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I take the extra few steps to Steven’s office. He’s apparently taken the initiative to answer his own cell phone. Maybe his wife? He gives me a firm one minute sign.

I return to Valeria. “He needs a few minutes.” I pull out my own phone and pull up my lock screen. “I get you on the funny images.”

My lock screen for years now has been this one random frame I took from Toy Story 2 in which Buster the dachshund is midjump in a chaotic dog blur with Mr.and Mrs.Potato Head really awkwardly kissing in a pile of wrecked Lincoln Logs in the background.

Valeria cranes her neck over and laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. It brings a warmth to my chest. “I love it.”

I rub the back of my neck. It is so suspicious that no one’s called Steven or Alice. “I feel like an underrated part of great cinematography is making a film where you can stop every frame in a comedic scene and it’d be funny.”

And then Alice bursts out of her office. “Luna, where the fuckis—?”

And she stops the moment she looks at Valeria. Valeria, who at the moment is frozen in a I don’t spend all day in a management environment what is this hell shock.

“Valeria, it’s been too long!” Alice says, switching to a singsong tone and approaching us. She and Valeria do that air cheek-kissing thing.

Alice turns to me, faux sweetness still dripping off her. “Luna, darling, we need to roll calls stat. Another assistant can get Valeria coffee if she needs it.”

A knot forms in my stomach and lingers even after Alice returns to her office. I feel like an old-timey prisoner about to be pulled apart by oxcarts.

I turn to Valeria.

“I have never met that woman in my life,” Valeria says.

I give a wry smile. “That’s Alice. Always schmoozing.”

“Jesus Christ,” Valeria mutters.

Oh, what I’d give to rant about Hollywood agents/managers to this woman who clearly has no clue, but I have to go. My actual life is calling, and it’s probably going to involve getting my head bitten off by Alice for the hundredth time this year.

“I have to go, but it was nice talking to you,” I say.

She smiles again. “Nice talking to you too, Luna.” She grabs my hand to shake. Then she leans in. Just a little bit. “Good luck with Alice.”

And with her breath warming the air between us, she slides her hand out of our handshake, her fingers slowly running across mine as she pulls away.

But before I can even mentally capture the frame, she’s walking away. My thoughts flutter as I approach Alice’s door. That was— She did that on purpose, right? That wasn’t just accidentally brushing my palm. I blink a few times, gaze heavy on my hand. Even the lingering tingling is gone. It’s as if it never happened. The whole exchange happened in the blink of an eye, one frame in a film that viewers could miss if they glanced down at their popcorn. Yet the memory has latched on to me.

“Can I have until the end of the week?” I ask Alice once I’m in her office.

Alice agrees.

chapter three

I slog through the rest of Tuesday and through Wednesday. The workload is surprisingly heavy for June. Projects are filling up the docket like mosquitos at my grandma’s place in Florida. We had so many clients in on Wednesday that I went from six a.m. to eleven p.m. on a single smoothie. Then I dragged my husk of a body to a Jack in the Box, and I don’t even like Jack in the Box.

Needless to say, I’ve managed to ratchet my tension back up to an eleven out of ten with one stupid decision: asking Alice for more time.

“I think I need better stress-relief options,” I say to Romy as I wait for a coffee and a breakfast sandwich before Thursday’s shift.

“Well, there’s always quitting this job and joining me in relying on tips to make our ridiculous-even-for-K-Town rent,” she replies, sliding my egg-and-Swiss into the microwave.

I give a wry smile. “I think Julia bought a fire station blanket on the off chance I do that and have a just-under-5150 mental breakdown.”

Romy gives me a look. “Fine. Go get a stronger vibrator.”

My cheeks go hot as I scan the area for pricked ears. No one’s looked up. Too early; everyone’s still in zombie mode. “You are the objective worst.” I take a sip of my coffee. “But also, Pleasure Chest date?” I wink, my literal only skill.

“Hell yeah,” Romy responds, leaning against the cabinets by the microwave as it hums. “Any updates with ole Alice?”