“People pretend to be innocent. Doesn’t make them little cherubs,” Vivian grumbled.
“Does that mean they pretend to be tough, too?”
Vivian rolled her eyes. She wanted to tell Harvey to pass along a message to Montoya. To tell everyone exactly how to go fuck themselves. Tell them she didn’t accept performance notes from people who had no idea what the hell they were talking about. If they wanted something else, they could record it themselves.
The words were hot on her tongue, a satisfyingly venomous tirade desperate for deployment. But it caught in her throat, extinguished by a cold dread that churned too readily in her belly. It was the same icy paralysis from when her acting work hadn’t just dried up, but vanished, leaving her empty after Hollywood had taken every drop.
There had been no family to call when she sold her Hollywood Hills home for a pittance rather than lose it in foreclosure. No friends to catch her. She had to devise her own way to survive the failure freefall. And after one last check written by the public’s obsession with her appearance, she’d avoided disaster.
Audiobooks became her unlikely salvation. Vivian del Castillo, not VivianTaylor, bought the home that would become her sanctuary. She rebuilt her career on the foundation of her skill alone. A career she painstakingly resurrected from the ashes of obscurity.
Vivian couldn’t help but know that ruin was always around the corner waiting for her to make a misstep. The fight drained out of her, leaving only the reality of survival. Her ego wanted to burn the whole project to the ground. Her fear knew she couldn’t pay her bills with ashes.
“Fine,” she said, holding her breath to swallow the bitter reality.
Harvey had at least never been one to gloat. “Just try taking a step back and finding a fresh approach. This is an important project. I know what this kind of work means to you,” he added, and Vivian regretted confessing that after decades in the closet, performing stories that celebrated women falling in love with each other was cathartic, healing in ways she’d never expected.
Vivian hung up without saying goodbye. She stared at her reflection in the dark window. A woman standing alone. Always afraid of losing. Always weary.
ChapterSix
Gripping the steering wheel,Bryn unleashed a string of curses while she unlocked a new level of hell. She slammed on her breaks, all four lanes of traffic coming to a screeching halt in front of her.
Nightmare. Bryn was in an actual freaking nightmare.
Quick math told her that she’d never make it to Vivian’s on time. Not when traffic was at a stand-still miles from an exit ramp. She’d left at dawn, but that wasn’t early enough to miss the crash that had shut down the highway.
Bryn stopped herself from spiraling. She was just late to voicing made-up characters. Somewhere up ahead, someone’s life had been disrupted in a much more real way. Perspective made the sweat stop dripping down her back. Slowed it, anyway.
She took a deep breath and pretended to be someone braver. She called Iris and put the call on speaker.
“Hey, um, I’m on the turnpike and it’s basically shut down.” She looked in the rearview mirror where a firetruck was zooming over the shoulder, a string of cop cars following. “And I think I’m going to be here a while.”
Iris was asking about alternate routes when Bryn stopped the useless exercise. There was nothing for her to do but wait.
“This far southwest, my only option is the turnpike. Homestead?—”
“Homestead?” Vivian shrieked, surprising Bryn with her presence and her judgmental horror. “You’re coming from Homestead?” she repeated, like she was mentally calculating the size of the solar system.
Despite a surge of nervous energy, Bryn managed not to reveal the termite infestation that made her seek refuge in her childhood home.
“It’s temporary,” Bryn blurted, even though that didn’t matter when her need to travel to Vivian’s house was temporary too.
“Meaning that you will reside fewer than a hundred miles away by tomorrow?” Vivian asked with all the warm compassion of the glacier that took down the Titanic.
Bryn rolled her eyes. “It’s not that far.” She put the van in park. “But, no. I’ll be staying here all week. I’m having… work done in my apartment.”
“This is ridiculous,” Vivian thundered, her voice closer, as if she’d taken the phone from Iris. “How do you expect us to finish this book if?—”
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan this interstate shutdown, Vivian.”
Without warning, Vivan put Bryn on hold. Bryn finally understood keyboard warriors. It was easier to be annoyed when she wasn’t looking right at Vivian. Nearly two minutes later, Vivian returned.
“You can stay in the guesthouse,” Vivian said, disconnected to any conversation she’d had with Bryn.
All Bryn could find in reply was an exasperated, “What?”
“Yenni Montoya remains dissatisfied with the audiobook,” Vivian said, like words cost a fortune and she needed to be sure each was perfect.
