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I exhale, looking around her apartment as if there’s a clue hidden somewhere. “We want to showcase your poise and professionalism, right?”

She nods.

“So let me help you with the lead-in and then I’ll be there to back you up if you don’t get into the flow state. But it’s such a short pitch; I’m sure you’ll be great.”

I reach over, taking Maeve’s hand to stop her picking at her bracelet. My lips turn up as I see her twitch in surprise.

“Yeah,” she says as I drop her hand back into her lap. “That’s—I struggle with intros. I never know how much context to give before jumping into the meat of a pitch. I always end up rambling and forgetting my transitions.”

It’s a feeling I know all too well. Something that I conquered years ago. I lean in to her. We’re not quite within kissing distance, but we’re close enough that the thought enters my mind. “All you have to say is: ‘I know the department is looking for a replacement course, and I asked Valeria if she’d be willing to teach with me again. She said yes, and I think it’d be a great addition to the spring roster.’ ”

Maeve takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. She’s undone a button since I saw her in class, giving me quite the view of her pearly skin. “Should I say my name?”

I chuckle. “Maeve, they know you. I never intro with execs I’ve seen more than once. Walk through the world expecting people to remember you.”

We make eye contact, and looking into her darkened eyes, listening to the sound of her slow breath, I consider bridging the gap, but instead I pull away.

There’ll be another moment.

It’s a strangely-cold-for-LA October day when Maeve and I walk into Dean Ashlee Gomez’s spacious, classical office. Someone’s blessing me today, because I actually recognize her from a photo I saw when I was researching USC’s faculty a couple of weeks ago, so it feels less like I’m meeting with a complete stranger. I pull my sleeve, trying to resist complimenting Maeve on her periwinkle circular yoke sweater. I should’ve done it when I first saw her five minutes ago. Now she’s shaking, and she has her hands stuffed into her pants pockets.

“Hi, Ashlee,” she says. “Have you met Valeria yet?”

Ashlee holds out her hand toward me. “I talked only to your manager; it’s so wonderful to formally meet you.”

I flash my best professional smile. “Likewise.”

After facing off with Trish, impressing Ashlee feels like a piece of cake.

Assuming Maeve gets into a flow. She’s still got her hands deep in her pockets, and her smile is stiff. It looks like it’s about to switch to a worried frown.

Once we take our seats, I lean in to Maeve. “I’m right here.” I know I can’t sneak a hand squeeze this close to the dean, but hopefully Maeve can psychically feel it.

Ashlee takes her seat, and her gaze falls on Maeve. She sets her clasped hands onto the thick wood of her desk.

“What’s up, ladies?” she asks.

I look to Maeve and take a deep breath. She copies me and looks to Ashlee. “I know the department is searching for a new course now that Geoff is going to leave, and I”—she glances at me, and I notice that she still looks terrified—“asked Valeria if she’d be willing to teach with me again.” Back to Ashlee.

Good, good.

“She said yes, and I think it’d be a great addition to the spring roster.”

Ashlee, all big smiles before Maeve started talking, merely nods now. My chest tightens, and I hope Maeve doesn’t notice as she moves into the rest of her speech.

“The numbers don’t lie,” Maeve says. “The course we’re teaching together had a long wait list at registration, including students outside the department. It’s already getting positive reviews from early course evals. Students who aren’t in the class come to my office hours asking if they can sit in. An additional opportunity to take a class like this would be a fantastic surprise for the students who’re already interested. And student excitement is what we’re here for, right? More happy undergrads, more prospective students, more acclaim.” She glances at me, and thank God above, her pupils have returned to a normal size. “Valeria and I already have ideas for mixing up the material so there could be repeat students—”

“Geoff’s class was a professional course, though,” Ashlee says.

Even I wince as Maeve stops short.

“And while your course is popular and fantastically run, it wouldn’t incorporate the professional element students who now can’t take Geoff’s course are looking for.”

If there’s one thing our course doesn’t do, it’s give practical information for filmmakers. My veins have gone ice-cold, and I’m thrown right back into audition rooms with casting directors asking for an entirely different direction than I had prepared for. Taking a horror movie role and asking for a romantic lead.

And speaking of horror, Maeve is practically catatonic. The only part of her that’s moving is her leg, which is bobbing like she’s a kid high on sugar. It’s noticeable. The flow is gone.

So I do what I promised I’d do.