Page 48 of All That Glitters
She laid out the premise, the disgraced ex-spy, the honey trap mission, the arms dealer who sees through her facade.
Tony then picked up the thread, diving into the character dynamics, the psychological cat-and-mouse game, the way she uses everyone’s dismissive assumptions about her to her advantage.
They talked about the themes of identity, of playing a part for so long you forget who you really are.
They spoke with a shared passion, finishing each other’s sentences, building on each other’s ideas. They weren’t two people delivering a rehearsed pitch; they were two creators sharing a story they genuinely loved.
Morgan listened, his expression unreadable, just nodding occasionally. Tony felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in his stomach. He wasn’t buying it. It was too smart, too character-driven. He probably wanted more explosions.
When they finished, a silence fell over the table. Morgan steepled his fingers, his gaze thoughtful.
“I love it,” he said finally.
Tony and Carrie exchanged a look of pure shock.
“I don’t just love it, I think it’s brilliant,” Morgan continued, leaning forward with a newfound energy.
“And you’re right, Carrie, this is the perfect vehicle for you.
It completely subverts your established image.
Audiences will go nuts.” He turned to Tony.
“And the idea that he’s impressed by her mind, not her body? That’s fresh. That’s smart.”
He started riffing on their idea, building on it.
“What if the reason she was disgraced was because she got too close to a target? She fell in love. So this mission isn’t just about redemption; it’s about her proving to herself she can do the job without letting her heart get in the way.
Which, of course, makes her ten times more vulnerable when this new target starts treating her like a person. ”
He was seeing it. He was seeing the gold.
Carrie was practically glowing, a look of profound, teary-eyed gratitude on her face.
This was happening. Her dream, the one she’d tried so desperately for so long to get someone to help her with, was actually happening.
It took every ounce of restraint she had to keep from throwing her arms around Tony, right there at the table, for finally being that someone for her.
Just then, Tony’s attention was caught by movement at the restaurant’s entrance. The hostess was leading a woman to a nearby table. All he could see was her back, but the dark brown hair falling in soft waves, the way she carried herself… his heart stopped.
It looked exactly like Debbie.
His entire world narrowed to a single point. Every nerve ending screamed her name. He had to go. Now.
Carrie, ever perceptive, saw the look on his face. She saw the change in his posture, the desperate, gut-wrenching hope warring with his professional obligation. She understood instantly.
Morgan was still talking, deep in the story. “... and for the climax, we can have the race, but instead of her trying to stop him, she’s trying to help him escape…”
Carrie reached under the table and gave Tony’s hand a firm squeeze. He looked at her, his eyes wide with panic. She gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of her head and a look that said everything. I’ve got this. Go.
Tony cleared his throat, interrupting the flow of creative genius. “Mr. Fisher. I’m so sorry. Something urgent’s happening in San Diego that I need to stop before it’s too late. I’m so sorry.”
Morgan and Eli both looked at him, surprised by the sudden, frantic energy.
“But I am one hundred percent committed to this project,” Tony rushed to say, his gaze flicking between Morgan and Carrie. “This story is everything to us. I’ll be back tonight, first thing in the morning, whenever you need me. I just… I have to go. Right now.”
Morgan, a man who had seen every possible kind of Hollywood drama, looked at the sheer panic on Tony’s face. He looked at Carrie, who gave him a small, supportive nod. He understood. This wasn’t a negotiation tactic; this was life happening.
Morgan smiled, with a warm, fatherly expression. “You run along, son,” he said kindly. “Handle your business. We’ll be here. I look forward to working with you on this.”
Relief, so potent it was dizzying, washed over Tony. He looked at Carrie, his eyes full of a gratitude he couldn’t put into words.
She just smiled and gave him a subtle little ‘shoo’ gesture with her hand. Go get your gold.
“Thank you,” Tony said to the table, the words feeling inadequate. “Thank you.”
He pushed his chair back and raced off the patio, weaving through the tables of stunned power-lunchers, a man with his priorities suddenly in perfect, crystal-clear alignment.
Carrie watched him go, with a proud, fond smile on her face. She then turned back to Morgan and Eli, her expression shifting, becoming all focus and confidence. The movie star was back, but this time, it was different. This time, it was real.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about the second act.”
Debby and Veronica’s apartment was strangely empty. It wasn’t just the absence of Debbie’s clothes, it was a silence, a stillness that had settled into the corners of the room, hollowing it out.
The girls lugged Debbie’s suitcases over to the front door, dropping them with a thud. Debbie looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the armchair she’d spent so many evenings on. The ghosts of late-night conversations and shared pizzas seemed to hover in the air.
“Guess that’s everything,” she said, her voice sounding small in the suddenly cavernous space.
Veronica looked around too, nodding slowly. The usual energy of the place felt like it had already packed up and left with Debbie’s belongings. “I just realized how quiet this place is gonna be with you gone.”
“You’ll finally have the bathroom all to yourself,” Debbie offered weakly.
“Yeah,” Veronica agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice. “No more fighting over the hairdryer.”
A sad smile touched Debbie’s lips. “No gum to pull out of your hair.”
Veronica managed a small laugh. “Or trash cans to hide in.”
“Or emergency fire extinguisher practice at 3 AM.”
“That was one time,” Debbie protested, but she was smiling now too. “And that candle was possessed.”
They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like nothing was changing. But then Debbie’s gaze fell on her passport and plane ticket sitting on the now-bare coffee table, and reality came rushing back.
“I’m really doing this,” she said softly, a mixture of excitement and terror in her voice.
Veronica nodded. “You really are.” She crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne she’d been hiding. “Which is why I got this. We need a proper send-off.”
“Champagne at 4 in the afternoon?” Debbie eyed her curiously. “Who are you, and what have you done with my responsible roommate?”
“Hey, it’s midnight in Paris,” Veronica said, struggling with the cork. “You’d better get used to different time zones.”
The cork popped with a satisfying thunk, narrowly missing the last unbroken lamp in the apartment. Veronica poured the bubbly liquid into two mismatched coffee mugs.
“To Paris,” Veronica said, raising her mug. “And to my best friend, who’s about to have the adventure of a lifetime.”
“To Paris,” Debbie echoed, clinking her mug against Veronica’s. “And to the best roommate anyone could ask for, who always knew when to push me out of my comfort zone.”
They both took a sip, and Debbie was surprised to find tears pricking at her eyes. It was really happening. She was leaving. Everything familiar — her apartment, her friends, San Diego — it was all about to be replaced by something new and unknown.
“Have you heard from him?” Veronica asked carefully, setting her mug down.
Debbie didn’t need to ask who she meant. “No,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “Not since my phone drowned in the pool at that party.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Debbie shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark. “It’s probably for the best. Clean break and all that.”
Veronica studied her friend’s face. “You know, it’s okay to admit you’re disappointed.”
A beat of silence passed between them, thick with all the things Debbie wasn’t saying. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I thought maybe he’d call your phone when he couldn’t reach me on mine.”
“He’s an idiot,” Veronica said firmly. “Always has been.”
“But that’s just it,” Debbie said, setting down her mug. “He’s not. He’s brilliant and creative and funny and...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I really thought this time was different. I thought he finally saw me.”
“Maybe he did,” Veronica said gently. “But some people, when faced with real emotions, they run. They hide. It doesn’t mean that what he felt wasn’t real. It just means he wasn’t ready for it.”
“And I’m supposed to wait around until he is?” Debbie asked, a flash of anger cutting through her sadness. “No. I’m done waiting for Tony Harding to figure out what he wants. I’m going to Paris, and I’m going to have an amazing time, and I’m not going to spend one single minute thinking about him.”
“That’s my girl,” Veronica said, a proud smile lighting up her face. “Paris won’t know what hit it.”
Veronica’s phone buzzed then, and she pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
“Tony?” Debbie asked, hope flashing momentarily in her eyes.
Veronica shook her head. “Your Uber’s here.”
Outside, a horn honked.
“That’s me,” Debbie said, suddenly nervous. This was it. The moment of departure.
Veronica’s composure broke. She closed the distance between them and pulled Debbie into a tight, fierce hug.
“I’m gonna miss you, girl,” Veronica said, her voice muffled in Debbie’s shoulder.
“You too,” Debbie whispered back, squeezing her friend tightly, trying to memorize the feeling. For so long, Veronica had been her anchor, her voice of reason, her partner in crime. The thought of navigating a new continent without her was suddenly, terrifyingly real.
Veronica finally pulled away, her eyes a little too bright. She gave Debbie’s shoulder a final squeeze. “You’d better write,” she said, her voice regaining its usual teasing tone. “Let me know what bars you’re burning down over there.”
Debbie laughed, a real laugh, though it felt fragile. “I will.”
“And Deb?” Veronica added, her expression turning serious. “Be open to everything. The food, the culture, the people... all of it. Don’t close yourself off because of what happened here.”
Debbie nodded, understanding what her friend was really saying. “I’ll try.”
She took one last look around the apartment, a silent goodbye to the brief, tumultuous life she’d lived there. Then she took a deep breath, picked up her suitcases, and walked out the door, Veronica following with the rest of her bags.
As they loaded the Uber, Debbie couldn’t help but scan the street, a tiny, foolish part of her still half-expecting to see a familiar figure racing toward her, calling her name. But the street was empty except for the usual afternoon traffic.
It was time to go. Time to write her own story, without waiting for someone else to give it a happy ending.
“Ready?” Veronica asked, holding the car door open.
Debbie nodded, climbing in. “Ready.”
As the car pulled away, she looked back at Veronica standing on the sidewalk, waving. She realized with sudden clarity that this was what growing up felt like — leaving safe harbors, sailing into unknown waters, and trusting that you were strong enough to weather whatever storms came your way.
Paris was waiting. And for the first time in her life, Debbie was ready to face it alone.