Damn, who are all these people?

I'm thumbing through my phone messages and there have to be at least ten missed calls and a dozen texts. The only number I recognize is Jordan’s. Nope, not right now, pal

I swipe left and put the phone back inside my jacket pocket. I am uninterested in anything except getting another glass of Winter Storm.

There’s nothing like twenty-one-year-old Kentucky bourbon. It goes down sweet.

I motion to the bartender for a refill. He hustles over with the tall white bottle, and I watch as he pours the deep amber liquid.

“Ahhhh,” I swallow and smile, enjoying the burn at the back of my throat.

I look around. The Eleganzia restaurant is the place to be seen, but there’s no one else here but me at the bar. It’s the lull between lunch and dinner, so the place is almost empty.

I look past the low copper-clad wall that separates the bar from the dining room and see a few celebrity wannabes still sitting at tables, hoping someone will notice them or give them a job.

The real celebrities have already had lunch with their agents, or managers, or studio heads, or with members of their entourage. Whatever it is they’ve done, they’re gone now. Probably out getting that extra shot of Botox, or working off that last cocktail at the gym, or screwing their assistant.

Like I said, whatever.

Looking out past the starlets-in-training, I start thinking again, and my grip tightens around my glass. What possessed me to sign that contract? An independent movie isn’t going to bring my career back from the free fall it’s in.

I take another swig. I'm definitely buzzed.

“Shit, man, finally,” Jordan grunts as he stomps over.

Damn, he’s found me.

He squeezes between the barstools and stands over me. “What the fuck? Like, what the literal fuck are you doing?”

I motion the bartender for another and give Jordan a sideways look.

“Why would you intentionally blow off this meeting?”

Now I give him a smirk.

“No, I’m serious,” Jordan says, pointing his finger in my face.

“Sit down,” I say, and once again I catch the bartender's eye. “Pour my friend a drink, won’t you?”

I can hear Jordan let out a big breath, and I know he’s flaming furious. But frankly, at this point, thanks to the Storm, I am feeling no pain. I’m happy to just sit here all afternoon.

Jordan swallows the shot in one gulp and then stares at the bottles lining the wall. I can see he’s thinking about what he wants to say, and I don’t have to wait long before he lets it rip.

“Todd, it’s obvious you’ve slipped into some sort of idiot phase. Pretty soon, you won’t need to disappear, ‘cause people are going to start acting like you’re invisible. It's never good when you don’t show up for a meeting, and I’m telling you, this is catastrophic.”

Jordan is serving up all kinds of buzzkill, and I need to put an end to this inquisition.

“Jeez, calm down,” I say, “This is not the shit storm you think it is. People flake on meetings all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

He gives me a stone-cold look, and it doesn’t matter what I say, because I can see he's not about to let up. Christ, he’s ragging on me like he’s my mother.

I’m about to tell Jordan that it’s time for him to leave, when I hear a commotion at the maitre d’s desk.

I swivel my seat to get a better look, and I see a sexy beauty with eyes blazing barreling toward me. I stand and Jordan jumps from his barstool. She stops inches from my face, her nostrils flaring.

“You are not that important. The world does not owe you a favor, and the sooner you realize it, the better off anyone forced to associate with you will be!”

I have no idea who this woman is, but there’s no doubt she is upset and hell bent on ripping me a new asshole. That video is like a bad smell following me wherever I go. But at this point I have taken all I’m going to take.

“Look, lady, I’m gonna tell you what I told the press. Fuck off!”

I expect her to march off, but instead she stands there looking a little nonplussed. Maybe this gorgeous woman is nuts. Maybe I should be feeling sorry for her.

I look around for help, but Jordan grabs me by the arm, and clears his throat.

“Uh…Todd…I’d like you to meet Sophie Palmer, your director and leading lady.”

Well, color me caught. I smile sheepishly at her, but it’s not returned. I extend my hand, but she slaps it away. This bitch is furious.

“Don’t you understand that you’re not the only one affected when you don’t show up?” Ms. Palmer pokes her finger hard against my chest, and I step back an inch, trapped between her and the bar.

“I’ve spent time and money and called in any number of favors for this movie.” She brushes back her hair with a flick of her hand.

For some reason, I find this woman's rant sexy. The angrier she gets, the more captivated I am.

“Look, this film is very important to me,” she continues, “and you just shit all over it by thinking you’re a movie star who can get away with anything. Well, let me set you straight. That’s not how we’re going to play this.”

Sophie turns to walk away, but I step in front of her. We're staring into each other’s eyes and she’s not backing down.

I am transfixed. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but this woman has definitely got my undivided attention.