Page 61 of The Holiday Swap

Now, Cass stood at the door of the Hive café, which was, just like last time, not yet open. As she waited for the barista to arrive, another text from Priya came in, the third one this morning.

I’m REALLY worried now. Are you really sick? CALL ME.

Cass was in the middle of typing,Yes, I really am, I’ll call later, when her phone rang.

“Oh my God, you answered! Cass, what the hell? Charlie would never call in sick!”

Priya sounded angry, and she had reason to be. Cass opened her mouth to try to explain, but nothing came out. How could she tell Priya that her sister’s television career was over, about everything she’d overheard the day before? Where to even begin...

The barista had arrived. Cass looked through the café window as customers began flowing in, forming a quick line. “I’m not okay,” she finally managed.

“Obviously not! Cass, you are in trouble here—which means Charlie is in trouble! I’ve never seen Sasha like this—probably because Charlie has never, ever not shown up to work.” Priya lowered her voice, then must have covered the phone because all Cass couldhear were muffled words. A moment later, Priya was back, but she was whispering now. “That was Sasha. You’re sure you can’t come in?”

It was the right thing to do. Go back on set, show up at work even if Cass knew the network had no intention of giving Charlie the job she deserved, finish what she had started.

Except,wasit the right thing? What would Charlie do, if she knew what Cass knew?

Cass squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Is Sasha still nearby? Could you pass the phone to her, please?”

“Cass, what are you—”

“I’m Charlie. Make sure to tell her it isCharlieon the line.”

A moment later, Sasha was on the line. “What’s going on? Is it the head injury? Austin has been telling me constantly this week that you’re not up to working and I should be sending you home, but we really need—”

“No! It’s not that. It’s true what I’ve been telling you all week, that my head injury is not even remotely the issue here. Doesn’t it strike you as strange, how obsessed Austin is about it, about sending me home? Getting me out of the way? Except he can’t really shine when I’m not around. Manipulation, sabotage, and undermining are his only tricks. And still, the network is more compelled by him, they see him as being more of an expert and more in control. More of a ‘real chef.’ ” Cass paused, drawing in a quick breath. “Did it ever occur to anyone that the reason no one sees me as a real chef is because I’m dressed like a doll every day? That no one thinks I’m in control because I’m supposed to be the nice one, the sweet one—while he gets to be himself? It’s wrong, Sasha. And I appreciate that you know that—I heard you telling him so yesterday. But you aren’t planning to go to bat for me, even though youknow I am the most qualified candidate forBake My Day, because I’m an accomplished chef with an excellent reputation, and I don’t constantly rely on making other people look bad to get ahead.”

“Charlie, please come in. We can talk about this. Maybe there’s another show I can get you an audition for.”

“I’m done. I’m not coming in today because I don’t want to, not because I’m sick. You can shoot your B-roll and take your production stills of your next big star. And, you can all see how wellBake My Daygoes with Austin at the helm. I want no part of it. Goodbye, Sasha.”

She hung up the phone and stood, heart racing. Her sister had told her to come here and keep her job secure, and she had just done the opposite. Because she knew what her sister didn’t: the job had never really been hers. Cass also knew, deep in her heart, that the things she had just said to Sasha were exactly the things Charlie would have said, if she had been here. She put her phone away and walked into the café.

“One latte and one Americano please,” Cass said, once she got to the front of the line, adding, “double for both.”

She had done one hard thing today, and now it was time to do another.

•••

When Miguel entered the examination room, where Cass was waiting for him, the coffee she’d brought for him had long since gone cold. Cass jumped to her feet, holding it up, and realized Miguel’s expression looked anything but pleased to see her. She tossed the cold, useless coffee into a trashcan.

“Good morning,” he said, stiff and formal. He was wearing his scrubs and looked like he belonged on Grey’sAnatomy, somehowhandsomer than ever. She struggled to focus. “You’ve finally decided to deal with your concussion symptoms? I can book a CT, most likely this morning, let me just call down to—”

“Miguel. I’m not here about my concussion. I don’t have a concussion.”

“Charlie. Please. You need to stop denying this and deal with what’s really happening.”

“You’re absolutely right, Miguel.”

“Okay, so I’m going to book that CT.” He glanced down at her chart. “There’s been a mistake, though. This chart says Cassandra Goodwin, not Charlotte. Isn’t that your sister’s name? I can’t book you a scan without—”

“No,” Cass said. “That’s definitely my chart. I’m Cassandra.”

Miguel looked up, puzzled. “So, is Charlie a stage name?”

“No. Miguel, there’s something I have to tell you. I’m not Charlie. I’m Cass.”

It felt good to say it, and it felt terrible to say it—like she was a bottle of soda, shaken up, and now finally someone was releasing the top. Miguel’s expression had gone from one of deep concern to one of alarmed confusion. “I don’t understand.”

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