“But you’re not her agent. Why are you calling me?”

“I’m aware I’m not her agent. But I’m producing and directing this one, and I really feel like she’s the perfect actress for this role.”

But he didn’t have to say it. She knew. Conrad Santos could never undo what had been done to Marley, and thus his penance would never be paid. He’d turned away from her sister when she’d needed him most, and he couldn’t get that monkey off his back. It was the same monkey she carried, so she knew. Like Conrad, she, too, did her best to save others. Because she had also failed to help Marley in her eleventh hour.

And then there had been no more hours.

“Come on, Con. I know what you’re doing. Actresses are a dime a dozen. Even good ones.” She said the words but knew her old friend had already committed himself. Conrad Santos—the king of third chances. Maybe even fourth chances.

But not with Olivia.

“True, but you know how I am when I sink my teeth into something. I feel this in my bones. It’s a pivotal role in this film. I have to get this one right. This might be the one. The script is fantastic and . . .” He trailed off. “I need you to help her, Livy.”

His words were plaintive . . . sincere . . . something hard for her to say no to.

Olivia picked up her planner. Everything in the world was digital, but try to pry her planner from her cold, dead hands. “My team’s booked solid for the next few months, Con. I can recommend someone else who may—”

“I don’t want someone on your team. I want you.”

How she’d longed to hear those words from his lips, but she’d never been the one he wanted. Not truly.

“Sorry. I’m just not available, Con.”

Olivia no longer worked directly with clients. Square One had taken on a life of its own after she’d successfully graduated multiple high-profile clients from her unique life-coaching service. A book deal and talk shows followed, along with a business model that had turned into a highly in-demand lifestyle consulting business with twenty-three life coaches, sobriety coaches, and adulting lecturers on her staff. Olivia Han was the captain, and she wasn’t about to let a junkie like Chase London sink her ship. The last actor she’d worked with had nearly wrecked her, and only a good publicist who was a spin doctor had been able to divert a disastrous lawsuit.

“You mean you don’t want to get your hands dirty,” Con said, disappointment evident in his voice.

That small censure plucked at her. Because it was Con, and she’d never been able to tell him no. “No, I don’t.”

“Because of the Linden thing?”

She wasn’t going to admit how much the false allegations against her by Allie Linden had shaken her faith in herself and made her feel like her own father when he’d been accused of wrongdoing. “No, I have a conference in New York next week, and then I have to work on the next book. The draft is due by the end of October.”