His co-agent, Thelma, put a hand between us. “She’ll consider it,” she said. “We’ll go over the offer and contract and get back to you.”
Tate nodded. “I think you’ll be more than pleased with the offer terms.” My heart rate picked up at the insinuation.
“Another thing,” Samantha prompted, waving her hand. “The network is excited about theFrom Yes to I Dopromo now. Nothing brings in viewers quite like the wedding of someone they admire. But we know the spotlight can be a heavy lift for you, and we all know wedding planning is stressful. Hell, Tate’s been through three of them.” She raised her eyebrows; my conscience dove into the floor.
Tate bowed his head as if to say,look at me, I’m good-natured.
Samantha rolled her eyes. “As a perk of taking on the co-anchor role, the network will agree to support, produce, and release the documentary of your choosing. You at the helm.”
Instinctively, I dropped my focus to my lap to hide a sprawling smile. My chest tingled, my breath coming in measured sips to hide an enormous, overpowering exhilaration. Perhaps now I would always remember that elation tasted of old-fashioned doughnuts and HEPA-filtered air. The resources, both financial and structural, to really make this addiction documentary come to life—it was attractive. Impossibly attractive. I was a goner, the appeal brighter than one of my father’s favorite trolling lures.
With these resources, and maybe with this level of recognition and experience with Soulmail, I could maybe make an iota of a difference in the field of addiction. A tiny idea began to form. I lifted my head, clamping my mouth shut to avoidoffering to sign immediately, before the network realized it had made a terrible error.
“But before we proceed...” Samantha prompted.
Tate nodded and cleared his throat. “We’d like to know if there’s any skeletons to share.”
My agent held up a finger and scrawled something on a notebook and passed it to me.Tread carefully. You can say nothing.
Bones. I had proverbial ones named Sabrina. I also had Wells. Say nothing, risk everything. Say something, risk everything.
“My sister Sabrina died when I was a kid,” I said finally. “Drug overdose and subsequent accident. It was brutal. It’s also not a secret in my hometown, so it’s something that could easily be linked to me. But more importantly, her death obviously still haunts my parents, so I prefer to not talk about her on air.” I hesitated. “But in her honor, I’d like to possibly work a story on drug addiction and awareness into my programming.”
An HR person jotted down something on a pad. Tate nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. We’ll do what we can.”
“Thank you.”
After the meeting wrapped, we trailed down the hallway, Chuck at my elbow. “We’ll be able to get the money even higher,” he said, holding the hallway door for me.
“Wait, you already know what they’re offering?” I asked. Beside me, Samantha made a clucking sound.
“Not yet. I don’t need to know what they’re offering to know I can raise it.” Chuck winked.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Samantha tugged her skirt. “Is this what it feels like to discover talent?” she mused. “I should explore this. Career change to a casting director.”
“You really would be good at it,” Chuck said. “Okay, you two. Thelma and I need to make a pit stop here.” He jacked hishead toward the door to Conference Room B, and I opened my mouth to thank him, then froze.
Inside sat Phoebe, her long hair with root touchups every ten days cascading over a jade green dress. She wore glasses and less makeup than what was her typical. Her expression was the same as always—bored, annoyed—until she caught sight of me. The tiniest of earthquakes started in the corners of her eyes, her mouth parting slightly.
Chuck turned to grimace at Samantha. He waved his assistant agent in before him, saluted me, and entered. Phoebe’s chin jutted a notch. “They’re replacing me,” she said, before the door’s close cut her off.
It was hard to fill my lungs with air. The volume around me seemed to cut out, my already-dull ear muffled. I was brought back by the sound of Tate Dimmock’s swishing pants.
Samantha nudged me around the corner. This was it. The something off. “Phoebe?” I choked out.“Phoebe?”
“Quiet,” Samantha said, herding me down the hallway. We hurried to her office.
I whirled. “I thought I’d be replacing Josef!”
“And you were cool with that?”
“I—”
“Why was it better to replace him?”
“Because he doesn’t care about this job. He— But she— This is her wholelife.”
Samantha sighed. “Never make work your identity,” she said.
