The lawyer Yvette had sent, Regina Vaughn, strode through the conference room door with authority. Tall and impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt, the black woman carried a leather briefcase that probably cost more than Morthisal's monthly hotel rate. Her dark hair was styled in elegant locks that framed her face with sophisticated precision.

  Jordan stood immediately, smoothing her jacket. "Ms. Vaughn. It's an honor."

  "Jordan Park, yeah?" Regina asked in a thick British accent, then set her briefcase on the table with a decisive thunk.

  "I've heard good things about you. Young, hungry, making waves." She turned to Morthisal and extended her hand. "Mr. Logan. Good to meet you. We should speak in private."

  "This is the first time you've met?" Jordan asked, swallowing loudly.

  "Aye. That it is." Reggie nodded. "Mind giving us a moment, love?"

  Jordan nodded, picked up her stack of papers, and left the room.

  "That was a rather dramatic entrance," Morthisal said.

  "Why, thank you ever so much, Vince. I've heard rather a great deal about you. Yvette mentioned this required some urgency. She engages my services for numerous matters and such. She's frightfully busy, as am I, so I shall cut straight to the chase. I'm here for you, darling. I'm honest, painfully so, I'm afraid. My objective is perfectly straightforward: to secure you the most favorable terms possible and ensure Jordan doesn't take you for a ride."

  Morthisal shook her hand. Her grip matched Jordan's in firmness. "Thank you for your help today. I very much appreciate your candor."

  "Yeah. Absolutely adored your viral video. Gave me proper chills, Vince. Quite extraordinary, really."

  "Thank you."

  "From what I gather, this role is rather well secured, wouldn't you say? That makes my task frightfully simple. You ought to proceed to your audition. I shall keep Jordan occupied here whilst we review the contractual negotiations. Please send me a thumbs-up once you've concluded, assuming you believe you've secured the role. That shall provide us with rather useful leverage."

  "I can do that," Morthisal agreed.

  "Right. Great. Let's get on with the show."

  Reggie cracked the door and called Jordan back in.

  "Let's get to it, love." Regina pulled out a chair and settled into it. She opened her briefcase and extracted a slim tablet and a leather portfolio. "I had my assistant pull your agency's standard contract from the database," Regina continued smoothly. "Fifteen percent commission, three-year term with renewal options, standard exclusivity clauses." She tapped the tablet screen. "Reasonable starting point, but we'll need to make some adjustments."

  "Of course." Jordan pulled the folder closer. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Ten percent commission for the first year. Twelve thereafter, if Mr. Logan's earnings exceed certain benchmarks we'll establish."

  Jordan blinked. "Ms. Vaughn, fifteen percent is fair considering Vince Logan only recently—"

  "Yes, yes." Regina's accent sharpened slightly. "Mr. Logan is unproven. One viral trailer does not a career make. You'll be taking a calculated risk on him, certainly, but he'll be taking an equal risk on you." She turned to Vince. "How many agents have been in contact with you?"

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  He was honest about this, since he'd been hounded with voicemails since the trailer had gone live. "About half a dozen."

  Reggie turned her attention back to Jordan. "Ten percent reflects that mutual uncertainty."

  Jordan's jaw tightened. The young agent opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.

  "Jordan, where is the audition to be held?" Morthisal asked. "I will await you there."

  "Oh, um." Jordan paged through her cell phone screens. "In 2B. It's down the hall to the right."

  "Excellent." Morthisal excused himself. As he stood, Reggie shot him a surreptitious wink.

  He exited the door, hoping he was making the right decision to leave his future in the lawyer's hands, but if Yvette trusted her, then so would he.

  The hallway's walls were cream, with dark wood trim along the bottom, and the floor was coated in burgundy carpet with a subtle geometric pattern woven through it. Black-and-white photographs hung in simple frames at regular intervals, old Hollywood actors whose faces Morthisal didn't recognize, caught mid-laugh or mid-performance.

  He paused. An unmistakable rich aroma drifted toward him from somewhere ahead. He'd had to forego coffee this morning, which had been a crime.

  Morthisal followed the scent and discovered a small room tucked off the main hall, and smiled as he stepped inside. A pump pot sat on a counter next to stacks of paper cups and plastic stirrers. Several small containers of creamer clustered beside packets of sugar and artificial sweetener.

  He grabbed a cup and filled it three-quarters full, then added five creamers and four sugars. The liquid turned from dark brown to light tan. Morthisal swirled the drink around with a small red plastic straw and lifted it to his nose. The sweet smell mingled with the coffee's bitterness, leading to a sigh of utter pleasure.

  Morthisal sipped, sipped again, then sipped as he walked. The hallway continued past several closed doors. He found room 2B near the end of the hallway. The door stood closed. Morthisal reached for the handle and pushed it open.

  Serena sat at a table with Richard and two assistants. She wore a cream-colored blouse with a high collar and tailored navy pants. Simple gold earrings caught the overhead lights. Her hair had been pulled back, leaving her sculptured features on display. She glanced his way and hit him with a bright smile. Serena waved and motioned for him to come inside.

  Morthisal’s view of Serena was nearly blocked by a burly man who was backing toward him, facing Serena and seemingly unaware of Morthisal’s presence. He held a binder high, pages open, head down, as he read. He wore a plaid button-up that looked like it had survived several decades and a pair of khaki pants with worn knees. His thick gray beard hairs stuck out at odd angles, and his balding head, surrounded by a tight batch of equally erratic hair, gleamed under the bright light.

  The man turned before Morthisal could get out of his way, striking his fresh cup of coffee and sending the liquid splashing across his new gray shirt as they collided. Hot liquid soaked through the fabric and burned his chest.

  "See what you made me do!" The man stared at him with a flustered face.

  Morthisal shook his shirt away from his body. The heat stung his skin.

  "Have you eyes on the back of your head? No? Then perhaps you should be more careful whilst exiting a room."

  Serena stood and rushed toward them. "Oh dear. Wait, you two."

  The burly man jabbed a finger at Morthisal. "You weren't watching where you were going!"

  "I was stationary. You were the one moving." Morthisal prepared a thread of power. This fool would enjoy a naked stroll through the parking lot.

  "Stationary with a cup of coffee right in my path!"

  "Your path? The hallway belongs to everyone, you pompous—"

  "Pompous? You're the one standing there like you own the place!"

  Morthisal shook his shirt again. The coffee had already started to cool, but the stain spread across the fabric in an ugly brown splotch. The burly man did the same, holding his plaid shirt away from his considerable belly.

  Serena stepped between them with her hands raised. She laughed despite the tension. "Okay, okay. Both of you need to calm down. Please."

  Morthisal glared at the burly man. The burly man glared back.

  "Vince." Serena gestured toward Morthisal first. "This is Gus Mancini." She paused and emphasized the next words. "The director of The Last Bookshop."

  "This is Logan?" Gus looked Morthisal up and down. "He's rude and covered in coffee. Next!"

  Gus brushed past Morthisal and disappeared down the hallway.