You what?” Elle shrieked, rising to her feet. One of her fists crashed into her coffee cup, and it plummeted to the floor. The ceramic cracked into several pieces and the piping-hot beverage spewed onto her floral office rug.

Her assistant, Nicole, flung her notepad and pen into the air and sprinted out the door. Elle and Rob watched as she flew from the room.

“What the hell?” Rob mumbled under his breath, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the open door.

“Focus, Rob,” Elle snapped before glaring at Nolan Rivera, who sat in her office chair, avoiding eye contact. His tan cheeks were turning a dark shade of crimson as his fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. “Nolan, what on earth—”

“Unfortunately, Nolan simply has too many offers on the table,” Shane Crawley, Nolan’s agent, interrupted, instead of allowing Nolan to speak for himself and defend his bombshell of a decision. Nolan was leaving the show, and there was nothing Elle could do to stop it. Hollywood was a machine—one that was constantly changing, evolving, and screwing over television writers like herself.

“What kind of offers?”

“Film mostly.” Shane crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was a portly man with more hair on his arms than the top of his head. His smug demeanor sent Elle’s anger through the roof. She ignored him, turning her attention back to Nolan, who was watching her from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t understand. You’re a star. This show gave you a name.”

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged, pursing his lips together. “It’s time for me to move on.”

“That was a scripted answer. Just be honest with me.”

“My client owes you no explanation. His contract is up this spring and he’s choosing to explore other opportunities. End of story.”

Elle looked to Rob for support. When he offered a meager shrug, Elle was instantly irritated that he didn’t seem nearly as shaken up by this as she was. He was the director of the show—he should have been incensed!

Elle plopped back into her leather chair, her breathing ragged as she struggled to calm down. Nicole whirled back into the room, rolls of paper towels in her lanky, tan arms. She threw herself to the carpet and covered the coffee with towels.

“Sorry I took so long,” she whispered.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Elle responded, holding her hand to her chest, her eyes pressed tight as she struggled to focus. “Well, gentlemen, I guess we’re done here.” Elle stood, walked to the door, and opened it, ready to usher Nolan and his agent out of her office. Her gesture was received loud and clear. Nolan and Shane said their good-byes and left the office. Just before closing the door, Nolan peeked back inside.

“I really am sorry, Elle.”

“Just go.” She knew his apology was genuine, but it was impossible for her not to take his departure personally. This show was her baby, her creation, and he was threatening its success.

“So what do we do?” Elle asked Rob. The idea of Nolan Rivera leaving Follow the Sun made Elle’s skin sweat, her heart race, and her mind swirl. The fourth season was set to start filming in just a few short weeks.

Panic.

Total and utter panic.

“He’s obligated to stay until the end of the season. Then, we’ll just write him off,” Rob said.

“He’s the main character,” Elle snapped, glaring at Rob. Did he not realize that losing the male lead would completely destroy the storyline?

Rob rose from his chair and walked to Elle’s desk, easing his bottom onto the corner of the mahogany wood. He crossed his arms in front of his thin chest and crossed one leg over the other, leaning in toward Elle. She was used to this routine. He’d perch on her desk and act like a wise sage, guiding her to a resolution, then convince her she’d come up with it all on her own. He meant well, but sometimes, Elle just wanted him to be real with her—have a frank conversation, not a politically correct one from a Hollywood script.

“If anyone can fix this, it’s you.”

Yep, right on cue.

Elle inhaled and exhaled deeply, forcing the panic from her chest and out through her mouth. “So I have to change the story? That’s what you’re telling me, right?”

“We have time to bring someone else in . . . let the audience get used to him . . .” His voice trailed off, allowing Elle to process his suggestion. And she did.

“A love triangle,” she murmured, her mind racing. She did her best thinking when she tuned out the world around her.

“Brilliant,” Rob stated and rose to his feet. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

Elle rolled her eyes, knowing Rob had planted the seed. They both knew it.

She searched her brain for another character from her books, but no one came to mind.

The novels and television series were all set in Las Vegas. The two main characters, Desmond and Molly, worked for a hotel and casino—both striving to replace the owner when he retired. The two bickered, argued, and sabotaged one another to impress the boss. Hijinks ensued and their chemistry was undeniable. The couple dated, broke up, tried to be friends, dated again, etc. The characters belonged together. And everyone could see it but them.

There were twists and turns, of course. Side characters tempted the two leads and increased the drama. But in her novels, the two had never cheated while together, and neither had ever walked away completely. And part of her felt that was the appeal of the novels. People wanted to believe in soul mates, in true love, in forever. So how the hell would she maintain that appeal if she had to replace the male lead?

“Can we recast him?” Elle said, deliberately veering off course from her original idea.

Rob sighed, and she knew he was disappointed in her sudden change of heart. “The network won’t allow it. It’s in their contracts. Nolan and Gina are the only two who can portray Desmond and Molly.”

“Ughhh.” Elle pushed back in her chair, which teetered up and down, up and down.

“But that love triangle thing. That could work.”

Of course it could work. But it would deviate from the story Elle had written. It would no longer be a variation on their story. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she and the show needed.

A fresh start.

Elle stood, walked around Nicole, who was still blotting the already ruined rug, and began to pace. As the ideas built within her brain, the office seemed to grow bigger, allowing her the space to brainstorm, to create a character out of thin air.

“There was this one character—”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. Whitney peeked her head in before Elle could respond. Her cheeks were flushed. She knew.

“I just heard.” Whitney walked to Elle’s side and wrapped one arm around her friend’s waist. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Elle was doing just that,” Rob interrupted. Elle glared at him. Didn’t he realize by now she didn’t want, or need, her ass to be kissed on a regular basis? She was just a writer from the Midwest—despite her new Hollywood name and image, she was just a normal person who appreciated honesty and authenticity—two things Rob lacked. He was way too Hollywood for Elle to handle sometimes.

“We were figuring it out, yes,” she corrected him.

“What can I do?” asked Whitney, a look of worry painted on her face. Her cinnamon eyes narrowed, her cheeks still flaring with heat, and sweat forming on her brow. Elle knew Whitney had run from her office downstairs.