“I know,” I say, wilting. I don’t want to talk about Flint. I’m not making this night all about some guy; it’s my big shot, damn it. I turn to Suze. “Do you think the episode’s solid?” I ask her. “No best friend BS, either.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” she says. She throws an arm around me and leans her head against mine for a second. “That’s why I want you to be calm. You’ve paid your dues for this moment. Don’t let anyone take it from you.”
“Wise words.” I smile, and let Suze go as she excuses herself to talk with Herman Davis. He’s standing in a corner, not eating or drinking anything, dressed in an elegant, conservative gray suit. He glowers with his hands behind his back, observing everyone. He hasn’t walked up to shake hands with me yet. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad sign. Considering that right now my nerves are kicking in and I’m about ready to claw my way up the wall and hang from the chandelier making chimpanzee screams, everything feels like a bad sign.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says. Flint walks over, holding a glass of fizzing beer. I nod at it.
“Is that an IPA?” Joke, of course. He’d rather drink tar.
“Budweiser. They insisted on putting it in a glass, though. Ruins the texture,” he deadpans, taking a swallow. I can’t help it; I burst out laughing. He grins, and the line of his shoulders instantly relaxes. It’s familiar, us joking like this, even if it’s also a little painful. I’m glad the industry hasn’t changed everything about him. He looks me up and down, and I try not to feel the way his eyes track the line of my body. “You look tense.”
I don’t like him knowing my body language. It’s too damn intimate.
“Making friends?” I ask, changing the subject. Flint clears his throat, darting glances at the crowd. He doesn’t seem fond of our group. It was a performance, after all.
“Two people gave me their business cards. One’s a producer named Peterman who says I should think about getting into film acting. Then he tried to grab my ass.” Flint grunts. I bet he was very polite in his refusal, but he’s clearly a little flustered.
“If it makes you feel better, hot women in Hollywood have to put up with that seven times a night. Every night.”
“It doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel sorry for them. It makes me feel gross. Like everyone’s for sale,” he snaps. Rolling his shoulders, he sighs. “And then the other business card was some director’s wife wondering how many affairs I’ve had since I landed. This morning. And she offered to be next in line. I don’t know how you put up with all these vultures.” He scowls, narrowing his eyes at the party.
“This isn’t Los Angeles; it’s Hollywood,” I remind him. I scan the crowd for the offending jerks, but it’s a sea of tanned bullshit artists. Hard to just pick two. “One’s a real place, the other’s a diseased state of mind.”
“If you say so.” He sounds disapproving. Let’s change the subject.
“How are things back home?” I ask, clearing my throat. Keeping my tone professional and detached. “The twins okay? Callie and David?”
“The twins are perfect, as usual. Jessa’s taken up Bikram yoga, and she keeps talking about sweating out the toxins of her past lives. No idea what that means. As for Callie and Dave.” He shrugs. I’m not sure what that means, but I hope it’s not bad. “Everyone’s hoping this show goes well.”
“Well, we can use all the good vibes we can get.” I laugh. See how easy I’m laughing? Showing my teeth and everything. But Flint doesn’t laugh along. Instead, a look I’ve rarely seen on his face before emerges: panic. “What’s wrong?” I murmur.
“Things aren’t great with McKay’s Hardware,” he says. He tightens his grip on his glass. “I’ve been having meetings. The bank, Smith & Warren, potential investors. Nothing is looking solid right now. I literally had to promise my business manager that the promotion will bring people back to our stores. I know I keep saying this, but it’s really no joke. This show can’t be a failure.” He takes a deep swallow of his beer. The entire speech, he never looks at me once. No pressure. Nope. None at all.
“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about,” I say with way more certainty than I feel. It’s not just for him, of course. I need the reassurance too. If I fall flat today, not only does Flint lose his business, but I look like a moron in front of everybody at the network who matters. It’ll make Brian Sanderson speeding away in someone’s yacht look like a minor career blemish in comparison. “We’re going to be a success.”
“We are?” He glances over at me. Shit. Not we. ‘We’ as in the business we.
“Our show will be, yes,” I clarify. Flint nods, but doesn’t seem to relax.