When Stars Fall by Wendy Million
Chapter Two
Wyatt
Present Day
I’m sweating. Profusely. It’s disgusting. I tug at the collar of my freshly pressed shirt and loosen my tie. I’ll tighten it before I go on set.
Leaning forward on the couch, I grab my water from the coffee table. Bottles of alcohol line the bar to the right. A sign encourages everyone to help themselves. There is nothing worse than wanting a drink, being surrounded by alcohol, and not being able to have any. I need to be sober for this interview. Ellie will see it.
I grab some candy off the table and pop it into my mouth, chewing slowly. The greenroom is a weird shade of lime. Whenever I’m in a green waiting area, I’m always disappointed. We’re in a creative business—lime isn’t creative; it’s just hard on my eyes. Jackson Billows, the host of the late-night program, probably thinks the color is hilarious.
I wiggle my back along the too-stiff couch. Maybe I’ve been doing this whole scene too long. Few things in the entertainment business surprise me anymore. Of course, having this big a stage, a platform for my announcement, is helpful. Surprises may be few and far between for me personally, but I can still deliver a couple.
“You’re on in five, Mr. Burgess.” A dark-haired man pops his head into the room.
I nod. Say nothing. Check my phone again. The few people who understand my plan are reluctantly on board. A last-minute Break a leg text rolls in. I turn off my ringer, readjust my tie and collar. My suit jacket is stifling, but she used to like me suited and booted. Every advantage is necessary. I’m about to blow up her life.
For ten years, Ellie has been coordinating her projects and schedule to avoid me. We’ve developed an unspoken agreement to keep each other and Isaac, my best friend, out of the press. The weight of his death has remained ours to carry.
Jackson enters from the hidden side door. “You all right, buddy?” He perches on a chair across from me.
“Sweating like a pig.”
“It’s been ten years, man. This will be great television, don’t get me wrong, but Ellie is going to eat your nuts for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I picked you for a reason, Jack. Don’t let me down.” I drain the rest of my water and wish the liquid was something much stronger.
“We could have booked you both on the show. Left you here in the greenroom to sort out your issues in private.” Jackson stands.
“She’d have canceled. Whenever she’s gotten wind I’m in the area, her cavalry rides to the rescue. I even flew to Bermuda and not one person—not one,” I say, holding up a finger, “would tell me where she lived.”
“What makes you think she’s going to take any notice of you this time?” he asks.
“She’ll have no choice.” Certainty washes over me, and I point to my phone. “Finally got her address. I’m headed to the airport as soon as we’re done.”
“Ten years and you’re just going to show up on her doorstep? Do you need the public spectacle first?”
He has a point, but if I go without the spectacle, she’ll slam the door in my face. “I’m trying to make it impossible for her to say no.”
“I hope that doesn’t make it hard for her to say yes later.” Jack arches his eyebrows.
Truthfully, I haven’t thought that far in advance. All I’ve done is organize Operation Get Her to Talk to Me. The rest will fall into place. A long time ago, I was her kryptonite. God knows she’s always been mine.
The doors split as we walk toward the set. Jack heads to the stage and I stand in the wings, waiting to make my entrance.
By midnight tonight, she’ll realize I’m done with our unspoken truce.
I’m coming for you, Ellie.
Jackson gives his rambling introduction, then I strut onto the set. The crowd goes wild, and I drop into my seat. I adjust my jacket and wave to the audience as the screams die down.
Jackson’s right about one thing: Ellie will not take this well.
