Page 87 of The Money Shot

Walking into the office I shared with Liam always gave me a rush of pride. The sleek walnut desk we’d picked out together, the framed photos of us and our team, the whiteboard filled with ideas and schedules—it was a space that felt alive with ambition and creativity.

But today, it also had Nessa.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide as if we’d just walked in from a month-long expedition. She perched on the edge of our desk, her cherry-red bob gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “I’ve been waiting forever. What took you two so long? Jack, I sent you a detailed email about a couple of new boys that would be perfect for us.”

“Good to see you too, Nessa.” I smiled. Nessa hopped up, clutching her phone like it was a live grenade. “Okay, okay, I can’t stay. I’ve got a meeting with Stretch Stone—don’t ask. He’s double-jointed and very well endowed. I’ve already got a platform in mind for him, and trust me, this guy’s gonna be huge. Like, he’s able to do things to himself most men would kill to do.”

She paused dramatically, waiting for one of us to react.

“Stretch Stone?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s his name?”

“Well, his stage name,” Nessa said with a grin. “It’s memorable, right? Anyway, gotta run!” She dashed toward the door, then stopped and pointed a finger at Laura. “Don’t forget! We need to brainstorm that TikTok series for Laura’s stand-up tour. I’ll pencil us in for next week!”

Before I could respond, she was gone, her heels clicking down the hall like firecrackers. I shut the door behind her and sighed, shaking my head.

“She’s a whirlwind,” Laura said, settling into the chair across from me.

“She’s also brilliant,” I said, dropping into my seat. “She’s completely transformed how we find and promote talent. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“Hire someone quieter?”

I chuckled, leaning back. “Probably not as fun, though.”

I was about to launch into the agenda for the meeting when Laura tilted her head, giving me a look that I recognized all too well.

“Enough shop talk for a minute,” she said. “How’s life treating you, Mr. Big Shot?”

I blinked, caught off guard. I wasn’t used to talking about myself—it wasn’t my style. But Laura had a way of prying things out of people.

“It’s... good,” I admitted, a grin creeping onto my face. “Really good. I mean, I’m surrounded by people I love. I get to do a job that’s fun and creative. And you’ll love this—I ran into my old boss Evelyn on the street a few weeks ago.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Evelyn Evelyn? The Dragon Lady you told me about?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, leaning forward. “She saw me coming, and I could tell she was ready to pounce. She snarled something about me being a ‘low-rent hustler’ or whatever. So, I got right in her face and showed her this.” I held up my wrist, flashing the gold Rolex Liam surprised me with after one of our biggest deals. “I’ve never seen someone’s face twist like that. It was like Christmas morning—if Christmas involved taking down your former boss.”

Laura burst out laughing, her head tipping back. “Jack, you devil. Revenge is better than Christmas.”

“Damn right.”

The door opened, and Liam walked in, his face lighting up when he saw us.

“There’s my handsome husband,” I said, standing to greet him.

Laura stood too, pulling Liam into a hug. “You’re back just in time,” she said. “I was about to tell Jack how much of a nightmare he is to work with.”

“Liar,” Liam teased, his arm slipping around my waist.

Laura picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Well, boys, I’ve got a comedy writer to meet. Stand-up’s the next big thing for me, and I need someone to help me punch up my material. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck,” Liam said. “You’ll kill it.”

Laura winked at us both before heading out, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

As the door closed behind her, Liam turned to me, his smile softening. “So, what’d I miss?”

I grinned, pulling him close. “Nothing you don’t already know. Just me, realizing for the hundredth time how lucky I am.”

And I meant it.

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