Will
He was back. Thank God.
His memory. His snarky weird-ass attitude and love for all things sugary and sticky.
At least that problem had solved itself.
I twirled the stick between my hands over the fire. I was exhausted.
I love my job.
I love my job.
I love my job.
I freaking hated my job.
I was thirty, and I wanted to retire.
I was an agent, partially because I was good at it, partially because when my boy band broke up, I didn't really have a choice. I needed a purpose, and it was easy to go into the business side of things.
I had an ear for talent.
I loved managing musicians.
I loathed actors.
I wanted to strangle them with my bare hands, give them a little shake, then take them for a long drowning swim in the ocean.
"You look like hell." Lincoln sat down next to me an
