“She directed a couple of romantic comedies for us.” Frank frowned. “They didn’t make as much money as the studio wanted, but she did a good job. You’ve seen her first film?”

“It’s one of my favorite movies,” John admitted.

The Castro was a small movie about a punk band in San Francisco. It was about found family, and it didn’t have a happy ending. At the end of the movie, the group of friends was in a worse situation than when the movie had started but for the knowledge that they had each other.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Frank said.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Yes, you’re so busy with work.” Frank glanced at John. “I’ll stop if you agree to the Viking show.”

“Never.” Nothing was worth the humiliation.

Frank gestured to Anna as she walked across the room.

Anna almost succeeded in hiding her tension when Frank gestured to her. The hardness in her eyes and the stiff line of her shoulders gave her away, though. What had she talked about with her ex? John’s glance darted between Anna and Tom. The agent stood in the corner of the room, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. What’s their deal?

Chapter Eight

“Anna,” Frank Amato said, drawing out the second A like a Bond villain.

John briefly regretted not taking that Viking show, but held his tray and tried to look like he had somewhere to be.

Anna took a deep breath and strolled toward them, attempting a casual façade that was out of place with the grimace she hadn’t completely wiped from her face.

Frank gestured like a game show host. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce you two earlier.”

Anna glanced between the two of them as if calculating how a bartender and a longtime producer could be friends.

“John, this is Anna Kovács, the director.”

“Hello,” John said, his voice flat.

Frank frowned at John’s tone. John should be kissing her ass. Frank knew it, and Anna knew it too. She crossed her arms over her chest like she was about to fire a malingering production assistant.

If John hadn’t met her in the bar a few days ago, he would’ve been pleased to be introduced to her. He would have complimented her work and asked about future projects. Instead, he had done such a great job kissing Tom Melton’s award-winning ex-wife in an alley that she never wanted to talk to him again. Also, she apparently dressed like an extra in a mafia movie when she wasn’t hanging out in a bar and drinking beers she couldn’t afford.

“This is John Mills,” Frank said with his best producer smile. “He’s a screenwriter.”

Anna glowered. “Let me guess. He probably wants to direct.”