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I Wrote Their Love Story, So I Wrote Myself Out novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: Episode Thirty-One

The sponsor's dinner was in a private room above a steakhouse in Midtown, with a table for ten set for seven.

Dennis stood when we came in and opened his arms.

"Jasper. There he is."

He kissed the air beside my cheek.

He turned to Isla with the smile he used on brands.

"And you must be the Scottish friend. What a pleasure. I think we've corresponded."

I felt Isla go very still beside me.

"Have we?" she said.

"Oh, the contact inbox. We get so much." He laughed. "Please. Sit."

Demi was already at the table, in a green dress, with her hair up and her face arranged.

Wyatt sat beside her with his arm along the back of her chair.

At the head of the table sat the sponsor's vice president, a tall woman in a grey suit, who had a tablet by her plate and no interest in the bread.

I sat across from Demi.

Isla sat beside me, and under the tablecloth she found my hand and laced her fingers through mine.

For forty minutes it went the way Dennis meant it to.

The vice president praised the numbers and the lighting and the brand fit, and Wyatt answered every question with a story I had written for him two years ago.

He told it well.

I watched him do it and felt nothing at all, which surprised me.

"Episode thirty-one," the vice president said, with the first real warmth of the night. "The kitchen. Our focus groups cried at that one. Forty thousand comments about what he whispers at the end."

Wyatt grinned his easy grin.

"That's between me and my girl."

"Surely it's in a script somewhere," said the vice president, lightly. "Dennis tells me every word is real."

"Every word," Dennis said.

"Then tell us, Wyatt. For the table. What did you say to her?"

Nobody at the table spoke.

Wyatt turned to Demi with his charming face.

"Should I tell them?"

Demi said nothing.

"I told her," Wyatt said, "that she was the best thing that ever happened to this loft."

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