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“Sorry.” She waved a hand before parading to my living room and flopping dramatically on the couch. She’d sat there a thousand times, but now whenever I saw the couch, I thought of Harley, not her, and how he’d sat there the night of my attack. He’d stayed. He didn’t have to, but he had. I settled myself in a side chair with Hercules at my feet as Cressida continued, “I texted that I was on my way, but you didn’t reply.”
“My phone was in the other room.” That had been deliberate self-defense. I’d polished off the remainder of the wine on my own, and the urge to text or call Harley had been so strong that I’d had to abandon my phone. Staring at the phone’s silent screen and praying Harley would be the one to reach out first had kept me awake into the wee hours. I’d finally made myself a cup of herbal tea and left the darn thing in the kitchen.
“Oh?” Cressida craned her neck like she was trying to see down the hallway. “Wait. Am I interrupting?”
“No. Harley’s not here.” I studied the Turkish rug in the center of the room. God, I wished she was interrupting, that he’d stayed over, that I hadn’t told him I needed to think when what I really needed was him.
“Ah. Trouble in paradise? His life is here in LA, right? Surely, he’ll be relieved when you pass on this offer, and you can patch up whatever tiff you had.”
“Who said we fought?” Looking up, I frowned at her. She was all wrong. He’d be pissed at Cressida too, assuming I’d follow her lead in turning down the streaming offer. And he wouldn’t be relieved at all. He’d be…
What?
Sad? Disappointed? I couldn’t quite put a finger on it, an answer to the questions churning in my brain floating just out of reach.
“Ambrose.” Cressida interrupted my stewing over Harley. “Yesterday, both of you looked happier than Hester and her new farm-boy husband. You had that same newlywed glow. And now you look like I kidnapped that dog of yours.”
She said newlywed glow like it was a bad thing, but hearing how happy we’d seemed only made me more wistful. We were happy. He made me happy. If I’d been glowing, it was because being around him felt so right, like everything else in my life would slide into place.
“You disapprove of him?” I asked, ready to leap to Harley’s defense.
“Of you dating your bodyguard? Hardly.” Cressida flicked her wrist, making her gold bracelet jangle. “He seems to make you content enough when you’re not looking all lost like now. But from the adoring way he gazes at you, I’m sure whatever disagreement you’re having can be fixed. I know you think I’m a big snob, but I just want you happy, darling.”
“Thanks.” Now I felt even worse. He did make me happy. So happy. But the show also made me happy and fulfilled. Despite my readiness to give it up the day before, Cressida’s eagerness to accept cancellation made my back tense, spine straightening out of the slump I’d been in the last twenty-four hours.
“Now, let’s discuss the show so you can get back to canoodling with your man.” Cressida used the same imperial big sister tone she’d had for decades, but it seemed more grating today. “Obviously, you agree with me that the offer is unacceptable. You can’t just up and leave LA for months at a time, and neither can I. And streaming is simply insulting. As is the lower budget.”
“It’s not obvious. It’s a business.” Not wanting a big dramatic argument, I kept my voice level and patient. “It’s how these things work, or so you’re always telling me. They need to cut costs, and we’re an easy target. This is better than outright cancellation.”
“Is it though? Other networks have noticed the outcry about this show. We’re in demand as show creators and showrunners. A new, fresh concept, and we’d have another primetime offer with better money in short order.” Her eyes sparkled and a pink flush rode high on her cheekbones as she rose to this idea.
“Money’s not everything. Or the status of having a primetime slot. It’s a lot of pressure.”
“I know, darling.” She leaned forward so she could pat my knee. “But you have the dog and your meds—”
“This isn’t about my panic disorder.” I went from patient to stern. She might mean well, but I was done with letting her blame my anxiety disorder for things or using it as an excuse to get her way. No more. I’d been so caught up in her network dreams that I hadn’t realized how much I missed our early days. “I miss having more creative control. Primetime network slots mean primetime rules. And the future is streaming. More and more awards are going to streaming shows.”
