Page 60 of Love: Take Two

"But I hate working with scumbags like these," Patrick grumbles. He picks the poppy seeds off the otherwise untouched bagel on his plate.

Patrick is still new to the industry; this is only his second script to be sold. He's got a baby face and red, wispy hair, similar to Ed Sheeran. I don't even think he's hit thirty—the naïve hopefulness about having a career in Hollywood still shines in his eyes. I wish I could shelter him from all the ugliness, but that's never been the way things work, especially not in LA.

"They clearly tried to cut you out," he pouts.

I sigh.

"Maybe so, but compared to many people I've worked with, they're basically harmless." I lean back and place a hand on my chest. "They didn't hurtmyfeelings, if that's what you're worried about. WhatI'mworried about is who can give you the best deal. I honestly think that's Fossekall."

When he lets out a breath in defeat, my heart hurts a little, but it has to be done. In this business, the learning curve is steep.

"OK. Tell them to come back in."

As soon as I step into the cacophony of sounds that is JFK Airport, I start to relax.

After nearly two decades, America has long felt like my country, but it's New York that feels likehome. Los Angeles is too slow. Too fake. I much prefer speed walking and shouting my breakfast order over the vague "let's do lunch" of the West Coast.

And the focus on the perfect body when I'm at least ten sizes beyond that with no intention of changing is tiring.Eat a fucking sandwich, already! You're being rude because you're hungry.

I laugh to myself and pull out my phone to see where to meet my driver, only to discover a text from Camila Sanchez.I'm surprised to hear from her after our disaster lunch. What could she want?

Camila Sanchez (Luxe)

Camila Sanchez (Luxe): Hi Ms. Faye. This is Camila Sanchez from lunch a while back.

Camila Sanchez (Luxe): Would you be open to meeting up for drinks in the near future? I really need to make up for our last meeting.

The texts were sent just before my plane touched down. The sun has set. It's too late to bother heading into the office, but too early to call it a night when I'm still on LA time.

I see Marcus waving from the loading lane a few yards down.

Fuck it.If she can make tonight work, I will happily accept groveling and a stiff Manhattan after the morning I had.

"Thanks so much for meeting me, Ms. Faye," Camila says as I take the seat next to her at the SoHo bar. I don't tell her to address me informally like I did last time, and from the crease in her brow, she notices.

"What can I get for you ladies?" the bartender asks. He's fit, with muscular shoulders filling out the sleeves of his tight black t-shirt. He's well over six feet tall, sporting the best tan money can buy and a smile that I'm sure makes him the favorite at the bar.It still doesn't hold a candle to Noah's.

"Bulleit Manhattan," I choke out, startled by my wayward thoughts. Noah is a pretty face, but I can't go all googly-eyed for him. Not again.

"Gin and ginger for me," Camila answers, angling herself toward me.

The bartender gives us both another grin before starting on our drinks.

"Like I was saying in my text," Camila begins with no preamble, "I wanted to make up for our last meeting. I was way out of line to bring up personal matters, and I apologize. Noah had plenty to say when I explained what happened, and I deserved every bit of it."

I raise an eyebrow at that. Noah talked to her? I assumed that was bullshit when he mentioned it.

"Why are you reaching out now, Ms. Sanchez? I thought I might hear from you after our lunch, but then there was nothing. That was over a month ago."

She looks chagrined, saved briefly from answering by the bartender setting down our drinks. We both take deep sips as we regard each other.

"When we met, it was a few weeks before my wedding. I wanted to apologize in person, but then I got swept up inthe festivities and then our honeymoon. We were gone for six weeks in Fiji," she swoons.

"And now?" I prompt. So far, I'm unimpressed with her groveling. These drinks could've been an email.

"And now," she continues, shaking out of her reverie, "I'm finally back in the swing of things and feel like total shit for what happened." I sputter at her frankness, but she smiles. "There's no other way to put it. You have no idea how much I admire you professionally. I often gravitated toward your cases during law school, and you're a big part of why I wanted to go into entertainment law instead of family law like my…uh, husband." She stumbles over the last word. "I'm still not used to saying that."

I take another sip and consider her.