Chapter 8

I pull in front of the large Malibu mansion and release a long breath. I don't want to be here, but I'm sacrificing for the greater good—that is, Layla. Nick Cane is an old friend of my dad's and an executive for the network that airs LA Lights. From the minute I set foot in LA, Nick was reaching out to me, making sure I had "family" here to lean on. I had my grandpa, of course, but it's been nice to have Nick too, especially after Grandpa died. Nick and my dad are close, and even though we only saw the Canes once or twice a year growing up, it's easy to think of him as an uncle. I always accept invitations to have dinner at their house, but usually pass on the invitations to parties like this one. But Nick has talked about the TV business enough for me to know that, while he can suggest Layla's name to one of his directors, they're the ones who will have the pull in the end. So I'm going to take a deep breath and try to schmooze the best I can.

Which is nothing to write home about. I'm a terrible schmoozer. I'm not trying to be humble here. I should've brought Eli or Hurley. But I'm leaning on Eli too much as it is in pursuing Layla, and it's a little bit embarrassing to admit to Hurley how much help I need.

I step out of my Bronco, and a valet moves forward to take my keys. I thank him, resist the urge to put my hands in the pockets of my blue suit pants, and walk up the gleaming white sidewalk to the front door.

My phone rings, saving me. I want to do this for Layla, but a part of me is hoping it's some kind of football emergency requiring my presence.

The caller ID says it's Mrs. Van Buren though. Which is kind of ironic. I wavered on calling in a favor with Nick for this for a lot of reasons. Like, would Layla want me to intervene like this? But mostly, if I'm doing this for her, am I doing it for the right reasons? Will I be okay if I do something like this for her and she never dates me? Of course, but I still can't help questioning if trying to prove how I feel about her by doing favors like this is what I should be doing. Isn't that what Grandpa was doing with all the "service" he did, even though he was betraying his family?

I push away the thoughts and try to see Mrs. Van Buren's call in a better light. At least it's a few minutes' delay before I have to go in and try to be charming. That's something. She makes a point to call me after I've dropped off treats if we don't have time to talk when I bring them. When I can ignore how I know Mrs. Van Buren, the doting way she treats me is nice.

"Hey, Mrs. Van Buren," I answer brightly. "How are you tonight?" I glance at my watch. It's eight o'clock, so it's surprising to get a call from her this late.

"I've been better," she says in a tight voice.

I grimace. "I know I've been neglecting you. I promise, I'm planning on dropping off goodies after practice tomorrow so I have some time to visit with you."

"Never mind that. I'm calling you about something more important." She pauses, and in that beat my mind races several different places. We haven't had a lot of time to talk the last couple days, and maybe she's been meaning to tell me something about Grandpa that she can't hold back anymore. Or maybe our relationship is too awkward for her to continue. I would understand, but surprisingly, I'd be disappointed.

"It's about the sugar cookies you brought by yesterday," she goes on. The pinched way she's talking says whatever is important isn't good news. But what does it have to do with the cookies? My thoughts collapse in a jumble as I try to tie in Mrs. Van Buren dumping me to the cookies I brought her.

"I thought Mila's sugar cookies were your favorite." I shuffle back through our most recent visits, wondering if she's changed her preferences and I didn't pay attention to know.

"Usually, they are. What I called to tell you was that everyone who ate a cookie yesterday has been sick all day today. The center doctor says it's food poisoning."

I suck in a gasp. "Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't say awful things about Mila's cookies on a whim, Lincoln," Mrs. Van Buren scolds me. "It's never happened before, as you know, so none of us blame that sweet girl. But we thought she might like to know in case one of her suppliers has gotten lazy or tried to sell her old eggs or something."

Despite the news, I can't help a small smile at Mrs. Van Buren and her friends' loyalty to Mila and her indignation that someone might treat her badly. "She would like to know. That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Van Buren. Are you doing okay? Do I need to come help you with anything?"

"Well, I was a lucky one," she says. "I had some blood tests yesterday and had to save my cookie. Of course, I didn't eat it when everyone ended up getting sick."

I let out of breath of relief, even though I grimace at the thought of all of Mrs. Van Buren's friends getting sick. "Tiny miracles, huh?"

She chuckles a little. She's always trying to point out the little things to me, and it's something I love about her. She's called our friendship one of those tiny miracles, and it helps me to see it that way. I don't feel guilty about our relationship when I can see it benefitting her so much—never mind how much I need the motherly love like hers in my life with my mom so far away. She doesn't have any kids, and her husband died years before my grandma did. She's been alone a long time.

"Certainly was," she says. "You might want to hold off on bringing over treats for a few days."

I bite back my own chuckle. "Okay."

"That doesn't mean you have to stay away. No one's mad at you, of course," Mrs. Van Buren hurries to add.

"I'll come by tomorrow," I promise. "No treats."

We hang up, and I frown. I'm in full agreement with Mrs. Van Buren that Mila would never knowingly use bad ingredients. Baking is her passion, and she loves her customers. Even though I'm not bringing Mrs. Van Buren treats, this will be a good reason to stop by the truck early tomorrow to talk with Mila. And I do have other people to drop off the treats to. The Rays staff in various offices always enjoys it, and Mark loves to take stuff home to his kids. I've got options.

I pocket my phone and brace myself to head inside. The door is open, letting cool fall air into the house. A bodyguard stands at the door and nods at me when I pass him. There are enough A-listers here to warrant a few more bodyguards, and they're likely stationed at every entrance, but Nick likes to make sure they blend in. The one at the front door is probably the only one purposefully looking intimidating in case paparazzi or rabid fans try to show up.

I have a height advantage here, which is nice. It's easy to glance around and spot Nick on the opposite side of the room, next to the tall windows that overlook the patio and pool. As luck would have it, he's chatting with Court's aunt Sophie. She's an actress and a second mom to both Court and Eli, especially since Eli lived in her guesthouse for a while before he bought his new house after settling in with the Rays. She comes to get-togethers at Eli's house, so she's someone I'm comfortable with.

I make my way through the crowd, but it's slow going. A-listers and big shots they may be, but there are plenty of football fans. Luckily, I don't have to make a lot of small talk, just accept praise for Sunday's game and assure everyone that of course we're going to the championships.

"Linc!" Nick grins as soon as he sees me approaching, holding out his hand for a handshake and then pulling me in for a hug. "I'm so glad you decided to come tonight."

When he lets go, Sophie Edwards gives me a hug too and then a kiss on the cheek. "Good to see you, Lincoln." Her raised eyebrows show her surprise at my presence. I've confided in her before that I envy the easy way she seems in public and wish I could be the same. She always responds that she likes me just the way I am.

"I'm all business tonight, Nick," I say apologetically. "I have an agenda."

He chuckles. "Fair enough. What's on your mind?" Nick has known me long enough and well enough to get right to the point and not force conversation from me. When it's just me, his wife, and his twin girls, it's a lot easier for me to relax and chat with them. This party is so much more intimidating.

"I've been watching LA Lights. And a friend of mine played a side character for a few episodes. She was fabulous, and I think you should bring her character back to the show." I know it sounds stupid when I say it like that, but I'm not sure how else to explain it.

Sophie perks up next to me. "Layla Delaford?" she guesses. I give a nod, and she turns to Nick. "She played the witness in those crossover episodes. The chemistry between her and Noah Tanner was effortless, Nick. At least it looked that way to me. Did you see all the TikToks after those shows aired, shipping her and Detective Leclair?"

No one needs to look far for a hype person if Sophie Edwards is in the room. I'm counting my lucky stars she's here to help me on this. Otherwise, I would've sounded so awkward in my praise for Layla. And super obvious.

Nick squints at Sophie. "She played the nurse, right? She was good. Bruno loved her."

"Everyone did," Sophie says. "Why didn't they keep her on recurring?"

Nick shrugs. "Something about the writers not wanting Leclair to have a romance right now. But Bruno's doing a spin-off, a medical show that will share some characters with LA Lights."

Sophie's eyes widen. "That's perfect! Nick, you wouldn't regret hiring Layla Delaford, I'm telling you. She's magic on the screen. I'm not just saying that."

I feel like I should add something. "I thought she was really good. I watched half a season in one night when I shouldn't have."

Nick and Sophie both laugh—and they both give me knowing looks. I'm not surprised that Sophie would guess about my crush on Layla. Or that she's been told about it by Eli or Court. To be fair, it was probably easy to read why I want to help Layla.

Nick nudges me with his elbow. "Well, come on, Linc. Let's go talk to Bruno."

Sophie smiles at me and waves as Nick pulls me away. "Good to see you, Lincoln."

"You too, Miss Sophie." I wave back at her and follow Nick toward the middle of the room. This is going way better than I could have imagined, and the studio already casting a new show that's perfect to put Layla in? That's another stroke of luck—or a tiny miracle, as Mrs. Van Buren would say. I brace myself to be a little bit more suave with Bruno, the director, than I was with Nick and Sophie. I can do this. Especially for Layla.