Julian Vargas was wearing a striped red tie, not royal blue.

Estelle frowned down at the email on her phone. It had come through early this morning, just before the sunrise. An itinerary of the full day at Philo Enterprises, including the whereabouts of one Julian Vargas.

She clicked it closed with a click of her tongue.

She should have known better than to trust John with something like this.

Still, Julian was here, and judging by the dainty silver watch dangling from her wrist, he was exactly on time.

Estelle stood from her seat by the lobby’s bay windows and smoothed out her skirt. With a deep breath she lowered her over-sized sunglasses and tucked her phone into her purse.

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she hurried across the lobby in her heels, tall and lean and disinterested.

Estelle knew she was beautiful. But it was a cold beauty—the sort that seemed untouchable. It was the beauty of museums and sculptures, well-appointed and chilly to the touch.

Just his type.

Julian turned and drank her in with vacant eyes before recognition flit across his handsome features. Estelle offered the perfect facsimile of a surprised smile.

She let him speak first. He liked that sort of thing.

“Miss Durant? What brings you here?”

His tone was promising. There was interest woven in if she listened closely enough. He turned his back to his assistant, bringing the full weight of his hooded gaze onto her.

“Mr. Vargas, we have an appointment,” his assistant whispered urgently. She was a petite thing, with a hunted expression and a nervous tremor in her hands.

“Then go tell them I’m running late.” His tone was brusque. “Don’t you know who she is?”

The assistant regarded her with a polite tip of her head and scurried off to notify his waiting guests.

Estelle stopped just a few feet from Julian. His trim gray suit cut an impressive profile in the early morning sun. It streamed in from the glass ceiling, hitting him like a spotlight.

“I have a meeting with John,” Estelle told him. She cocked her head, and offered a coquettish smile. “He came by yesterday and caught me in the hallway. I suppose it was finally time.”

Julian’s expression was sympathetic. He smirked a little and gave a shrug. “I hate to see you waste your time, but maybe you will finally have some peace.”

“He’s not the sort to give up.” She wrinkled her nose, then glanced up though her lashes very deliberately. “I suppose it’s admirable, to chase the things you want.”

Julian’s eyebrows raised just a fraction of an inch. His expression twitched with interest. “I can’t disagree.”

Estelle glanced around, the sleek, black strands of her hair brushing against her shoulder. She had to pull back—it was always the push and pull that got them, in the end. “Who is it you have waiting for you?” She asked, with polite interest. “They must be important.”

“A few producers.” Julian gave her a once over with obvious intent. “Terribly boring. I’d rather be anywhere else. Do you have plans after your pity meeting?”

Estelle offered a coy smile, flirty and close-mouthed. She wasn’t free, and that was very deliberate. The pull at work. “My meeting? I have a shoot up north at noon. My next film, so nothing that I can postpone. I don’t have much free time this week at all.”

“That’s too bad.”

Julian glanced over his shoulder. When his assistant had fully disappeared from view he slid a sleek, white business card from his pocket.

JULIAN VARGAS it read, in a plain, blocky font. It looked thick and heavy, with rounded edges that Julian clicked back and forth against his thumbnail.

“A business card?” She asked. “What am I meant to do with that?”

Julian held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Pen?”

Estelle laughed suddenly, melodic and teasing. “I see you’re quite old-fashioned.”

Julian’s answering grin was disarming. “It’s more fun than just handing you my phone.”

Estelle found a heavy engraved pen in her purse and handed it over. It was a gift from the head of her agency. She carried it with her everywhere—she’d even used it to sign her first contract.

Julian scrawled his phone number on the back of the card and deposited it in her hand. His fingers lingered when they brushed across her palm.

“I know you’re busy, but give me a call. I’d love to ”

Estelle kept her expression passively interested. “I’ll be in touch. Enjoy your meeting.”

Julian’s laugh was as sharp as a cracked whip.

“Of course. You enjoy yours.”

___

Estelle arrived to her appointment with John Page and Cato Cassandra in the afterglow of a plot well-executed.

She re-glossed her lips at the door, and knocked twice, delicately.

John answered the door with a cup of black coffee in one hand and a donut in the other.

“Miss Durant.”

He gestured her into the conference room with a dip of his head.

The man waiting for her, too large for his office chair by a country mile, was instantly familiar in a way Estelle had become accustomed to.

“I remember your face,” she said, sitting at the head of the glossy table and crossing her long legs beneath its granite face. “We’ve worked together before. It must’ve been years ago, though. I can’t place you.”

“I had a minor role on Sunny Afternoons. It only lasted one season.”

Cato Cassandra didn’t have a particularly memorable face. It was handsome enough, worn thin by the years and kind around the eyes—but his voice hit her with a wave of nostalgia so intense it was a physical thing.

It was softer than most. Deep, but gentle—with the lilting accent of someone who had beaten their childhood out of it.

“Jason,” she said. And she was so sure it was him, she would have bet her life on it. “You played Jason. I remember your voice.”

Mr. Cassandra smiled, something bright and too earnest for a man in the business. He laced his own fingers together on the table. “I did. I’m surprised you recall, that was more than five years ago.”

“He hasn’t been able to book much since Sunny Afternoons,” John cut in. He brushed the crumbs from his stubble. “And it’s not for lack of talent. I sent you his audition reels for the production, Estelle. He’s a very competent actor with a work history. He should at least be booking supporting roles.”

He had sent Cato’s demo reels and Estelle had almost left them untouched out of annoyance at the presumption, but her curiosity had won out in the end. And John was right—Cato Cassandra was a talented actor. A little rough around the edges, but nothing a competent director couldn’t easily mold with half a day and a page of thorough notes.

“You must have pissed someone off quite terribly, Mr. Cassandra,” she said. She rested her chin in one palm and watched him thoughtfully. “I did watch them. You have something uncommon.”

“It’s not just someone I pissed off…” he murmured, but John shushed him, and turned his attention back to Estelle.

“So you’ll help us get the screen test? We sent his audition in by the deadline. It’s all above board. We just need someone to counter whoever it is who is sabotaging his chances.”

Estelle watched the two of them thoughtfully. She let the silence sit and simmer.

Time didn’t dim their eagerness. The two of them sat patiently, waiting for her to make her assessment, dueling optimism and fear written in the exhausted lines on their faces.

“I will speak with the director,” she promised, after a long moment. The two of them sagged back in their chairs so obviously that she wanted to laugh. “I will insist that they look past any quiet industry pressure, or tacit blacklisting from the other agencies. But remember, I cannot tell them who to hire anymore than you can. I don’t work that way.”

“That’s more than you needed to do.” John took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She felt like a little girl again, dancing on his shoes and watching the talent mill around them in full hair and makeup with starry eyes.

“I owed you a favor,” she said, voice soft and wistful. It was more honest than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat and brushed out her skirt as she stood up to leave. “Really, John. Don’t mention it.”