Wendy
Today was a day of last resorts. Which is why she’s at Icons, leaning against the bar, an extra-dry Ketel One martini hovering at her lips.
Earlier, she’d convinced herself going to Alan was the only card left to play in the cold war with Boots—a final chance to check the relentless ego Wendy herself had helped unleash.
In hindsight? Maybe it was always doomed. Maybe it did look like she was overreacting. Maybe she was.
What Wendy hadn’t expected was Alan’s transparency. The way he’d summoned Boots. Staged that little performance, pitting them against each other, only to tip the scales in Boots’s favor. In that moment, Wendy knew. If Boots hadn’t already fucked the CEO, it was next on her to-do list.
So, she mobilized. Formed a new plan. Got in the car. Took the side streets, cutting through Beverlywood to Culver City, and paid a visit to Park. Her second last resort—because the first one didn’t work.
Park seemed amused as she laid it all out. “You sure you want to do this? Over petty office politics?”
“All politics are petty,” she replied. “It’s the fallout that counts.”
Park nodded, took the cash. No further questions. That was that.
Now, she smiles over the rim of her martini glass, eyes drifting to the entrance. I don’t need a drink, she thinks. I need to get laid. And then, as if she manifested it—
Shane walks through the door. Her eyes track him to the bar—mostly his ass. Those jeans are doing overtime. Wonder if he even realizes.
“Wendy?” he says, finally spotting her.
She turns, blinking like she didn’t see him there. Then comes the smile—wide, innocent, calculated. “Oh, Shane. Hi.”
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“Didn’t expect to see you here. Is this… an olive branch?”
“Can’t a girl have a drink at Icons without it turning into a whole thing? Maybe I just missed my friend.”
“Is that so?”
She lets out a theatrical sigh, like the weight of her own success is something she barely tolerates.
“It’s been insane,” she starts, launching into it. “Negotiating multiple high six-figure deals, which, okay, isn’t new for me. But the egos? Next level. Boots branding herself as the next Khloé Kardashian, Leah suddenly thinks she’s an agent. Off the rails. And I’m expected to keep it all together. Don’t even get me started on Alan—our boss—who I’m now convinced is clinically obsessed with Boots. He’s either in love with her or she’s got dirt on him. Probably both.”
Shane just watches her, thoroughly unimpressed, faintly amused, and, against his better judgment, a little turned on.
“All this without an assistant, still. But honestly, anything’s better than being chained to Leah on my desk. She was totally incompetent, remember? Anyway. How are you?”
“Wendy…” He watches her like he’s cataloguing every reaction. “I don’t want to hear anything negative about Leah.”
She doesn’t raise her voice, just her guard. “Excuse-moi?”
“You need to know something. Leah and I… we’ve been seeing each other. And it’s kinda serious.”
She holds his gaze, blank at first, then a bitter laugh bursts out, spraying flecks of spittle in his face.
“It’s been what—a week? Two? And you’re already calling it serious? That’s rich. So, what, you tricked up with me, got scared, and decided it’s safer to trick down? I guess that tracks. Because you really are as dumb as you look.”
“Is that why you came?” Shane fires back. “To recycle the same tired insult? Dumb? That’s the best you got?”
“I came to support a small business. Rumor has it you’re struggling.” She glances down at the cash on the bar. Picks it up. Slips it back into her bag. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t tip for lazy service. Leah might. But I don’t.” She swings her Margaux over one shoulder. “Enjoy the junior league, Shane. Just don’t crawl back when you lose the game.”
“Come on, babe,” he calls after her, goading. “You’re better than that. These lines sound like a bad script!”
She stops mid-step, a dry laugh catching in her throat. “Okay. Fair. How about this?”
“I’m listening.”
“Nah, changed my mind,” she says, slowing, but not softening. “I’ve got better things to do than feed your fragile little ego. I’ll let Leah handle the grunt work—she’s so good at cleaning up after men who overestimate themselves.”
And with that, Wendy pivots, blonde waves catching the light, and walks out without a glance back, as if the whole conversation had been a waste of her time.