Page 1 of Between the Lines

Chapter One

ELODIE

“Cany’all believe I’m actuallynervous?” I asked the camera on my cellphone, as if there was someone there, capable of responding. My gaze flitted away from the lens, across the parking lot to the double-doors I’d be using in a few minutes to access WAWG studios for a table read.

Thetable read.

First day on a new project was always lowkey terrifying, butthisone?

Damn.

“Everybodyon this cast is a heavy hitter. Everybody,” I repeated, thinking back to the list of names I knew better than to repeat aloud.

Yet.

Soon enough, the articles that didn’t seem like promotional materials—butdefinitelywere—would start coming out, and the whole internet would begin their usual dissection process. Until then, keeping it vague was prudent.

“I’m not saying like…I don’t think I belong; I’m just saying…I’m grateful to be here, getting another opportunity to do what I love—on a show that’snotmy brother’s,” I added in a dry tone, scowling at the camera.

Might edit that out.

Being controversial wasn’t the point of these vlogs.

“Anyway, I gotta get in here, and for obvious reasons, no filming allowed,” I said, poking out my bottom lip in a faux pout. “Next time you see me, I’ll be heading home, and I’ll be ready to spill any and all disclosable tea. Bye, bitches.”

After my customary sign-off, I stopped recording and dropped the phone into my lap, blowing out a long, cleansing breath. I knew the kind of comments to expect, implying that the anxiousness—and any other feeling I expressed in my personal vlogs—was nothing more than acting, an attempt to manipulate emotion from the viewers.

But…the same sect, or an adjacent one at least,alsoswore I was terrible at acting.

So which thing was it?

I had to heave another sigh after that, forcing a switch in my mental gears.

The anxiety I felt about walking into this building for the first table read was absolutely real, despite me no longer being able to claim I was a “rookie” actor. Since the breakout success ofOne Day Sober,I’d been consistently working, often with the same creative team.

Which…happened to include my big brother, in some capacity or another. This was going to be my first major project that didn’t involve him at all. Which, at twenty-five, with three years under my belt, shouldn’t have been a problem.

Shouldn’t.

I almost jumped out of my skin at the sudden buzzing of my phone in my lap. The steadiness of it told me it was a call, not a text, and when I turned it over to look at the screen, it was none other than Pierre Perry the Third himself.

“What do you want?” I asked, masking the relief I felt over him calling me with feigned annoyance. “You know I’m about to walk into work.”

“Youlooklike you’re about to have a panic attack to me,” he chuckled into the phone, and my eyes shot up, glancing around the parking lot until my gaze landed on his G-Wagon in one of the VIP spots up front.

Perks of being a moneymaker for the studio.

“Stalker,” I replied, gathering my things and switching to earbuds so I could stow my phone in my bag as I finally got out of the car.

“Nobody stalking your ass.” He laughed. “I’m going to my office.”

“Wait until I’m inside.”

“What?”

“Wait until I’ve gone in,” I repeated. “I don’t want anybody thinking I needed you holding my hand on the first day of school.”

“Nobody would think that, El.”

---