Page 3 of Double Standard

My experience with Ana Barlow can hardly be calledexperience: I sat across the room from her at the table read a few days ago. She was courteous, though not particularly warm. Where other cast members were happy to introduce themselves and make small talk, she kept to herself.

I try to update Javier with the new address, but he directs me to the app.I take advantage of the thirty-minute drive to google her.

Ana Barlow in Discussions forShe’s All MineSequel

They’re Just Like Us: Stars Losing Their Cool at LAX

‘Athena’s War’ Bets on Barlow and Haggerty

What the fck is wrong with AB???

I click on the fourth link, an r/celebsnark thread from two weeks ago. Immediately, I know it’s a mistake. It’s full of rants and conspiracy theories—about her love life, hercareer failures, her diet, all the reasons she looked horrible at a recent red-carpet appearance. To call these comments critical would be an understatement. This is brutal. If she’s as closed off as SorryNotSorry87 seems to think, I can’t say I blame her.

I swipe up to close the page and put my phone face down on the seat next to me. Trying to learn more about her has revved up my nerves and kicked up my heart rate. Like I’m prepping for a fight scene, not showing up for a business meeting.

The polyester of the seat belt rubs against my neck as I take in a deep inhale, releasing it slowly against the glass window of the Prius as we arrive at a beautiful modern home with drawn shades. Unlike Sherry, I’m not confident I’ll “do great.”

A few long strides, and I’m knocking on Ana Barlow’s front door.

IV

Ana

Everything is in place: Two glasses of water, drops of condensation sliding down the sides. Meats, cheeses, fruits, and nuts on a live-edge wooden platter. Small plates. Cloth napkins. Fluffed pillows with a crisp chop at the center. Thermostat at sixty-eight.

From my seat, I survey myself in the mirror above the credenza: Hair smooth and curled at the ends. Soft pencil strokes filling out my eyebrows, undetectable to the naked (male) eye. I tug at my crisp white top to smooth out a crease trying to pop near my waist. I look good. Put together. Persuasive.

The doorbell chimes, and I glance toward the entryway as Emily answers it. My eyes catch on the broad, slightly hunched shoulders of a sculpted man. I take stock: Dark hair with a bit of wave that he rakes a strong hand through. Chinos spread tight across his thighs. Tapered waist hidden beneath a fitted button-down shirt that looks out of place on a guy who’s clearly never spent a day in an office.Levi’s been around the studio, but this is the first time I’ve really looked at him.

Yes, I think.This’ll do.

He follows Emily to the sunroom and stands adjacent to my chair—one of two flanking a coffee table—waiting for me to rise to greet him. Instead, I gesture for him to sit.

“Appreciate you being here,” I say. He could not look less comfortable as he folds his body into the small seat.

“Does anyone say no to you?” I clock a nervous twitch at the corner of his lips. He quickly bites down on it.

“You’d be surprised. The smart ones don’t. And you’re here, so.” I raise a brow, wondering how he’ll play it.

“Tell that to my dad.”

I huff out a laugh, and he stiffens. Seemingly unsure of what to say next, he runs a hand through his hair again, ruffling it to fall across his forehead. It frames his hazel eyes as they track back and forth. My initial read was right—this man is anxious as hell.

“So, Levi, here’s the thing”—I say his name intentionally and make sure to hold his gaze—“I am not good at asking for help. I am not good atneedinghelp. I would love nothing more than to never need anyone’s help for anything at all. But today, I need something from you.”

“OK,” he replies. Tension lines his face, and his lips are pulled tight.

I bring a hand to the glass sitting in front of me. The perspiration makes the cup slippery under my fingers. “I want you to be seen with me.” The words spill out of mymouth before I have the chance to swallow them.What the hell was that?I clear my throat in an attempt to button myself back up. “What I mean to say is that I’d like you to join me for a few events so we can be photographed together to sell the press a love story.”

Levi raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. He reaches forward to grab a plate and begins piling fruit and cheese on it. It’s a relief to see him settle into his chair, to make himself at home here. “Like a fake boyfriend? It doesn’t seem like it would be hard for you to find a real one.” He doesn’t look up as he pops a grape in his mouth. I push the charcuterie board closer to him.

“I don’t have the time or energy for, let alone interest in, a real relationship at this point. I want someone for publicity, and I’d like for it to be you.”It has to be you, I don’t say.

He runs his tongue over his teeth—straight enough but with a bit of character, one canine turned slightly in—and drums his fingers on his legs. Contemplating. He considers what I’ve suggested for a minute before inching his fingers across the table and sliding the meat and cheese back my way. He nods, an encouragement to partake, like if I’m proposing we become a fake couple, the least we can do is share a meal first. “I may be new to Hollywood and how things work here, but I can’t imagine that pretending like that is a good idea. We’re going to be working together, and I’m trying to get off on the right foot with Colt. Sorry, I can’t.”

“Colt knows, actually. He signed off on the idea.” I grab a few almonds and rustle them around in my palm, the papery skin leaving flakes between my fingers.

Levi’s eyes widen. He sets down his plate to stretch his arms behind his head. After taking a breath, he brings his palms to rub against the tops of his thighs.