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[Alma

If you have something to tell me,

say it. Otherwise, stop contacting me.]

I wonder whether to add something slightly insulting, or even downright offensive, but I want this person to think I’m indifferent to their sordid, little game.

“Alma?”

The husky, amused voice of my lover pulls me from my thoughts. I quickly delete the reply I just drafted, look up, and see that we’ve arrived. The car is parked in front of the King Productions building.

“I received a third anonymous message.”

Behind the wheel, Vadim gives me a surprised look, then sighs. “What the hell do they want from you this time?”

I recite the message to him, word for word.

“‘Aren’t you wondering who I am?’” he repeats.

I watch him think, his eyes fixed on some distant point straight ahead. Then, still as broody as ever, he turns to me and holds out his hand.

“Give me your cell; I’ll put Adrian on it. In the meantime, Zoey will get you a new phone and a new number. If they don’t know your new number, those bastards won’t be able to harass you anymore.”

“The battery’s dead,” I lie. “I’ll give it to you once it’s charged.”

It’s wrong to lie… but I feel like you’re not telling me the whole truth.

“Whatever you do, don’t play their game, Alma. It’s really not worth it.”

I get out of the car and leave his fierce eyes and serious smile behind, with a strange sensation niggling in the pit of my stomach.

***

Kate calls me into her office this morning over the trivial matter of a badly printed poster. She acknowledges that I had nothing to do with it but still chews me out, subtly reminding me that my job entails many things, including being her punching bag. More than once, I’m tempted to shove the Montblanc pen on her desk into those deceitful eyes of hers, but I settle for nodding my head like the good little soldier I am.

Finally free, I meet Clémentine for lunch, her mop of red hair hidden under a huge green winter hat. With a pom-pom on top, of course.

“If you’re planning on making fun of me, I’m going to stop you right there. Remember that Peruvian hat you wore half the year in high school?”

“Relax. I have nothing but respect for your pom-pom, Clem.”

We each order a vegetable tart, and then Clem brings up the subject she’s been dying to talk about.

“How is Lily?”

“I don’t really know, because she still isn’t speaking to me,” I reply wistfully. “She hasn’t been back to my place. According to Basile, she’s crashing at a friend’s apartment.”

“Is it definitely over with Felix?”

“He’s been warned. If he comes within three hundred feet of Lily—if he tries anything at all—he’s dead.”

I take my frustration out on a poor, defenseless piece of sesame bread.

“He was never really in love with her; he just wanted to have some fun. And he broke her innocent, little heart. I hate him, Clem.”

“You’re not capable of hating anyone, Alma.”

“Oh, I am. I want him gone. That guy is toxic. Even Vadim wants to keep his distance now. He thinks Felix might be getting involved in shady stuff again.”