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Alex’s chest rose and fell in quick bursts. Changing names and races of real-life people was offensive and inexcusable, and now she was changing the suffragettes’ courage and beliefs, too?!

Olivia had poisoned Alex’s self-confidence, bullied her out of London Fields, damaged her friendship with Harry—but there was no way in hell Alex would let her degrade these women and their story in such an obnoxious manner.

She couldn’t bear to hear another word…

“Enough!”

Every head in the room swiveled towards Alex.

Thirty-Six

The actresses froze, their wide eyes flitting between Alex and Isabella, waiting. The male playwrights shifted in their chairs, unsure where to look. A flush of redness flooded Isabella’s pale cheeks while her breathing picked up pace.

Olivia looked like she was chewing on a wasp, all bulging eyes and skewed jaw. “Alex, are you still cross with me about your laptop? You know it was an accident…if you’re trying to make me feel worse, well, you’re doing a brilliant job—”

Alex threw her hands in the air. “I can’t stomach any more of this farce. Emi? Kale? Sophia is white now? —What the fuck?” She leaned over the table, shaking off Olivia’s shadow to address Isabella. “Sorry to interrupt, but I really need to speak to you—in private.”

Isabella squinted back, her soft tone masking her displeasure. “Alex, it’s out of order for a student to call a halt to a workshop, and I won’t tolerate bad language.” Her stare took an upward detour to the clock. “We’re close to break, so let’s take fifteen to regroup, everyone. Alex, come here, please.”

The award-winning playwright clenched her jaw, watching the room empty. Everyone scuttled out except for Alex and Olivia, the unsettling silence broken only by the closing metal door.

Olivia launched upwards atop her Louboutins, her nearly six-foot frame towering over both women, her eyes wild and wide.

“Are you going to stand for this, Isabella? What right does she have to heckle my work like some football hooligan seeing theatre for the first time? It’s inappropriate.”

Isabella nodded. “She’s right, Alex. I can’t allow such disrespectful interruptions during sessions. I have to say, I’m disappointed in you—it’s inappropriate and unprofessional. If you have another outburst like this one, I’ll be asking you to leave. Consider this a warning.”

Alex rose to stand, her heart hammering against her chest.

“Inappropriate and unprofessional?” She pulled papers out of her bag and walked around Olivia to Isabella’s chair. “Well, so is stealing another writer’s work.”

Alex handed her original manuscript with its bent pages, university date stamps, and scrawled professor remarks in red ink to Isabella. She could practically feel Olivia’s stare singe the back of her neck. She briefly looked sideways. Yep. Her nemesis quaked, ready to erupt like a volcano.

“What’s this?” Isabella’s face tightened.

Olivia jostled Alex out of the way. “Don’t fall for it. She has no reputation, so she’s trying to smear mine.”

Isabella’s eyes raced over the title page and through the corresponding sheets, stopping several times to digest the text before flicking to the final pages and the attached notes. Her puzzled eyebrows leaned heavily onto her eyelids.

“Alex…this play’s yours?”

She nodded, holding her breath. “I wrote it in college in Atlanta. Until a few months ago, Olivia and I were flatmates. She read my play as a courtesy and then presented it as her own at the young playwrights fundraiser, the event at Bridgewater House. Where I first met you.”

“Oh for God’s sake, she’s lying!” said Olivia.

Isabella ignored the fretting brunette. “I knew you looked familiar at the Almeida. Why are you just telling me this now?”

“She completely blindsided me that night. She pitched my idea to you! I was reeling, had a full blown panic attack. When I got home, I looked for this hardcopy, but it was missing. Without proof, why would you believe me? You don’t know me. I’m a nobody.”

Alex swept her hand towards Olivia. “Look who I’m up against. She’s rich, powerful, well connected…as she’s reminded me repeatedly. Everyone adores Olivia and her fundraising for the arts—”

“You should’ve tried me.” Isabella interrupted.

Alex shook her head. “It’s easy to recreate someone else’s work on a computer. If I’d shown you my saved version, you wouldn’t have believed me. I needed the original hardcopy to prove that I wrote it. I found it over Christmas.”

Olivia crossed her arms. “Okay, I know why she’s doing this to me. The truth is, I do remember Alex and I talking casually about a suffragette idea last year. That doesn’t mean I ‘stole her play’—I just sat down at my laptop and actually did something with it. And now she’s obviously getting her revenge. You can’t copyright an idea, Alex! Isabella, don’t fall for this ridiculous university manuscript rubbish. Some people will stop at nothing to discredit people with talent like you and me—”

“Stop!” Isabella slammed her hand on the table. Her water glass skipped two inches.