Gerry Lewis sits forward in his wooden chair and slides a paper across the table. “How’s that sound to you, Tate?”

I glance down at the sheet laying in from of me. It’s my Hamlet contract, outlining everything Gerry and the producer’s lawyer have laid out to me over the last twenty minutes.

“We understand this is moving quickly, but things move fast here in New York.” He leans back and tents his fingers on the tabletop. “I’m afraid we can only give you five days to think about it. Then we need to move on to our second choice.”

I nod, my eyes flitting over the document. “Yes, thank you. To be honest, it’s a lot to take in. Usually my agent handles these types of things.”

“And we’re happy to go that route if you want, Mr. Gunner,” the lawyer cuts in. “But we find that agents only tend to complicate things.”

“Complicate how?”

Gerry waves his hand. “Oh, they drag out contracts, add clauses, demand more money for their clients for less work…” He taps the sheet with his index finger. “Though I think you’ll agree that we’ve been more than generous.”

My eyes dart to the salary section. A hundred thousand a week? I could live with that.

I nod my agreement, though the money doesn’t matter to me. I stopped caring about that a while ago. When you reach the level of fame I’m at, you make plenty. And as long as you don’t live extravagantly, money ceases to be a worry.

Okay, so a Hollywood Hills mansion, private chef, and personal trainer do count, but that’s tame by L.A. standards. What I’m more concerned about is the location.

“Can we talk about logistics?” I ask.

“Sure. What’s your question?”

“When would you start filmi—er, I mean rehearsals?”

“Truthfully, they’ve already started. We had our lead until he broke his leg, remember? So you’d be starting a little behind everyone else.”

“I see…”

“Don’t worry. We already have a private acting coach lined up to get you up to speed.”

“I actually have a coach. Sandra Simmons?”

“Right, and I know the name. But remember that she’s based on the west coast.”

I shrug. “True.”

“And specializes in screen. You’re now in the world of stage. Different skills, different acting coach.”

“Sure.” I frown. “So, I’d need my assistant to book travel to New York for how long exactly?”

Gerry glances at his lawyer. “Well, you wouldn’t have to do that.”

“Sorry?”

“You’d be moving to New York.” The producer furrows his brow. “You realize that, of course…”

Move to New York? I try to wrap my head around this.

Of course I’d move to New York. What on earth am I thinking? Commute across the country six days a week?

“It’s a demanding schedule, Tate,” Gerry continues. “Long days, grueling rehearsals. We have a hard opening on the books already. Tickets, media, PR—it’s all lined up for this spring.”

“Right,” I say, giving a quick smile. “My apologies if I seem slow on the uptake. This is all new territory for me.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll fall right into the swing of things after a few months. Besides, we’ll do everything we can to help smooth your transition. I’ve already reached out to the top agent in Broadway about possibly representing you, and she’s—”

“Wait, a new agent? What’s wrong with Ritter Agency?”

The producer frowns. “Well, I mean, you can still keep them, but I don’t know how much use they’ll be out here. We have our own network.”

Christ, Tate, get it together. It’s the same argument as Sandra: different city, different art, different people.

“We can revisit that later,” Gerry says quickly. “Just know we’ll help you re-establish yourself here. And you’ll be free to visit L.A. anytime. Stephanie is a travel-booking guru.”

“Stephanie?”

“Oh, sorry. Your new assistant. She recently became available and I’ve asked about her interest in working for you.” Gerry leans forward. “I hope you don’t think me over-reaching. You can choose whomever you’d like to…”

I hold my hand up. “No, no. Thank you. I’d be happy to meet with her.” I feel like my head is about to explode. By moving to New York, I’d say goodbye to everything and everyone I know: my coach, agent, assistant, movies, city, the beach.

But all those paled in comparison to leaving behind Charlotte.

“I’m still wrapping up filming on my current production.”

Gerry nods. “We understand. But once that’s finished, we’d need you to move here as soon as possible.”

“What about an apartment?”

“Stephanie will take care of that. Condo, brownstone, driver…whatever you need, Tate.”

A driver? I stop myself from groaning. I guess Brody would look out of place on the packed streets of New York. Charlotte had named my Jeep a few weeks ago, and surprisingly, the name stuck.

“But don’t focus on any of that. Your schedule will be similar to your current one: days spent in training, then rehearsal, and finally on the stage. When we open, the show schedule is relentless. Three to four productions a week for at least six months, though we have you under contract for a year. Then we go on tour—”

I jerk my head back. “Tour?”

He nods. “We expect Hamlet to do well at the box office and Tonys Awards. Plus, with a big star like you driving sold-out houses… Well, I have no doubt the production will be on tour next year.”

“Where?”

“The U.S., then abroad.”

Any hope I had of a long-distance relationship with Charlotte flies out the window. We could make a year work if I was based in one place, like New York, but years of flying to a new city every other week? No way.

Charlotte might try, but I couldn’t do that to her. She’s on the cusp of her career. She doesn’t need a difficult long-distance relationship competing for her time. I’m used to the grueling Hollywood schedule now, but I remember how shocking it was when I got my first major role. If I didn’t have Kevin to hold my hand through it all, I would’ve drowned.

I stand up and hold out my hand. “Thank you so much for your time.”

Gerry stands up and grasps my hand. “Thanks for coming out, Tate. Do you have an answer for us today?”

I shake my head. “This is a lot to consider, so I’ll take you up on your offer to think about it.”

“Okay. We’ll hear from you in five days, then.”

I bend down and pick up the contract. “I’ll give this to my lawyer and have him get in contact with you if there are any loose ends.”

Gerry smiles. “Loose ends? That sounds positive. So, perhaps you’ll be an East Coaster in a few months…?”

I shrug. “It’s a possibility.”

He studies me for a moment, then claps his hands together. “Alright! Have a good trip back.”

I head for the door, sneaking a glance at my watch.

There’s still time.

“Oh, Tate?”

I turn.

“This is the role of a lifetime,” Gerry says solemnly. “I’ve seen you in action. I know this could be great for you.”

I stare back at him, mulling over his words.

“Any lingering doubts or concerns about this city are superficial. I guarantee you’ll warm up to New York in time, and I’m positive you could be just as happy here as in L.A.”

“Thanks. It’s definitely something to consider.” I twist the door handle, open the door, and step into the hall. A smile grows on my lips as I head for the stairwell.

Little does Gerry realize that my happiness lies in Hollywood. It took this trip to realize that New York would always be missing something that I could never replace. I wasn’t lying when I told her that she’s my dream. Now I just need to make that dream a reality.

I whip out my phone, click on the screen, and groan. I have two missed calls and a voicemail from Kevin. I ignore them and hold down the three button. I know what he wants. He wants my answer for the superhero flick. I told him that I needed time to think about it, but I guess that means forty-eight hours to my agent.

I have my assistant on the line in seconds. “Hiya, boss. Done with your meetings already?”

“Yeah. Ended early.”

“How’d it go?”

“Not bad.” I push out the double doors onto the gray sidewalk surrounded by gray buildings under a gray sky. I’ll never complain about the SoCal sun again.

“Look, I need something from you.”

“Anything,” Marcus says.

I raise my hand and flag down a taxi. I climb in, give the driver my destination, and lean back into the seat. “I need you to work a miracle…”