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I love her boldness.

“If by that you mean hardworking, driven, competent, and passionate, then I think he got it exactly right,” I add, looking him straight in the eyes.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Alma,” he responds.

He holds my gaze, and I melt on the spot. I quickly move on, so as not to let it show.

“Kate, if you’re free now, I’d like you to meet Sophie Adam, our head of production, and Clarence Miller, our head of distribution.”

I hope this way I can cut our meeting short as quickly as possible. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to withstand Vadim’s innuendos, playful glances, and provocative smiles. For a second, I imagine pinning him against the wall of his office and crushing my mouth against his.

Imminent danger…

“Excellent idea. Vadim, do you mind if I do that now?” Kate asks.

“Not at all. We’ll pick this up later. Kate, my door is always open. Alma…” he says, giving me a small nod.

Which means that I am dismissed and that his door is, in fact, very much closed to me.

***

Kate Monroe is not exactly easygoing. She may have been warm with me in front of her friend Vadim, but it was a different story with my “subordinates,” as she calls them. Sophie found herself on the receiving end of a remark about her practically inaudible voice, and Clarence was reprimanded for his illegible handwriting. And Ms. Monroe has already scheduled meetings with both of them to review their productivity over the past month. Sophie and Clarence don't seem too thrilled about the new boss, despite my attempts to lighten the mood and give them some time to adjust. I return to my office with mixed first impressions.

From: Maximilian Finn

To: Alma Lancaster

Subject: Invitation

Mr. King is pleased to invite you to a welcome dinner in honor of the France Director, Ms. Kate Monroe.

This event will take place at 8:30 p.m. on September 16, at Lasserre. The restaurant’s contact details are attached.

RSVP. Please indicate if you plan to attend alone or with a plus one.

Best regards,

Maximilian Finn

Personal Assistant to Mr. Vadim King, CEO of King Productions

Great. Because the only thing my already complicated life was missing was a formal dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant with the ex-love of my life and my new direct supervisor—who, apparently, are on surprisingly friendly terms.

14

Alma

The atmosphere is stiff, the table set with the utmost sophistication. My new maxi dress looked great on me when I was standing in the fitting room, but I hadn’t anticipated this stress-bloated stomach. Sitting down, I’m having a hard time breathing. And, crucially, I realize I should have inquired about the guest list. The presence of Clarence and Sophie, my two favorite gossips, would have made this easier for me. Still, I try to maintain some dignity and even force a smile while suppressing my murderous impulses.

There are five of us around the table: Kate Monroe has come with her husband, Peter Lenz. Vadim King is sitting next to a certain Grace Montgomery, whose chair he gallantly pulled out while she burst into laughter for no apparent reason. And beside me is an empty chair and a place setting that no one has thought to remove. What a brilliant idea it was to come alone, without a shield, as if being an independent woman were somehow my greatest source of pride. I suspect my asshole boss booked a table for six on purpose, despite my clear RSVP to his assistant.

Since Grace doesn’t speak a word of French, the conversation is in English at Vadim’s request. I grew up in a French-English family, so I’m bilingual, but I have no desire to make an effort on her behalf.

While Kate and Peter regale us with tales of their recent vacation in Sri Lanka, my gaze wanders and keeps landing on the young actress: childish face, sculpted body, perfect proportions, and a very revealing outfit showing off her flawless skin. As if she had been born without a single body hair, blemish, pimple, or stretch mark. I wonder what kind of effort this perfection requires of her. I wouldn’t want to be her. The only thing I envy is the way Vadim looks at her.

Strangely, his eyes aren’t playing games with me tonight, though I notice how he takes the time to observe my dismayed expression when we all raise our glasses to toast. I don’t know how to fake it. I also notice the barely perceptible sidelong glance in my direction when his girlfriend kisses him full on the mouth. He can’t help himself. I fake an urgent incoming email, so I can text Lily and ask her to get me out of here with a desperate phone call. There’s no reply from my sister—she’s probably busy.

We’ve made it as far as the appetizers. I’m boiling inside—and probably look completely distracted as I frantically rack my brains for a decent excuse to escape—when an irritating, little voice chirps in my ear.