“To one of the most incredible performances I’ve ever seen,” Brett said, holding his champagne glass in front of mine as we sat in the corner of a restaurant. “For blowing Ralph Anderson’s goddamn mind. For knowing your shit and studying your craft even though you were born a natural.” He nibbled the side of his bottom lip while his legs surrounded one of mine under the table. “I’m so fucking proud of you right now.”

Before we clinked glasses, I added, “For having the best agent in the entire world.” I lowered my voice, so the tables nearby couldn’t hear me. “Whom I’m also lucky enough to be sleeping with. Cheers.” We touched flutes, and I took a sip. “Seriously, Brett, how did you make that meeting happen?”

“It happened. That’s all that matters.”

“Hard-ass.”

“I’m going to be so fucking hard on your ass when we get on that plane tonight.”

I laughed just as the waitress appeared at our table.

“What can I get you guys to eat?” she asked.

“Is your mom in the kitchen?” Brett inquired.

“Yes, and I know she’ll make your favorite. I don’t even have to ask her.”

He shut the menu, grabbed mine, and handed them to the waitress. “We’ll take two.” He looked at me. “Trust me.”

I nodded at the both of them, and once she left the table, I said, “I didn’t think we’d be able to go out to eat in LA without being seen. Thanks for bringing me here. It feels so date-ish.”

“It is a date.”

“It’s a wait-for-Max-to-be-done-with-his-meeting-so-we-don’t-have-to-sit-on-the-plane kind of date.”

“That’s still a fucking date, James.”

I laughed again and looked around the room at the pictures of Greece that were framed on the walls, all places I’d traveled to over the years. Wine corks and grape vines decorated the ceiling. This was the cutest little Mediterranean restaurant I’d ever been to.

“I never even knew this street existed, so how did you find this place?”

“The guys, Scarlett, and I were right out of college, poor as hell, and just starting our careers. We all lived together right down the street in a two-bedroom apartment. We used to come here almost every night for soup. It was all we could afford. The owner, who’s the chef, felt so bad, she used to give us loaves of bread to take home and whatever daily specials hadn’t sold. She was so good to us. Now, whenever I’m in town, I stop in. The other guys do, too. The food is some of the best I’ve had, and it’s safe to bring clients here because the paparazzi don’t stalk this area.”

“I like hearing stories like that.”

“You’ll like the food even better.”

I smiled. “I mean, about you.” I shifted my legs under the table, my foot now pressed against the side of his thigh. Not only was the restaurant paparazzi-proof, but my movements were also hidden by the long tablecloth. “Did Max say when we were supposed to meet him at the plane?”

Brett had called him on our way here, and their conversation was short. I’d only heard Brett’s side, which told me nothing.

He shook his head. “He was just finishing up with a meeting and then going to grab some food with a client. I bet we’ll be there around the same time.”

The waitress came to our table with a bread basket. I unwrapped the napkin that covered it, grabbed a roll, and dipped it in some oil.

“Wow,” I groaned, covering my mouth.

“I have fucking dreams about these olive rolls.” He took one for himself and swirled it around in the oil.

“I don’t even like olives.” I swallowed and immediately took another bite. “How do we get her to open another location in Miami?”

He stared at me for several seconds with a strange grin on his face. “A place in Miami, huh?”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I’m wondering why you would want one there.”

“Because I live there, Brett.”

“For now.”

“Well, yes, but who knows when I’ll be returning to LA.”

“The point is, you’ll be returning.”

I wrapped my hand around the stem of the glass and watched the bubbles pop on the surface of the champagne. Then, slowly, I met his eyes again. “Why do I feel like we’re having a deeper conversation than one about your favorite restaurant opening in Florida?”

He shook his head, and then his eyes moved to a spot behind me, his fingers now gripping the edge of the table. “Goddamn it.”

“Brett—”

My voice was cut off when I heard him add, “Fuuuck.”

“What’s wrong? Did I upset you?”

His stare moved back to me. “James, I didn’t know.”

“Know what? What are you talking about?”

He breathed several times and finally said, “Max never told me whom he was meeting with or that he was bringing her here.”

“Max?” The look on Brett’s face made me turn around. That was when my chest started to hurt, and my pulse began to throb in my neck. “What the fuck?” I heard myself hiss.

Sophia Sully was standing at the door with Max.

Brett’s Max.

Eve’s fucking Max.

I faced Brett again. “What is she doing here with him?” I barely recognized the anger flooding my voice. “I will kill her for trying to hook up with my best friend’s guy—”

“That’s not what she’s doing, James. Max represents Sophia. She’s been his client for a few years.”

“He what?”

I gazed over my shoulder, and Sophia’s stare caught mine. Her top lip curled, and her lids narrowed. The feelings we had for each other were certainly mutual.

Not able to look at her for another second, I glanced over at Max, who was standing next to her. He gave me a silent apology before he steered Sophia toward the other side of the room where the hostess was seating them.

With my attention back on Brett, I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me that my ex’s fiancée was represented by your company and your best friend?”

I didn’t know what angered me more—having to share the same air as her during a night that was supposed to be about Brett and me or Brett not telling me that Max was her agent.

I leaned back in my chair, my arms covering my chest, unable to even look at the rest of the roll on my plate because the thought of putting it in my mouth made me queasy.

“You’re mad.”

I sighed and uncrossed my legs to slide them back to my side of the table. “I just want to get out of here and get away from her.”

“James, what happened between you and Sophia?”

I thought back to the day when I’d moved out of the house I had shared with Abel. He had been filming that morning, but Sophia had been home. All her stuff was already there—in the same places where I’d kept my things. Her clothes were in my closet. Her toothbrush was in my bathroom. Her fucking birth control was on my dresser. She’d taken all my things out of the bedroom and thrown them into the garage. The only items she hadn’t put in there was my furniture, which I’d told Abel he could keep. She’d followed me around the house, talking nonstop, spitting so much hatred that I’d cried the entire drive back to the house I rented.

“She told me she’d been sleeping with Abel for months, and she gave me every detail. Like how she would suck his cock while he was on the phone with me, how she’d lived with him when he was filming in Chicago. She knew about the times he’d turned me down for sex because he didn’t want to cheat on her. Her! Can you believe that? We were the couple, not him and Sophia.” I felt a knot move into my throat, and tears threatened to fill my eyes. I wouldn’t let them. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of making me cry again. “She knew secrets about me that only Abel knew and things we’d gone through during our relationship that he never should have shared with her. She basically tried to crush me emotionally. And she did.”

“She’s a cunt.”

“But, Brett, she got us to break up. She got me out of the house we had bought together. She got everything she wanted.” I pulled my napkin off my lap and twisted it around my fingers. “I reached out to Abel so many times before that night in Malibu. Even though we weren’t together anymore, I just wanted to hear his voice, to find out what I had done wrong. I couldn’t process that the man I’d been with since I was thirteen was no longer in my life.” I stopped to take a sip of my champagne. “Sophia must have seen my messages because she sent me one from her phone that showed screenshots of my texts to him, and she threatened to share them on her social media accounts to show the world how desperate I was. I didn’t want that to happen, so I gave up.”

That was only a couple of weeks before I’d moved out. But she had brought up the texts, too, while I was carrying my things to my car.

I hadn’t spoken to either of them since.

“James, the guy she got is a piece of fucking trash. He was only relevant and popular because he was dating you. The best roles he’s had are low-budget comedies, and he only landed those because he has a set of abs. You were always too good for him, and he knows that.”

Brett was only trying to make me feel better, and it helped, but I had loved Abel so much, I never cared about what roles he got or how well he did. But I was sure that was something Abel had cared about. He was so competitive. If I compared the movies I’d landed and the contracts I’d signed, I would always win. And I was sure that had bothered him.

The waitress stopped by our table with several plates.

Before she could set them down, Brett stopped her with, “Change of plans. Can we get these wrapped up, so we can take them to go?”

“No problem, Brett.”

He waited until we were alone again to say, “We’re going to continue this date on the plane.”

“I—”

“Don’t fight me on this. This is your night, and we’re going to celebrate.”