Page 2 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

“Does it matter if it’s my left or my right?”

Seriously? “No!” Harper snapped, and then tried to recover. He needed her to be calm. “I mean I don’t know—I’m right-handed—” he delivered with a change in tone.

“Well, I’m a lefty. And please don’t yell…”

“I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of—”

“Twenty seconds, Mr. Stewart.” The stage manager was clearly losing patience.

Cassidy snapped her fingers and quickly beckoned at his ear.

“Give me the phone,” she commanded. Just one second, Harper thought, holding up one finger and pleading with his eyes.

Cassidy’s glare was incredulous, screaming, Are you serious right now?

“We can’t show the audience an empty seat, Harper… ” she said through gritted teeth.

On the other end of the phone, Bailey’s triumphant voice sailed into his ear. “Okay. it came up,” she said. “What’s the code?” Oh damn. Harper couldn’t help but hesitate. If I give her my code… he thought. I’m not feeling this girl like tha—

“HARPER!” Cassidy was full voice now.

“Okay.” Harper exhaled. “Twelve, twenty-eight, thirteen…”

“What…?” Bailey asked.

Harper’s frustration peaked. “It’s Mia’s birthday! Fuck, I gotta go. I’m giving you to Cassidy for the code….”

“Who’s Cassidy…?” Bailey asked. “And who’s Mia…?” Is she serious right now with the jealous vibes…?

“Fifteen seconds to air, sir.” The stage manager started the countdown from there. “Fourteen…”

“My publicist…” Harper hissed. “…Hold on.”

“Thirteen…”

He flipped the call back to the alarm company. “Listen, it’s a false alarm. Kitchen issue, toast…smoke…call off the fire department…”

“They’re already on the way, sir….” Fuck.

“Give me the phone,” Cassidy said, reaching for his hand. “Give me the code. Go. ” Swiftly, she ripped the phone from his grasp and practically shoved him with her other toward the set where the show host was getting settled into her seat.

“Ten…” The stage manager then switched his countdown to a silent indication with his fingers.

Harper picked up his walking speed, laser-focused on the empty seat ahead. With a quick look back to Cassidy he said, “Mia’s birthday…twelve twenty-eight thirteen. Give Bailey the code.”

“Who’s Bailey?” Cassidy mouthed. Who is Bailey indeed…

. Cassidy still looked confused, but she put the phone to her ear.

Harper spun again toward the set, to bridge the impossible distance, and started a quick step toward the producer who had already doubled back to guide him, physically now, toward the stage.

He turned his head to Cassidy. “Mia’s birthday…

!” he said again. And the last thing he saw in that direction was Cassidy with the phone to her ear, mouth moving frantically.

In front of him were the five extended fingers of the stage manager turning to four and the contorted faces of the hosts as he, in three paces, made it to the empty seat ahead and slid into it. Three…two…one.

“And we’re back with Pulitzer Prize–winning author Harper Stewart, whose Hollywood plans for his book sequel aren’t the only excitement he’s had this morning. Welcome, Harper.”

Harper felt the sweat beads trailing down his back, past his waist, pooling at his crack.

Jesus. He hoped he didn’t look as hot as he felt.

So much for a dope-ass look. He smiled sheepishly at Gayle King, his interviewer.

She was all perfectly set makeup, pristinely positioned hair, and a smile frozen on her face while her eyes looked concerned, if not a slight bit judgmental.

“Did I hear something about a fire at your house?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Harper managed to say. “False alarm. Evidently sourdough is very combustible. All good now.” A little more at ease, Harper turned directly to the camera and flashed a megawatt smile. “Shout out to the New York Fire Department—I’m gonna owe you guys some coffee and bagels.”

“Wow, that’s quite a morning!” Gayle’s face relaxed a bit as she continued.

“We’re glad everyone’s safe and that you’re here with us to discuss something exciting in its own right—the world of characters that you’ll be bringing back to the screen.

What can you tell us about the highly anticipated sequel to Unfinished Business ? Word is you’re writing the screenplay?”

Harper thought about his answer to that.

What could he actually tell her that was true?

That he was nervous about it? Because he was.

That he desperately wanted it to go better than the last disaster of a film adaptation that was Unfinished Business ?

Because he did. That the first one almost cost him his friendships and, arguably, his marriage?

That the stakes were so much higher in this round? That he needed to make it right?

“Yes,” he said, trying to sound much more confident than he felt. “I’m really looking forward to having the opportunity to expand upon the story that was started in Unfinished Business and writing the screenplay is giving me the chance to finish out that journey.”

“So, in writing this sequel, does that mean we should expect to see your future work on the screen rather than the shelf?”

Harper shifted in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee.

“I’d like to use the medium to keep the integrity of the novel, the story, and the characters…

in an elevated way.” Jesus, did he just say that bullshit?

Harper perceived how quickly the drivel he was forced to spew at countless lunches and creative calls found its way out of his mouth, even here.

He added quickly, “Screenwriting is giving me a chance to exercise a new muscle. But my bread and butter is still the printed page.”

“And we’re all clamoring to see what comes of those pages,” Gayle’s co-host, Nate Burleson, interjected.

Gayle continued. “ Unfinished Business was a huge box-office success. We just love those characters. Especially Jackson and Kendall. They’ve got that serious will-they-won’t-they thing.”

“They do indeed,” Harper responded.

“So will they or won’t they, Harper?” Nate chimed in again with a probing smile.

Harper couldn’t help but think of Jordan, at the most inconvenient time—in front of millions of viewers, and he hoped the thought wouldn’t show on his face.

In his writer’s view, the future could be written, even if reality was a world apart.

So he answered with what was true for now.

“I guess we’ll have to wait to find out,” Harper remarked.

“Spoken like a true artist,” Nate teased. “Keeping things close to the vest.”

Harper smiled. “But what I will say is…everyone likes a happy ending.”

“That’s what we’re all hoping for.”

“Me too,” Harper said. “Me too.”

“Okay, let’s get to those must reads for spring….”