Answer Three Questions, and I’m Yours

§01

The third day Grandpa Sam’s beagle went missing.

The text from my assistant, Tessa, popped up on my phone, a glaring beacon in the dim light of my on-set trailer.

It was a screenshot of a tweet from an account I hadn’t seen in a year.

Holden Thatcher’s.

[Folks, I found a dog. He insists on a 5 AM walk. I can’t do this anymore.]

[Generous reward for the owner. Please claim your demon.]

The internet was, predictably, losing its mind.

The top reply read: [The ultimate betrayal. First time I’ve ever seen someone offer a reward for the owner, not the dog.]

I zoomed in on the attached photo.

There he was.

Milo.

Grandpa’s little terror, with the custom gold bone-shaped tag still glinting on his collar.

My fingers hovered over the screen, a ghost of a memory tracing the outline of a “block” button I’d pressed with furious finality a lifetime ago.

Then, my phone rang.

It was Grandpa Sam.

“Audie,” he began, his voice thick with worry, “any news about Milo?”

I took a deep breath, the stale trailer air doing little to calm the sudden chaos in my chest.

“Grandpa,” I said, forcing a calm I didn't feel. “I think I might have a lead.”

§02

My first instinct was to handle it quietly.

Anonymously.

Tessa, ever the efficient soldier, was already on it.

“I’ve contacted Holden Thatcher’s PR team,” she reported, her voice a clipped, professional hum over the phone. “I told them we represent the owner and will arrange a pickup.”

“Good,” I said, sinking into a canvas chair. “Keep me out of it. Keep my name out of everything.”

But the internet doesn’t do quiet.

By the time I’d wrapped for the day, the story had mutated.

#HoldenThatcherCallsOutAudraC

#AudraBlockedHolden

#HoldenHasTheDog

I stared at the trending topics, my vision blurring.

It had all started with a post from some gossip blogger who’d remembered an old rumor about us dating.

Then came Holden’s second tweet, posted just ten minutes ago.

[No response for this long. Guess you don’t want the dog? Or did you forget where the block list is on your phone? @AudraCarmichaelOfficial]

The post was accompanied by a screenshot of Tessa’s conversation with his team and a photo of Milo, held aloft by the scruff of his neck, looking utterly pathetic.

The comments section was a war zone.

[The sheer amount of drama in these few words is staggering.]

[So Thatcher’s tone means they definitely dated, and it ended badly enough for her to block him.]

[I remember that rumor! So it was true! They were a thing!]

[So what’s this? He’s holding the dog hostage to get his ex to talk to him?]

[Milo: Aroo! Mom, I want to go home!]

I took a sharp breath.

“Tessa,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I think Holden Thatcher just set me up.”

“What?” she squeaked.

How else could this have happened?

Of all the people in Los Angeles, *he* finds my grandpa’s dog?

His demand for the owner to retrieve the dog *in person* suddenly made a sinister kind of sense.

I opened Twitter, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Two can play at this game.

[@HoldenThatcher Thank you for looking after Milo these past few days. I’ve already let my grandfather know he can pick him up tomorrow.]

He replied almost instantly, right there in my comments for the whole world to see.

[The dog isn’t yours?]

I typed back, each word dripping with false innocence.

[Obviously not. Why would you think I’d own a dog that needs to be walked at 5 AM?]

[Oh. So when are you unblocking me?]

What was wrong with him?

Had his last movie scrambled his brain?

Can’t he take a hint?

Just be professional. Be graceful.

Let this go.

§03

In the end, I unblocked him.

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