“‘Tone it down’?” I mutter out loud as I drive away from the Gentlemen Inc. offices. What’s the point of spending a small fortune to have a handsome man at your side and then asking him to look like everyone else?

Oh, and to cut himself shaving.

I roll my eyes.

Whatever. I had her eating out of my hand by the time we were done with our interview, and I’m confident that she won't back out. It’s a job, one evening, between that and the product launch gig, it'll pay my share of the rent with some left over, and then I’ll probably never see her again. It’ll be a good test of my acting skills to see if I can be charming and suave all night with her on my arm.

If I can do that, I should be a shoe-in for the toothpaste ad I’m trying out for now.

It’s a thirty-minute drive and a twenty-minute wait for an audition that takes sixty seconds. Basically, I shake the casting director’s hand, state my name to the camera, read my lines, and I’m dismissed.

They’ll let my agent know if I get the part. I’ve learned by now to let these things go; there’s no point in dwelling on them.

But for some reason, I am dwelling on Annabelle, which annoys me. I keep replaying her words—This won't do at all … I usually date smart guys—and wish I'd been in a position to say something snappy in return. Cassandra would have killed me, of course, if I'd been rude to a client, and I pride myself on being professional, but still …

Logically, I should let this go the way I would with any other job. In the past I’ve had to dye my hair, shave my beard, wear colored contact lenses, gain weight, lose weight, you name it—and I’ve always said yes. Because you do what you need to do to get the job.

But something about Annabelle has gotten under my skin, irritating me in a way I can’t quite put a finger on.

It takes fifteen minutes on the freeway before I realize that it's because, except for Alex, she’s one of the few women I’ve ever met who hasn’t been bowled over at the sight of me. Even Elsie, who very much had the upper hand in our relationship, never just dismissed me like that.

That’s my problem. On some level, I’m thinking of this as a date, not a role. I expect Annabelle to be impressed because I’m me, and let’s face it, she’s kind of nerdy and kind of needy.

But if she were a casting director or a movie producer who asked me to “tone it down,” I’d throw on a bow tie and geek glasses and be grateful for the chance.

Annabelle’s a client, not a date, I tell myself. I show up, make her look good, she pays me—and hopefully leaves a nice review with Cassandra.

That’s our transaction. As long as I remember that, I’ll be fine.

Nothing seems to be on fire when I walk into the apartment, so I consider that a good omen.

“Alex?” I call out. To date she’s only optioned one screenplay, which may or may not ever be produced, so she earns money as a reader, analyzing movie scripts for a big production company. Her hours are somewhat flexible, so she's often home, but she’s frequently gone all day, too.

“Archer, is that you?” I hear her call from her room.

I roll my eyes. No one else lives here. “It’s Hannibal Lecter,” I call back. “You should’ve locked the door.”

She darts out of her room looking alarmed. “I didn’t actually leave the door unlocked, did I?”

I grin. “No, just having fun with you. How’s tricks?”

She smiles, looking truly happy about something. “I have some good news. How did your interview and the audition go?”

I sit down on the couch. “Audition was fine. Should hear by Tuesday if I got the part or not. Interview was … interesting. Geeky girl needs a hot date to impress family.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like the log-line for a screenplay,” she says, and I can tell she’s considering it. “Is she nice?”

I shrug. I’m still a little irritated by Annabelle’s request to “tone it down,” but for some reason, I don’t want to get into it with Alex. I have a feeling she’ll find some way of taking Annabelle’s side. “Nice enough, I guess. I won’t mind spending a few hours with her. Okay, what’s your good news? Sell a screenplay and make millions?”

Her face lights up. “Trevor’s going to be in town this weekend.”

“Shit, Alex,” I groan. “I thought you’d given up on that loser.”

Her expression goes from excited to crushed in a heartbeat, and I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy.

But that guy …

“He’s not a loser.” There’s hurt in her voice. I should walk away from this conversation now, and I know it, but I can’t.

“He goes weeks without calling you and now he’s suddenly showing up out of nowhere for a booty call? Loser.”

“He’s busy,” she insists. “He travels a lot for work.” Her defensive tone is a warning sign, but I can’t leave it alone.

“He can’t call? He can’t email or text or FaceTime or anything?”

I hate this guy, I really do. For some reason, Alex adores him even though she could do a million times better. He shows up, sweeps her off her feet for a couple nights, then vanishes for weeks at a time. She deserves so much better.

“He has a lot to do.” Her face is dark and she’s not meeting my eyes. “But it’s getting better. And he says he’s thinking about moving to LA so we could be closer. It’ll depend on his work, of course—”

I slap myself on the forehead. She’s a bright girl, but where this guy is concerned, she’s an idiot.

“Alex, he’s married!” I’m getting angry now, not at her but at Trevor, the asshole who thinks that Alex is just here for sex whenever he’s in LA.

She flinches as if I’d slapped her. “He’s not married!” She lowers her voice. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“If he’s not married, then I’d bet anything he’s at least living with someone. Or maybe he’s got ten girls in ten different cities." My voice starts to rise. “Whatever. He’s stringing you along, Alex. He is never going to settle down and get serious about you.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine. “You’re projecting. Just because you’re a man whore doesn’t mean that he is.”

Now it’s my turn to flinch. I don’t love it when she teases me about being a man whore, but she’s not teasing now. She's hurt, and she wants to hurt me back.

I get my voice under control. “I’m concerned about you, Alex. I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say as gently as possible. “I don’t think he’s a good guy.” On some level, I think Alex knows this, but she’s too invested in this joke of a relationship to admit it.

“He’s a great guy,” she whispers. “And I care about him. A lot.” She clears her throat and her voice switches to businesslike. “Listen, I was going to ask if you could find a place to stay for a few days. Trevor’s getting here on Friday night and staying until Sunday, so …” She lets her voice trail off.

So how awkward would that be.

I sigh. I really don’t have anywhere I can stay. Shelling out for a hotel, even a cheap one, will make a nasty dent in my savings account. I’m expecting a couple of checks for commercials I’ve done recently, but they probably won’t arrive until the middle of next month.

I look her in the eye. Her expression is a mixture of defiance, anger, and guilt. She knows that asking me to leave is a jerk thing to do, but she’s probably worried that I might end up punching Trevor, and she’s right to be concerned.

She probably figures I can find another couch to crash on or just pick up a pretty girl and go home with her, but the truth is that I don’t have any other close friends—acquaintances, sure, but no one I’d feel comfortable asking a favor like this. Even Alex doesn’t really understand what a loner I am.

And while I could conceivably sweet talk an ex-lover into letting me stay over for a few days, the thought of putting out just to have a roof over my head isn’t appealing. Been there, done that, hope I've left it behind forever.

It’s one thing to be teased for being a man whore; it’s another to actually be one.

I give her a hard look, hoping she’ll back down, but even if she does, what then? I’ve only met Trevor a couple of times in passing, but I loathe him, and if I’m not wrong, he feels the same way about me. The odds of us making it peacefully through the weekend are slim.

I concede. “Okay. I’ll find another place to crash.” Maybe when we’re both a little calmer I’ll see if I can talk Alex into letting me at least sleep here and just stay out of her hair the rest of the time. But now isn’t the time to push it.

She’s my closest friend—my only friend, really—and I don’t want to mess that up fighting over her asshat boyfriend.

“Thanks,” she mutters. There’s an awkward silence for a moment. Then, “Well, I have to get back to writing,” she says. “I’ll catch up with you later. Congrats on getting that job.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

I watched her head back to her room. She shuts the door behind her. I shake my head.

She’s been involved with Trevor for about six months now. He lives in Seattle—or so he says—and is in LA every few weeks on business. That’s all fine as far as it goes, but in a real long distance relationship, if he really cared about her, he’d be in touch with her between trips. The fact that he’s not—and that he never picks up his phone when she calls him, and hardly ever calls her back—is a huge red flag to me.

He just gets in touch a couple of days before coming into town and she drops everything to be with him.

I’ve tried researching him online, but I haven’t been able to find anything. And I mean nothing, good, bad or indifferent. Which makes me wonder if he’s even told her his real name.

But there really isn’t anything I can do about it if Alex isn’t willing to listen to me. She’s an adult, and the only thing I can do is promise myself that I’ll be there for her when this whole thing goes south.