“Did I say I wasn’t into this?” Neal clicked the pen a half-dozen more times. “And you’re willing to audition?”
“Why do I have to audition?”
“Because you’ve been away. Because people need to see that you still have it. Because you haven’t played the game.”
“I don’t like playing games.”
“Then what do you like?” Neal stared at Patrick like he was a petulant child.
“I like tacos. I like parties.” Patrick glared to see if his agent would remember the advance he had once made, or if it was all in a drunken stupor.
After a beat, Neal turned red and scoffed. He dropped the pen with a thud. “Okay, well you’re playing games right now.”
The longer Patrick sat on the couch without a Fanta, the angrier he got. The memory of the taco truck, and Neal’s reaction to it, pushed him over the edge. What was he doing here? He’d told John he hated earning money for Neal. There had to be a way to earn money and not have this worm leech off of him; now was not the time to be lazy in his thinking. This wasn’t about going back to work. It was about moving forward to work. “You know what? This was a bad idea. YOU’RE FIRED.”
“Oh, I’m fired? You said you wanted to work. How are you going to do that without an agent?”
“I’m getting a new agent.”
“Where are you going to go? Across the street? Read your agency agreement. You’re not allowed to sign with another agency for six months.” Neal picked up a ball of rubber bands and tossed it triumphantly back and forth in his hands.
“Across the street? No. You’d miss me too much. Across the hall.” Patrick looked at the ceiling to buy himself a beat. Was he certain about this? Yes. Yes he was.
“Across the hall . . .”
“I’m with Annie Alps out there. I’m sure she has my files.”
“Cassie Everest.”
“Thank god you knew who I meant. I’m running out of mountains.” Patrick put his feet up on the coffee table, knowing it would drive his now former agent nuts.
“My assistant.”
“Oh, no. She’s off your desk. She’s an agent now. She has a big new client!”
Neal set the ball down and pressed both of his palms on his desktop like he was bracing himself to stand up. “You don’t get to promote people at your whim. You don’t work here. Who do you think you are?”
“She said you were promoting her if I agreed to come back. I’m back.”
“Back with me!”
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
Neal was approaching wit’s end. “And what if it is?”
They stared at each other in a battle of wills, but the upper hand was Patrick’s—it’s why he had mentioned Neal’s wife. Patrick grinned, pleased with himself. “Then you know what I’ll have to say about it.”
Neal chewed this over before lifting his arms in the air as if Patrick had him at gunpoint. He let out an annoyed growl.
“That’s right. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Neal muttered under his breath; he lowered his arms and made a project of stacking some papers while shuffling some others, waiting for this torture to be over.
“Anyhow, I’ll see if Cassie can get me a Fanta. I don’t know what it is, I’m just craving a pineapple soda!” Patrick stood and patted himself to make sure he had his phone and his keys. “I’ll get out of your hair. I wouldn’t want to mess up those sweet plugs.” Patrick paused in the doorway. A surprising flash of regret overcame him (My goodness, he thought, people are complex and weird), but there was no turning back now. “It was good to see you, Neal. Be sure to transfer my files.” He waved and, without waiting for a reciprocal goodbye, stepped out in the hall.
He locked eyes with Cassie, who sat stunned in her cubicle—certain she was going to catch a cyclone of shit the second Patrick left.
“Well, it’s you and me, kid.”
Cassie untangled the headphones from her hair and placed them on her keyboard as Patrick sat on the edge of her desk. “What do you mean?”
“I’m back, but you’re my agent. Congratulations. You’ve got your first client.”
“That’s . . . not possible.”
“I worked it out with Neal. All systems go.” The phone on Cassie’s desk started ringing and she moved to answer it. Patrick lunged for her headset. “Neal will get it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re serious.” The phone stopped ringing.
“Deadly.” Patrick pulled a pen from a pencil cup and put it in his shirt pocket. “Turns out, you’re the one I like.”
She stammered a few times before she was able to form words. “I—I—I don’t know what to say.” A cubicle neighbor of Cassie’s prairie-dogged over the partition dividing them to see if she was hearing this all correctly; Patrick met her gaze with a single eye, and she slowly lowered herself out of view.
“Look, I know it’s technically outside of your job description, but I’m going to need a few things.”
“Sure.” Cassie was still too stunned to object.
“I can’t remember any of my social media passwords. Can you have them reset? Just look for my name with the blue check marks.”
“Of course. Anything.” Cassie scrambled for a notepad. “What else can I do?”
“I’m having a party and I could use your help. I need you to invite all my dearest friends. Even the ones I haven’t met yet.” It was a line from Mame, but as soon as Patrick said it out loud he had a newfound appreciation for the wisdom in it. He pulled his new pen from his breast
