Page 137 of Best Friends for Never

I take a sip from the cup, not caring that its contents are hot enough to burn my mouth, and it’s good.

Ihatethat it’s good.

I want lousy coffee, peppermint kisses, and a town that’s too nosy for its own good.

But all I have is good coffee, a gray waiting room, and my agent, who won’t stop talking.

I’m fucking miserable.

I yank at the collar of my dress shirt, then tug my tie loose. Why the hell is it so hot in here? I rake my hand through my hair.

“Mr. Franks? Mr. Carter?” the receptionist says, saving me from Aaron droning on and on. “Mr. Plume will see you now.”

We rise from the chairs and follow them down a long corridor to a hidden second set of elevators.

We pass by a restroom, and Aaron points at it.

“You want a moment to collect yourself?”

I shake my head. “I just want to get this over with so I can sleep.”

He presses his lips together, clearly displeased with my answer, but nods anyway.

We step into the car and take it up to the thirtieth floor, where we are led down another long hallway that feeds directly into a conference room.

Aaron sticks his arm out, halting me.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he whispers. “This is a big deal. You know that, right? They only invite people here when they’re planning to woo them. Is that something you can handle today?”

“I’m fine,” I bite out.

“Really? Because your clothes are a wrinkled mess, you smell like scotch, and you look like you’ve run your hand through your hair twenty fucking times.” He steps closer, his brows pinched together. “So I’ll ask again: Are you good?”

I fully understand what he’s asking:Can I trust you in there?

I nod. He can trust me. I don’t plan on messing this up. I flew all the way here and left Parker behind. I’m in this.

“I’m good,” I tell him.

He nods. “All right. Let’s go in there and get this deal done.”

We walk inside the conference room, and all the men at the table rise.

“Mr. Carter!” the man at the other end of the room booms, rounding the table to meet me, his hand sticking out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Plume.” I shake the CEO of Plume Pictures’ hand firmly, giving him my best smile. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”

“Oh, of course. Aaron and I go way back—we were old drinking buddies from our college days. When Linus”—he gestures to the man sitting next to him with thin wire glasses perched on his nose—“pitched this idea and said he wrote the script with you in mind, I knew we had to do everything we could to get you in here. It’s a good thing I had a connection with Aaron.” He releases my hand, then pats the back of my agent. “Good to see you, old pal. How have you been?”

“Good. Great. Even better now that we’re here.”

Mr. Plume laughs heartily. “Always were the straight-to-business kind, weren’t you?” He waves his hand toward the chairs. “Please, gentlemen. Have a seat.”

Aaron and I sit in two empty chairs as Mr. Plume rounds the table, giving introductions to the other men seated around us.

I nod to them all, and we get down to business.

“So, Mr. Carter. Aaron here tells me you once refused to do any superhero roles. Why the sudden change of heart?” Linus, the writer and director, asks.

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