
I’m waiting…
Just seeing your texts. Want to meet now?I type away, then send the message without thinking. I feel like I’ve sent these exact words to every one of my hookups when they grow frustrated from my lack of response. It isn’t that I’m heartless. I’m simply not that invested. Not in the way they’d like to be at least. But they should know that.
I’ll be ready in half an hour.Lisa responds back.
Sounds good.I write.
Just as I’m about to turn the corner toward my car, something—actually, more likesomeone—crashes into me. I grunt at the impact against my chest and stomach. Once I can grasp what my body is doing, I’m already falling ass-first against the pavement. I try to catch myself with my hands, but I just end up scuffing up my palms.
I peer down at my hands, which thankfully aren’t bleeding, but my favorite suit is ruined.
“Watch where you’re fucking going—” I start but stop mid-sentence as soon as I peer up.
