“Evie,” he said, like I was an old acquaintance. “Where’s Monty? Don’t tell me—he’s got you keeping his seat warm while he gets here.” Ricky’s small eyes were merry, like we were sharing an in-joke.
“I’m here with a client, Ricky,” I returned, satisfied to see him twitch at the name.
He looked from me to NOB, and his curiosity was clear even through his studied nonchalance. Jodi was less subtle, moving closer to the table, eyes on the prize.
“It’s Ritchie,” he said, holding his hand out to NOB. “And of course I know who you are. No introduction needed.” This was pointed at me. “So great to finally meet you, Ezra.” Once he became an assistant, he’d stopped joining in with using NOB’s nickname, saying it didn’t feel right.
“Sure,” NOB said, picking up his glass.
Ricky swiftly dropped his hand, not yet defeated. “Can I be a total geek and say how much I loved A Heart Lies Bleeding? I know you shouldn’t share your number with someone you’ve just met. Okay, it’s fifteen. I saw it fifteen times.”
Ricky’s “I’m such a geek for you” act normally worked like a charm. Though I knew he rarely watched a film more than once. “Really, Ricky?” I couldn’t resist saying. “Fifteen times?”
His eyes narrowed but remained focused on NOB, waiting for his reaction.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if your real number was far lower,” NOB said.
The fight-or-flight sirens in my head trailed off as Ricky tried to decide how to respond to this. Before our deal, NOB had done this kind of thing to me countless times. He was an expert at making you feel like you had to earn his attention, not the other way around. Seeing him do it to Ricky was, I had to admit, kind of fun.
“Jodi, FTD,” Jodi cut in. She used her agency’s initials, expecting NOB to know of its prestige. If he did, he certainly didn’t look like he cared. She stepped close to Ricky and squeezed his arm, her blond hair floating around her shoulders. Wait, were Ricky and Jodi a thing? Could this get any worse?
“We’re actually out celebrating Ricky’s promotion to agent,” Jodi said. Ricky’s eyes met mine.
“Congratulations,” I told him, feeling like I’d somehow set myself up for that one.
It shouldn’t have stung this much. His promotion had always been inevitable. Once he set his mind to something, there was no stopping him. When we’d met, he’d been a barista called Ricky. He’d loved attending work events with me, I thought to be supportive. Then he started talking to more people there than I did, always seeming to know everyone’s name in the room. Six months before he’d broken up with me, he got his first job at our rival agency and became Ritchie. Ricky told me it was just business, nothing personal. That it shouldn’t affect our relationship. He always, I was realizing, knew exactly what to say.
“Oh, it’s not that exciting,” Ricky dismissed. “To be honest, I’ve been doing the job for a while.” He shrugged, enjoying himself. “Once you’ve saved a few deals, got to know a few producers, people assume you’re already an agent. Now I have the business card, I guess that makes it official.”
He produced a card and offered it to NOB, who ignored him and took out his phone. It was so rude, I almost loved him for it.
“Ritchie’s already signed his first client,” Jodi said. NOB stifled a yawn.
“I’m so giddy about him. Alessandro. Insane talent.” Ricky had been the agent to snatch Alessandro away from me? I’d been trying to convince myself that Alessandro was Monty’s loss, but this time it didn’t work. I’d found him, and Ricky had gotten there first. How dare he? “He’s the kind of top-tier talent I’ll be representing. Of course,” he said directly to NOB, “I’m always looking for more.”
Is he really trying to poach NOB right in front of me? As rage kindled in my chest, I noticed a small smile playing on NOB’s lips, as though he found Ricky amusing.
“You know, it’s funny we should bump into you,” Jodi said. “There’s a hilarious cheap knockoff Ezra Chester script going around at the moment. Someone’s blatantly tried to rip off your style.” The amusement vanished as NOB’s mouth thinned. When he didn’t respond, she looked irritated. “If I didn’t know any better . . .” She eyed me up first, then NOB, her meaning crystal clear. “I’d say we’d just interrupted something.”
“You have, actually,” NOB said, leaving her stunned. Insulting. “We were just about to go through to the VIP area to celebrate Evie’s invaluable help on my latest script. I really couldn’t have done it without her.” I flushed a little at this, pleased. Ricky looked green. “You should join us. Let’s make it a double celebration.”
“Good assistants can take years to train,” Ricky jumped in. “So no wonder Evie is the best.”
I flinched. Did he really just say that? This was the boy who would talk me down whenever I was nervous. I used to adore his way with words. He always made it sound like we were meant to be together. So when he’d told me I wasn’t enough for him anymore, I’d been floored. Just as he’d known you would be. I blinked back tears, but I wasn’t upset, I was fuming.
Before I could retort, NOB threw something at Ricky. “Here.” Unfortunately, it was his VIP card and therefore wasn’t big enough to do any significant damage. “We’ll catch up with you. You should get in a bottle of”—he glanced at the menu—“the Ash special-edition Dom Pérignon.”
“Of course.” Ricky’s gappy teeth showed. “And then we can talk about your career options.” Ask for forgiveness, not permission: That was Ricky’s motto.
“Can’t wait,” NOB deadpanned.
When they were out of sight, I prodded him. “You’d better be up to something,” I said.
“That was just step one.”
He snapped his fingers to call the nearest waiter over. John, who searched around desperately for another colleague to take his place. When it was clear he was on his own, he slowly made his way to us and switched on a smile.
“Yes, sir?”
NOB started to pat his pockets. “My VIP card has gone missing. I had it when I came in, but I’m wondering if I left it in the gents . . . There was a guy in there with a perm. Maybe he knows where it is.”
John paled, his eyes flicking to me. I shrugged, wondering where NOB could possibly be going with this.
“I’ll . . . I’ll speak to the maître d’,” he said, defeatedly. “Deepest apologies, Mr. Chester.” The curtain swished in his wake.