“Thought you’d say that,” he replied with an arrogant little chuckle. “I found you a wonderful up-and-coming talent. Montoya approved and she’s local. I think this girl?—”
“Did Montoya change the story to YA, too?”
A pause. A recognition of internalized misogyny and deliberate infantilization of women.
“I think this woman,” Harvey corrected, “will be fantastic. Your styles will really complement each other.”
“Who is she?”
“Bryn Garbo,” he responded.
It took Vivian a beat to realize he was serious. Bryn Garbo was absolutely nobody’s real name.
“Did you vet her?”
Vivian shook her head when Iris pointed to her empty martini glass. Iris went home on the weekends. Being drunk and alone was rarely a good idea.
Harvey chuckled. “You want me to call the FBI?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Vivian grumbled. “This is my home?—”
“It doesn’t have to be. I have a studio all ready to go on Monday if you say the word.”
Vivian’s pulse jumped again with a visceralno. “Fine. Tell her to be here at 8 a.m. on Monday and to use the side gate.”
After hanging up, Vivian immediately opened the web browser on her phone and searched:Bryn Garbo audiobook narrator. At least she had a website, but that was about all the professional polish to be found.
“Ten books?” she muttered to herself.
There was no way someone with such little experience had landed a project like this. Especially when every book she’d recorded was wildly different from the next. Bryn Garbo’s credits included a nonfiction travel book, self-help, middle grade, monster romance, and a smattering of legal thrillers.
Curious, Vivian clicked on the tab markedsamples. She played the one labeledF/F Winning Her Back. The atrocious mixing couldn’t do a damn thing about Bryn sounding like she’d recorded in a cathedral bathroom, but Vivian pushed beyond the horrible audio.
Bryn’s voice was velvety warm, but earnest and hopeful. She sounded youthful, but not naïve. When Bryn’s voice abruptly stopped, Vivian realized she had listened to the entire four-minute clip and forgotten about the shitty quality.
She hit theAbouttab and found a full-page photo. With red hair in a messy ponytail and bright blue eyes, Bryn looked like a sorority sister brimming with school spirit. Like she said “heck” unironically and apologized to inanimate objects. She looked… peppy.
Vivian stood and made herself another drink.
ChapterThree
Fifteen minuteslate despite having left her parents’ place twenty minutes early, Bryn pulled her van up to a gatehouse. So much for first impressions. She was late, flustered, sweaty, and in skinny jeans.Oldskinny jeans she hadn’t seen since college.
The guard at the gate, a guy her age withDannyemblazoned on his polo, gave her a double take that would’ve been funny if it didn’t highlight how out of place Bryn was.
“You sure that’s 108 you’re going to?” He looked down at his tablet. “I don’t have any deliveries scheduled for today.”
Mortification flashed like hot lava over Bryn’s skin and she hoped Danny would mistake it for borderline heatstroke. “Oh, I’m not—I’m here on non-plant related business,” she tried to joke, but her mouth was so freaking dry.
He furrowed his dark brows. “A social visit?”
“Well, not exactly, but the African violets come in peace.” She lifted the small potted plant from her cupholder.
Danny looked like he’d almost given her a pity chuckle. “What’s your name?”
“Bryn Garbo,” she replied like she wasn’t sure and instantly wished for a do-over. She was a professional, damn it. She belonged here.
He tapped on his screen. A moment later, his eyes widened in surprise. “Bryn Garbo,” he repeated, like he couldn’t believe she wasn’t lying. “You’re on Ms. del Castillo’s list.”
