Calvin—Cole—was probably right. Maybe I was overreacting, but goddammit when you’ve spent the last eighteen years of your life being lied to by one man, it did not make it any easier being lied to by another. If anything, my tolerance for bullshit was even less now. My fuse was much shorter.

Even though I could feel myself falling back in love with Cole, I would not put up with being lied to or manipulated, no matter how good the intention behind the lie or how amazing the makeup sex might be. I was through being lied to and through being made the fool by a man I thought had feelings for me.

Honestly, as I walked out of the building that night I didn’t know if I’d ever want to see Cole Walker again. Or if he’d want to see me. Maybe Thomas Wolf was right. You can’t go home again. And you can’t rekindle an old flame without getting your fingers burned.

* * *

I didn’t lose my job on Monday because the meeting with management never happened. Word came down from on high that morning that the meeting was canceled and there would be no need for further discussion. I asked Ed what happened and he just shrugged it off without speculation. Either management decided that I’d done nothing wrong or Cole had intervened on my behalf as he had said he would.

Either way, life moved on.

I sat at my desk staring at my phone that afternoon, contemplating calling him, but deciding against it. Call it silly human pride, but I had it set in my mind that if Cole wanted to makeup, he would have to call me and apologize for lying and beg me to take him back. If I called him, it would be as if I was the one crawling back begging for forgiveness. I had done a lifetime of crawling when I was married to Randy. Never was that going to happen again.

But Cole did not call that Monday afternoon.

Or the next.

Or the next.

According to the steady stream of press releases and Entertainment Tonight coverage about his new show, Dr. Cole Walker would be in Los Angeles for the next several months prepping for his new show that would premiere in the fall. I guess he had turned over all his patients to other doctors in his practice so he could focus on becoming the next Dr. Oz.

Sometimes, I’d find myself at my desk after the evening newscast, sitting alone after everyone else had gone home. My office was always dark except for a small lamp on the credenza and the glow of my computer screen. I would type his name into Google and read the latest news of his career. There were always photos, lots of photos, of the handsome star rubbing elbows and god knows what else with Hollywood starlets and TV personalities. There’s a photo with Oprah. Another with Jimmy Kimmel. Another with Heidi Klum.

“Good for you, Calvin,” I would say quietly as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I could tell by the look on his face that he was happy. How could he not be? His every dream was coming true.

* * *

It was finally the weekend and I was so glad to have nothing to do but lounge around in my pajamas and not worry about work. I loved my job, but it was starting to wear me out. The schedule was brutal and dealing with Bryant had not gotten any easier. To the contrary, he seemed to blame me for Cole not signing on with WNN and went out of his way to be a total fucking asshole. Stephanie had also switched into bitch diva mode. I spent most of my time coddling their egos and trying to settle arguments between them. When they were not on set, they didn’t speak to each other or to me.

There was also increasing pressure from Ed, who looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment. The show’s ratings had dropped a full point since I’d taken over six weeks ago. It wasn’t my fault, he said, the ratings always dipped in the fall, but he had to bitch at someone because management was bitching to him. He made it clear that if the ratings weren’t good in ten months when my contract came up, my contract probably would not be renewed. All in all, it made for a very tough work environment that was making me old before my time.

Then my cell phone rang that Saturday afternoon as I lay on the couch watching Sleepless in Seattle for the hundredth time on DVD. I picked up my phone and glanced at the screen, but didn’t recognize the number. I sat up and cleared my throat, then answered the phone.

“Is this Lucinda Rhodes?” The man’s voice on the phone was deep, like one you’d hear on the radio.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“This is Harry Prescott, Miss Rhodes,” he said. “Forgive me calling you on the weekend, but I didn’t want to approach you at work.”

I searched my brain for the name Harry Prescott, but came up blank. “I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott. Why are you calling?”

“Miss Rhodes, I’m the Vice President of Syndication at Kingston Television. I’d like to speak to you about becoming the executive producer of The Dr. Cole Walker Show.”