Page 32 of Ship Wrecked

He wasn’t going to advocate for her. He wasn’t even going to advocate for himself. If he was going to be saved, she’d be the one making the rescue attempt.

“Let me be clear, Ron. As I’ve just explained, you have choices.But forcing me to lose weight for your show is not, and never will be, one of them. If you try to restrict my food, I’ll quit. And just to clarify, if you try to restrict Peter’s food, it won’t matter whether you do the same to me. I’ll still walk away.”

At that, Ron—all flared nostrils, red-striped cheekbones, and white male privilege—finally turned to the man sitting motionless and silent at her side.

At her side, but not on it. Just like he’d promised.

“Please tell me you don’t agree with Maria, Peter.” Ron stabbed a finger in her direction, the gesture near-violent. “You know better.”

In that parking lot, Peter had claimed unfettered capitalism offered no solidarity, but he was mistaken. Solidarity was precisely what Ron wanted right now. Confirmation that the two men in the conversation would remain united against the hysterical demands of the woman shivering on Peter’s couch.

At long last, Peter spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “I respect Maria’s opinions and decisions, but they’re hers. Not mine.”

A bit of welcome news: She no longer had to worry about being a fool for him.

“Good.” Ron rolled his shoulders, and that angry flush hadn’t faded. Probably because he knew she was going to win this particular battle, but his injured ego wouldn’t allow him to admit it yet. “I’ll discuss the issue with R.J. and get back to both of you shortly.”

Peter dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and she did the same.

“One more thing, Maria.” The showrunner’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Letmebe clear. You’re right that replacing you now would be difficult. Replacing you between seasons, however, would be much, much easier.”

Then he immediately ended the virtual meeting, because—just like Peter—he needed the last word.

She took one slow, deep breath. Another.

All her adrenaline began to dissipate, leaving her exhausted and so fucking cold she could cry. But she didn’t, because there was no reason for tears, and no one in this suite she trusted with that kind of vulnerability.

“They’re going to cave.” She stood without looking at Peter. “And since I threatened to walk if either of us lost weight, you should be safe too.”

When she took her first step toward the door, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm. “Think about it, Maria. He’s right. They could replace you between seasons really easily, and that would be a huge loss to everyone involved. If you call him back right now, maybe—”

She stopped listening.

He sounded worried, and his voice was all gentle reason and persuasion. The skin of her cheek prickled under the intensity of his stare, but she didn’t turn her head. Didn’t meet his eyes.

When it came to Ron and Peter, she was done for the night. Beyond done.

With one fierce shake of her arm, she threw off his touch. “As long as I maintain my popularity and keep bringing the show so much positive publicity, they won’t kick me off. And even if they did, I’d be fine. I could find other parts or go back home and return to the theater. Hell, I could work alongside my parents on the production line, and I’d still be happy.”

“Somehow, I—I didn’t think you would actually do it.” It was a stunned, hoarse whisper. “But you weren’t bluffing. You meant it. You could just... walk away from this and be fine.”

Apparently he hadn’t believed her the first several times she’d told him so. Lovely.

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“I can’t...” His reply came as she wrenched open the door. “I can’t fathom that.”

He sounded—lost somehow. But finding him wasn’t her responsibility.

“I know,” she said flatly, and let the door swing shut behind her.

This time, the last word was hers.

8

The showrunners caved.

Neither Ron nor R.J. had the good grace to concede their position face-to-face, or even in a phone call. Instead, they sent a very terse email to inform Peter, Maria, and Ramón of the change in plans and had a courier deliver a new script for their upcoming scene.

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