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‘You two ready?’ Lacey asks, eyeing me more than Zayan.
‘Ready,’ I reply, settling comfortably into my role.
Zayan nods, and soon we’re weaving past tables like we’re on a mission. I tug at him firmly when we get closer to the other end of the room, where the director in question is hosting a conversation, and steer him to the bar instead.
‘What are –?’ Zayan starts, exasperated.
‘You need to calm down before you go there,’ I reply, forcing him to a bar stool. I focus on him and not me, on his career and not mine. It gives me a way to escape my own worries.
I smile at the waiter, who is dressed like he belongs on the shipwreck from The Tempest. ‘Hi, could we get two Cokes, please?’
While he goes to get them, I give Zayan a stern look. ‘You can’t just barge into that conversation. You need to be smooth.’
He makes a mock-offended noise. ‘I’m always smooth.’
‘Eh,’ I tease, lips pulling into a smile, ‘I’ve seen smoother.’
‘Really? Where?’ Zayan demands, his eyes narrowing. ‘If you say Ben or David, I will have to make a scene.’
I laugh, feeling lighter than I did when we first walked in. ‘Fine, fine. You’re the smoothest guy I know. But take a minute to recentre yourself. You don’t want to come off as desperate for this role. I know you are, you know you are – but the director doesn’t need to.’
Zayan absorbs my advice, and we quietly drink our Cokes until we deem enough time to have passed. We make our way to the director slowly, not like before. We’re stopped a few times by industry types who know Zayan. I’m introduced as his friend, but everyone levels me with a shrewd look. Like they’re trying to work out why I’m really here. But, odd looks aside, I do get to meet Rishi Willowy, one of my favourite actresses, and I totally don’t lose my cool in front of her.
‘You practically threw yourself at her,’ Zayan says, laughing, when we’re done with our conversation with Rishi. My face is already hot from the excitement of meeting her, so the added warmth of my blush is nothing. Still, he notices it. ‘Aw, don’t worry. Soon you’ll be getting less and less starstruck.’
‘And why’s that?’ I ask, taking a small crab cake from a passing waiter.
‘Because soon you’ll be among them. They’ll probably get starstruck over you.’
I feel my cheeks heat even more, and Zayan’s eyes soften.
‘Farah, I need to tell you –’ he begins, but we’re cut off by a man – tall, bald, wearing a bow tie – coming up to Zayan.
He claps Zayan so hard on the back that I have to swish my skirts out of the way to stop us both from toppling over.
‘Zay!’ The man booms in a loud, posh English accent. ‘I haven’t seen you in a long time, boy.’
Zayan’s face splits into a strained smile, and I’m instantly on edge. It takes me a second, but I start to recognize the man in front of us. The director of Zayan’s failed TV series.
Shawn Jetts.
‘It’s Zayan,’ Zayan replies tersely, a grimace on his face. ‘And yes, long time no see.’
‘Aw, now, come on! “Zay” is much easier.’
Zayan’s jaw clenches, and I see him physically wrestling with the urge to say more.
‘It’s great to see you,’ Shawn Jetts says, unaware of the tension he’s caused. His wide forehead is beaded with sweat, his cheeks are bright red, and his eyes are exceptionally bright with excitement. ‘But I feel as if I’ve seen you everywhere for the last month. You’re making quite the headlines with your new relationship.’
The last part is said pointedly, and I realize he expects me to be introduced. Zayan clears his throat. ‘Shawn, this is Farah Sheikh, my date.’
Shawn gives me a toothy smile, and before I can do anything, he reaches out to take my hand and press a kiss on the back of it. I automatically snatch my hand away, and Zayan’s bicep tightens under the palm I’ve got wrapped round him. Shawn doesn’t notice either thing, his smile remaining slick and wide. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ I lie.
Shawn doesn’t relinquish Zayan and me from his conversation. He drones on about his latest show, his new home in the Hamptons, his new wife. We stand there for what feels like an eternity, listening to this man tell his grandiose stories. As soon as I think we’re about to be freed, another friend of Shawn’s lumbers over to our group. Zayan’s eyes shut briefly, and I know he’s cursing everyone under the sun in his head.
‘Jameson!’ Shawn says, gulping down another entire flute of champagne. ‘Come meet Zayan and his lovely date. She’s quite the stunner – Farah, wasn’t it? Such an exotic name.’
