Page 143 of Violet

The Alpha studio exec leans forward. “Would you beinterested in that, with us, down the track, as a first dibs option?”

“Clea would need to discuss with Ms. Fine,” I say, “but I don’t see why not.”

The meeting continues with renewed interest.

When I’m done, I shake hands, have the requisite drink, and speak utter bullshit. And then I’m free. I can head home, maybe have a snack of the princess before we go for dinner.

Finally, I head for the car, and get in. There are a ton of missed calls from Clea, probably wanting to tell me how much she adores Violet. I knew Violet would turn heads.

My phone starts to ring again. I answer. “Hey, Clea?—”

“You better get your ass back here, or your life’s going to unravel.”

She hangs up.

What the fuck?

I call her back, but she doesn’t pick up.

Instead, I go to text Violet but stop.

What am I doing? Why would she know? Clea’s a professional and it’s probably something small, an article with a scandal she wants stomped out.

Clea can take care of it. I pay her team for that.

So I delete the message before sending. Violet’s still new to this world. She doesn’t need any of the micro bullshit drama that happens on a daily basis. I need to ease her in.

The driver doesn’t need to be told where to go since mynext stop was always home. It’s a long drive, so I grab my bag from the floor where I left it, and pull out my script. Mine. Not one of the other ones.

I haven’t opened my copy for a while. I keep meaning to. I don’t want to mess with perfection, but maybe I’ll?—

Someone’s been fucking putting notes in it.

I frown.

Is that… “Oh my fucking god, Princess.”

I start reading her notes, the little changes, and at first there’s the burn of displeasure. It’s searing hot because she’s messed with things she knows nothing about. But that fizzles out in a pool of shame as I realize not only are her notes insightful and smart, she’s mostly right with her cuts. Her little suggestions for changes make it better.

“Well, fuck.” I shake my head. “Looks like I might have mated a goddamned script editor in the making.”

I settle back and read.

I’m so engrossed that I almost don’t realize we’ve pulled up, but I’m full of energy, a renewed determination to get this movie done and about how special my mate is. How much I?—

I stop. Clea’s town car is there, and her driver is reading his phone while he waits. But I don’t see her. Normally this wouldn’t bug me, but combined with her call and the plethora of missed calls, it does.

Maybe there was a zombie invasion, and I missed it. I can joke, but it doesn’t stop the wrongness that’s heavy in the air.

That’s when I see it.

The helicopter.

It’s not booked until the day after tomorrow. So why the fuck is it here?

Pushing the front door open, I’m about to go upstairs when I happen to look across the foyer through to the greatroom, at Clea charging toward me. But my gaze is caught on what’s behind her. A stiff-backed girl sitting, not moving. It crushes a part of me.

“You.” Clea’s lip curls. “You’d better fucking sort this out. If you don’t, if you fuck it up, then you deserve it. And don’t ever get me to do your dirty work again.”

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