“I can’t watch this.” Jenny set her empty glass on John’s tray and grabbed two more glasses of champagne. “Frank, it’s always great to see you. I’m sure you can afford me.”

John glanced in the direction Anna had walked. Tom Melton appeared unruffled in a bespoke, three-piece suit that even John could tell was tailored within an inch of its life. The agent ran a hand through his blond hair. A heavy gold watch glittered on his wrist. The man was a legend. Half of the town was trying to sleep with him, and the other half was trying to work with him. John had heard the same rumor as Frank. Word on the street was that Melton wanted to become a producer. He was going to move to a studio or start his own.

John was surprised to find he knew one of the sycophants huddled around the agent. He had pitched to Dan Richards, a senior executive who’d been with Remington Pictures for ages. He had to be in his late sixties. His disheveled suit and loosened tie gave him the air of a disgruntled accountant. He was one of the old-school guys—the ones who worked behind the scenes, pushing the paper, making the small deals that the industry survived on. For every Tom Melton, there were a hundred of these guys putting in the hours and getting it done in the least glamorous way possible.

Lost in his thoughts, he’d almost forgotten that Frank was still standing beside him.

“So, Tom Melton repped her?” John asked casually. No surprise why Anna had blown him off at the bar. For all her torn jeans and moaning about finding a job, bartenders and back alleys would be far beneath her and the rest of the red-soled and Rolex crowd.

Frank choked on his champagne. “I forget how little you care about all the personal dramas in this town.”

John rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t rep her anymore, not after the divorce.”

John’s heart thudded. “He’s her ex-husband?”

Chapter Seven

Anna had mentioned something about being divorced at the bar. She hadn’t said anything about her ex-husband being freaking Tom Melton. Christ, he had hoped to pitch to Melton tonight.

To sum up his week, he had kissed Tom Melton’s ex-wife behind a bar, casually suggested he might want to do more than just kiss her even as they stood between a dumpster and the entrance to a busy street, and ended the afternoon by inviting her for another beer, which she turned down. No wonder she had gawked at him in wide-eyed horror when he suggested it.

John watched as the formerly married couple greeted each other warmly. There was no animosity, no tension. Tom embraced her. Anna offered a bemused smile.

“Are they back together?” John’s body tensed at the thought.