Page 70 of The Maine Event

Pride swells in my chest, mixed with a bittersweet twinge of regret. I was right. Seeing him up there, it’s clear he took my advice to heart. He chose to restart his acting career. He stepped back into the spotlight—and he’s shining.

And yet, there’s something else too. A frustration I can’t quite shake, a sense of missed opportunity and injustice that tugs atmy heart. We fell out because I could see what Dan couldn’t. Admittedly, I shouldn’t have pushed without his consent, but still, he got there eventually. What if he hadn’t been so quick to dismiss the idea? What if I’d just… waited? Let it be his decision, in his own time?

My mind flickers back to that napkin, the one he slid across the table with his quiet, knowing smile. Character or actor?

I hadn’t answered him then. I don’t know if I could answer now. But maybe that was the moment—the fork in the road.

I shake my head, trying to push away the thoughts. It’s ridiculous. I barely know the man. Not really. And yet, somehow, seeing him up there on that billboard, I miss… him. Us. Or at least the potential of us.

I linger there, staring up at the billboard, letting the conflicting emotions wash over me. Satisfaction and regret. Longing and resignation. Pride that he found his way. And a quiet ache that I wasn’t there to share it. It’s a bittersweet mix, one that leaves me feeling strangely raw and exposed.

But as I finally tear my gaze away and continue down the street, I can’t help but smile. Because even if Dan Rhodes and I never cross paths again, even if the connection we shared was fleeting, seeing him up there on that billboard gives me hope.

Hope that it’s never too late to chase a dream. Hope that, even when life takes us in different directions, the people who touch our lives stay with us, inspiring us to be our best selves.

And most of all, hope that somewhere out there, the kind of love I’m looking for is waiting for me. I just have to be brave enough to go after it.

The streets are alive with the usual Friday night rhythm—music drifting from open doors, laughter echoing down alleys, the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of shouting. It should feel electric. Inviting. But I feel oddly detached from it all, like I’m walking through someone else’s life.

My heels echo against the sidewalk as I head towards nothing in particular, and that’s when it hits me—how often I’ve moved in straight lines. Always knowing the destination. Always chasing the next milestone, the next title, the next “win.” My entire life has been one long itinerary, and tonight, for once, I don’t have anywhere to be. No deadline. No calendar invite. No obligation.

And I feel… untethered.

But beneath that, something deeper stirs. A question I’ve never really stopped long enough to ask: If I strip away the career, the hustle, the façade—what’s left? Who’s left?

I’ve always thought ambition was what defined me. But maybe I used it to protect myself, to stay busy enough that I didn’t have to look too closely at what I might be missing.

And I have been missing something.

Not just a person. Not even Dan. But a version of myself who’s curious. Soft. Present. A Rachel who’s not performing, not selling a vision,not an actor—but just being.

Maybe, for the first time in my adult life, I want to know what it feels like to live without a script.

And the thought terrifies me… but it also thrills me.

And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. That life is full of missed opportunities and paths not taken, but it’s also full of new beginnings and second chances. Somewhere out there, my own billboard is waiting. And when I find it, I’ll be ready to take center stage and shine.

EIGHTEEN

I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen, trying to muster up some semblance of enthusiasm for Incrediburger’s new lower-calorie menu. Based on the early success of their plant-based burger, they’ve embraced our ideas for diversifying their product offerings further with a new range hitting the shelves as soon as we’re done with Thanksgiving.

The campaign is strong, and our art team has done an amazing job with the mockup imagery and taglines, but despite the real business need to get this launched, their decision-making has become glacial.

When I saytheirdecision-making, I mean Lyle’s.

Lyle didn’t take my rejection well at all. He’s spent the last two weeks outing himself as a total and complete asshole, and is proving to be a thorn in my side by deliberately delaying and frustrating every email, every sign-off, every meeting… It’s petty, pathetic, and predictable.

I may have to remove myself from the account so that we can all get back on track, but it annoys me immensely that I won’t be able to work with the rest of the team who’s proven to be incredibly professional.

I absently rearrange the succulents on my desk, a futile attempt at bringing life to this sterile space. The pot of zinnias, a gift from Zoe after the GreenShoots pitch, serves as a bittersweet reminder. We won the account, the biggest coup of my career, at Channing Gabriel. But at what cost? Late nights, missed dinners with friends, a perpetually neglected personal life?

As if on cue, my desk phone jolts me out of my rumination. It’s Jenna, my assistant.

“Rachel, the partners want to see you in the boardroom. Like, now.”

I sit up straighter, pulse quickening. “Did they say what it’s about?”

“No, but they said to drop whatever you’re doing and head over. Seems urgent.”

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