I’m led down halls with fresh white paint and tiled floors that smell like bleach. I’m wheezing and sweating, trying to take a deep breath and cool down before I enter the room, desert heat still sticking to my skin. I’m very late. I know I’ll get some points knocked off on first impressions for that alone, and I don’t think anyone will take an “I’m sorry, I’m not used to LA traffic” as an excuse anymore. It might’ve worked for my first role, but I’ve been in and out of the city going on a year now.

Samantha, the assistant who leads me down the halls, seems as nervous as me, and that’s saying something. “Are you sure you don’t want a water? Coffee?” she asks for the third time.

“I’m okay,” I say, still breathless. I catch her looking at me, gaze flitting away quickly, and I realize—oh, yeah, I’m supposed to be famous. I’m still not used to it. Love Me Dearly was released about six months ago, and after the promo tour ended, I wasn’t prepared for this kind of everyday attention. I feel self-conscious and try not to pull at my shirt, a nervous habit my manager, Paola, said I should work on.

Samantha opens the door for me at the end of the hall. I thank her as I hurry inside, trying not to flat-out run but also not wanting to stroll like I’ve got all the time in the world. The room has one huge conference table with a dozen or so people seated around it in a circle, and there’s a smaller table pushed up against the farthest wall with coffee and fruit. As soon as I step inside, everyone’s heads turn to me. My heart thuds. You’d think an actor would be all right with so many eyes on him, but my big secret is that I still have stage fright.