Chapter 89

BOOK THREE: STEAL

Will

Zane was back. Thank God.

His memory. His snarky weird-ass attitude and love for all things sugary and sticky.

At least that problem had solved itself.

And now I was back in Seaside, where Hollywood single rockstars and actors go to die-also known as the place where every single one of my clients end up in love, married, or with kids.

My gut twisted.

I twirled the stick between my hands over the fire. I was exhausted.

I love my job.

I love my job.

I love my job.

I freaking hated my job.

I was thirty, and I wanted to retire.

I was an agent, partially because I was good at it, partially because when my boy band broke up, I didn't really have a choice. I needed a purpose, and it was easy to go into the business side of things.

I had an ear for talent.

I loved managing musicians.

I loathed actors.

I wanted to strangle them with my bare hands, give them a little shake, then take them for a long drowning swim in the ocean.