Insomniachurned on regardless. Their scheduled premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival was days away and, realizing that there would be no pleasing everyone, Chris Porter was banned from participating in any promotion after being released from his rehabilitation. This resulted in a drastic increase in Dimple’s own interview time and, suddenly, she was the only lead. It wasn’t exactly a terrible feeling.
A car sped past, sending Dimple’s hair flying. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she scrambled to check it. It was only a text from Priyal. She tucked it away.
Chris Porter, eager to rehabilitate not only himself, but his reputation as well, had gone as far as to set up a foundation for victims of DUIs. The producers ofInsomniahad publicly announced that a sizable donation of box office proceeds would go to that very foundation. And just like that, public opinion was cemented in the positive. Julie had told Dimple privately that the producers had only agreed to the donation in the first place because they projected that the movie would bring in enough revenue to make up for it. Now, days away from her first-ever red-carpet appearance, Dimple felt as though she were walking on air. It was likely the reason she ended up here, at the front steps of Andino and Taylor Private Eye.
Steeling herself, she pushed the doors open.
To say the PI agency was a chaotic mess would be an understatement, but Dimple hardly blamed them. She figured they must be busy these days in preparation for Hector Olsen’s trial—or in Saffi’s case, her attempts to derail the trial. The floor was littered with memos and rubber bands. The trash cans were piled high. All three PIs were locked in their respective offices with their blinds drawn. The printer seemed to be smoking.
The conclusion of Hector’s trial, however, wouldn’t be the end of things. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to dissuade Saffi, and that was what worried Dimple the most. What, short of death, would stop her? If nothing but death would do, how could Dimple kill her? Everyone seemed invincible until they weren’t, and the quality of a performance hinged on its conclusion.
Deciding she wouldn’t find her answers lingering in the hallway, Dimple knocked twice on Saffi’s door. When she heard no answer,she pushed her way inside. Compared to the rest of the building, Saffi’s office was as neat as ever. Even more so, perhaps. The few square spaces of surface not stacked high with files and memos were sparkling.
“Did I say you could come in?” Saffi huffed, typing rapidly on her keyboard. She sounded tired.
“And here I thought I was always welcome,” Dimple said, coming to sit on the desk, beside Saffi’s elbow.
Predictably, Saffi exited out of her tabs quicker than Dimple couldread them and swiveled around to face her. The only evidence of her lethargy were her dark circles. They’d always been there, but they were much more prominent now. And yet the show must goon.
“The opposite, actually,” Saffi said. “What do you want? Thanks to the stunt you pulled, I’m very busy.”
Her false disinterest was futile. Dimple remembered how Saffi had looked at her after watchingInsomnia’s trailer. Like a moth to the flame. Seeing it for the first time, Dimple had thought,This is what it’s all for.
A thought wormed its way into Dimple’s mind. One could call it an impulse even. Before she could think twice, she was saying, “I rather think you could use a break.”
Saffi fixed her with an unimpressed look. “What part ofI’m busydo you not understand?”
“Not now,” Dimple countered. “Next week.”
Saffi’s brow twitched slightly as she turned her mind over the importance of the date. “Toronto International Film Festival,” she eventually concluded. “You want me to go to the goddamn TIFF. You’re joking.”
Dimple wanted to see Saffi outside this office for once. Canada had abolished the death penalty, and Dimple found herself curious how Saffi would act when there was nothing holding her back. When there was even ground between them.
“Never,” Dimple said. “You should feel honored. Not everyone has the privilege of being invited.”
“I feel cheated, to be honest,” Saffi said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “What’s the point of knowing a famous actress if the best time she can offer me is some film festival? Where’s my Oscar invite?”
“It’s not just some film festival,” Dimple replied. “The sheer number of critics that show up to these things—it could make or break any debut. In many ways, it’s even more important than the Oscars.”
Those dark eyes bored into hers unflinchingly. Despite knowing Dimple’s full truth, Saffi hadn’t once been afraid of her. Dimple straightened.
“And you want to take me with you?” Saffi asked.
“Of course.”
“What about—?” Saffi held her hand up to Dimple’s hip, severely underestimating Priyal’s height.
“Priyal is already coming as my assistant. You’re my date.”
With a deep sigh, Saffi rubbed her temples. “You’re too much,” she murmured under her breath.
Dimple inclined her head. “And you deserve the most.”
She didn’t miss the way Saffi studied her computer screen as she considered it. Dimple had piqued her curiosity.
With a final push, Dimple asked, “What are you so afraid of?”
Saffi scoffed. “You’re the one who should be afraid. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
