Boss, Your Ex-Wife is Unreachable Now! novel Chapter 48

"I heard this STAR never shows their face, skips all book signings, turns down interviews, and doesn't even interact with other authors. Their Twitter is a ghost town—maybe a couple of retweets when a new book drops, but that's it."

"So mysterious. I can't help thinking there's something fishy going on."

"You don't think it's a team running things behind the scenes, do you? Like one of those writing collectives."

That afternoon, York strolled straight into Windsor & Co. Mr. Sinclair was sprawled comfortably in Beasley's office, lounging back on the couch with one leg crossed over the other. He sipped rich, hand-brewed coffee from his left and scrolled through trending topics on his phone with his right, tossing out the occasional comment or snarky review.

But after a solid ten minutes of sharing his deductions, Sinclair realized he hadn't gotten so much as a grunt from Beasley. He finally uncrossed his long legs and shot Beasley a look, his blue eyes sharp with mischief. "Beasley, I'm just saying—even if you're bored stiff by that woman's drama, surely this STAR has something to do with our film investment? Don't you care at all?"

Behind the desk, the man in question finally lifted his head from a mountain of paperwork. The same calm, imperturbable look as always lingered between his brows.

"Isn't that why you're here worrying for both of us?" Beasley replied. He glanced up just long enough to deliver the line, then dropped his gaze back to the documents.

York arched an eyebrow. "So you're just going to write the checks and leave me to deal with everything else?"

"Not quite," Beasley said, flipping to a new proposal—this one about drones—without missing a beat. "If Evelyn completely flops at the audition, you can always recast."

"Recast?" York blinked, caught off guard. "That's your one and only sister!"

That bargain-bin Willow girl didn't count, York hurriedly amended in his mind.

Beasley closed one folder and opened the next with an air of indifference. "If it's just a minor part, let her have her fun."

York narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute. Didn't you tell me you only picked these sci-fi adaptation rights after vetting them for Eve?"

To his surprise, Beasley nodded. "As long as you don't mind, I don't."

York almost shot back, "Why would I mind?" but caught himself. This was Rosamund's big return to the industry—couldn't afford a weak link in the cast. If Evelyn really tanked the audition, he'd have to… well, play the bad guy for once.

He let the matter drop, set his phone aside, and quietly finished his coffee.

Truth was, York had come to Beasley's office for an actual business discussion. But Beasley had been buried in work the entire time—signing contracts, reviewing paperwork, barely pausing for breath.

York had already downed two cups of coffee; Beasley hadn't even touched his. York couldn't blame him for being inattentive—it was his own fault for not having settled on an office yet. With the winter chill biting outside, he'd rather crash at his best friend's place and mooch off the central heating.

Just then, the secretary glided in with another steaming mug of coffee and a plate of fresh pastries for York, attentive as ever. She didn't dare disturb President Windsor at his desk, so she focused all her warmth on their distinguished guest.