Page 110 of The Casting Couch

He must’ve realized I found the USB stick he planted in my bathroom.Maybe he thought it’d scare me, or he thought I’d panic and offer hush money.

Idiot.

I slipped on a faded black T-shirt and handed the photographer a quick, “I’ll be right back.”Moira gave me a curious look but didn’t press.She knew not to when my shoulders stiffened like that.

I walked out to reception and there they were—my mother, smiling like a cat that’d caught a mouse, andThom, standing like he’d just been cut from an episode of Cops: Georgia Edition.

“Nico!”she said, like we were besties meeting at brunch and not estranged blood sharing trauma in a high-traffic lobby.“You look so good, baby!”

Thom gave me a nod.“Got a minute?”

“We were just about to head back to Georgia,” my mother added, too quickly.“Thought we’d say goodbye.”

Right.A casual goodbye ambush.Totally normal behavior.

The lobby was busy.Laura floated by, scowling.Jack was down the hall talking to Nessa, who was animatedly pitching something with full hand choreography.Too many people.Too many ears.

I exhaled.“Fine.Let’s talk outside.”

The second the door closed behind us and the sidewalk heat hit me like a hairdryer on high, I felt it—this wasn’t just a goodbye.

Thom adjusted his belt like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on dumbassery.“We wanted to give you a chance to make things right before this got out of hand.”

I raised an eyebrow.“Excuse me?”

“You know.All this… adult material.It’s not exactly good for your future, right?Comedy clubs?Mainstream stuff?”He smiled like a car salesman.“Could get messy if the wrong people saw it.”

I actually laughed.Like a full, humorless laugh.

“You think blackmailing me with my porn is going to work?”I said.“I have a five-minute bit about a bukkake scene, Thom, and I opened with it at my last gig.”

He blinked, thrown off.My mother stayed silent.

“That’s right,” I said, voice sharper now.“You’re too dumb to even Google me before trying this stunt.Did you honestly think I had something to hide?”

Thom bristled.“You don’t have to be a little shit about it.”

“No,” I snapped.“I really do.”

And then I looked at her.My mother.

Standing there in flip-flops and dollar store sunglasses.Looking sheepish.Not sorry, just caught.

“You’re okay with this?”I asked her, quieter now.“You seriously signed off on this?You knew what he was planning?”

She didn’t answer.Just looked away like the sun was too bright.

And that—that—was worse than any slap to the face.

Because it meant yes.

It meant she wasn’t just letting him do this.She was with him.

That moment?That was the actual end of us.Not when she threw me out at seventeen.Not when she told me God didn’t make boys like me on purpose.This.

This was worse.

Because now I was an adult.Successful.Standing on my own two feet.And she looked at all that and sawanATM with abs.

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