Page 38 of Enemies Off Camera
If so, by the end of this meeting, I’ll have neither a new gig nor an agent. Just a reputation that’s one viral nap away from washed up. But I’ll figure it out. I haven’t blown through my money—I knew better than that. I’ve saved well, and I bought my house outright. I can coast for a while.
Still, I feel... nothing.
I park in my usual spot near the elevators. The building’s air conditioning is overactive as always, but it barely registers. I ride up to Anne’s floor and nod to the receptionist, who seems far too bubbly.
Does she know?
Anne’s assistant appears, beaming. “Would you like coffee, water, tea?”
“No thanks,” I say with a slight shake of my head. My stomach is the only part of me still capable of feeling—and right now, it wants nothing inside it.
“Well, let me know if you need anything,” she offers as she opens Anne’s door.
We both know I won’t. It’s just something people say, another part of the Hollywood script. Maybe that’s why everything’s unraveling for me—I’m tired of reading lines I didn’t write. I want off this soundstage.
Anne has a finger raised, mid-call, signaling me to wait. I sit quietly on the couch, where I always sit during these meetings. Across from her desk. Below her perch.
“Right… right,” she says into the phone. “I thought so. Just wanted to make sure.”
She hangs up and then, with a voice too bright for the news I know is coming, says, “How are we doing this morning?”
“Fine,” I murmur.
“Let’s get to it. Roger wants to pull the deal.”
I close my eyes, exhaling hard. “I know. They have every right. I saw all the videos. I was snoring. My mouth was open. It was terrible. I learned the entire episode one script. I’m ready. But…”
“Zara,” Anne says, cutting me off. “Be quiet.”
I go still.
She rises from behind her desk and walks over to sit beside me on the sofa. That alone stuns me. I’ve heard her say, more than once, that a power player never sits eye-level with a client. Always keep the height difference, even if it’s an inch.
So when she sits next to me now, something is different.
“You were overstretched yesterday,” she says gently. “You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You don’t understand football—and honestly, I think that shit is boring too. But more importantly, I have to take some accountability here. I should’ve insisted you get an assistant years ago. You said you had it all under control, and back then, you did. But things are different now. You’re reaching new heights.”
She pauses, holding my gaze. “AndNext In Line? I’m not letting that go.”
Before I can speak, her phone buzzes. She hops up, answering immediately.
“They’re here?” Her eyebrows lift. Whatever she hears pleases her. “Don’t offer coffee or tea or anything. Just bring them straight in.”
Anne carefully places the phone back in its cradle, then locks eyes with me.
“Are you ready to stop fucking around and be the professional I know you are?”
I nod without hesitation. “Very much so.”
She gives me a sly wink. “Good.”
TWENTY-NINE
JAXON WILDE
I’m still on the fence about the plan. Zara’s a risk. Falling asleep during the game was a huge miss. You don’t need a PR expert to tell you that someone who passes out during your touchdown doesn’t love you—or even like you, really. Which is fine. But if you’re pretending to be someone’s girlfriend, the bare minimum is staying awake.
I can’t risk that again. I’ve lived through the high-pitched boos every time I touched the ball. The kind of backlash that sticks. People labeled me a misogynistic prick, and that shit echoed louder than any cheer. Things are better now. The show stitched together a different side of me. I’m still not Prince Charming, but I’m not their villain anymore either. I’m just… a guy.
