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  “Isn’t it tipping our hand to cancel the contract?”

  “It’s a response, sure,” Dominic nodded, “but the less information we offer, the better.”

  “We do agree that this is his doing, right?” The fury had returned and was ready to burn her.

  “This has Wentz written all over it. But getting into it with Spectacular Palate is a waste of time. And exactly what he would want us to do. At most, an investigation will turn up a low-level employee who was bribed to leave a jar of mayo out overnight. Unless that individual confesses, it will be impossible to prove it wasn’t an honest blunder. We’ll never catch Wentz that way, and it would be a mistake to waste our time trying.”

  Sloane nodded. That all made sense, even if she hated it.

  “These are new taxes on old problems,” Dominic tried to assure her. “Everything is fine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Wentz caught us unaware from the start, and we’ve been playing catch-up ever since. Security has since been tightened, we’re going through all the personnel files again, and we’re bringing in our own people to cook. You’ve had a relationship with Melinda and me long enough to know we never make the same mistakes twice. It’s infuriating that we’ve had so many failure points, and that we’ve let Wentz get the best of us. But you can be assured it won’t happen again.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter what we’re going to do. Focus on the production and don’t let Wentz distract you any more than he already has.”

  For every day of the last twenty years.

  “Knowing what you’re doing will help me feel safe. So I can focus on doing my job.”

  “Do you want to see the sausage being made or enjoy your breakfast?”

  “What are you going to do?” Sloane asked again. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  Dominic looked at her, his eyes kind but slightly disappointed, telling Sloane without words that she shouldn’t be making him say it. “Plausible deniability.”

  “Oh.” She needed to throw up again. He offered his patience while she looked for her next thought. “I just feel like he’s been a step ahead of us the entire time …”

  “And you feel like that’s the way things are going to stay.”

  She nodded.

  “That makes it harder for you to believe that you can nail this project.”

  Still nodding.

  “Right now, you’re looking for something you can cling to. You’ve seen Melinda and me solve enough problems to believe that just knowing what we’re up to might inspire you with the confidence required to see this through.”

  She nodded a final time, looking up at him in appreciation. Something about the Shellys was truly magic.

  “Please, allow me to reframe the situation for you.” Dominic put his other hand on her other arm and finished his thought. “Because you’ve seen Melinda and me solve so many problems, you should already have the confidence needed to see this through.”

  And abracadabra, Sloane felt suddenly better.

  “We need you at your best right now,” Dominic told her.

  “I know.” She nodded harder, still sick enough to keel over, but now a different kind of strength was returning to her body and mind. The one this production needed to live.

  “Accusing Wentz without evidence is pointless. He’s been scrupulous about using other people and paying them well to keep their mouths shut if they get caught for as long as we’ve been dealing with the guy. He’s been doing this for two decades that we know of and probably a lot longer than that. Like everything else in his life, he gets better at it the longer he does it. Right now, our best course of action is for Melinda and me to handle all things Wentz, while you make your first Oscar-worthy film and we launch Juke. Can you do that for me, Sloane? Can you do that for Melinda? For Miles and Jolie? For the cast and crew and everyone who believes in you?”

  “Absolutely.” She had never felt more vehement while also needing to vomit.

  “We’ve always been honest with each other, so I’m also going to tell you that despite our excessive padding, we are now concerned about the serious level of budget creep. Extra security, three times the cost on our food going forward, contract disputes and delays. Your indie darling is threatening to balloon past its already admirable allowance.”

  “I understand.” She clutched her stomach. “And I swear on my life that I’m going to start killing it tomorrow. But right now, I’m sick and I need to—”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sloane

  Barf.

  Everywhere.

  Sloane was sitting in the driver’s seat, taking Jolie home, while reflecting on what had been one of the most humiliating moments of her life.

  Sure, Dominic had managed to anticipate the spray a split-second before it spewed from her mouth, dodging to the right and getting only a spatter of mustard-colored chunks on his tie and a couple of specks kissing his cheek.

  In a short life filled with long-remembered humiliations, Sloane had never thrown up on anyone. Not until that moment. And of all people to throw up on.

  Dominic did his best to soothe her, promising that it wasn’t a big deal and that he would be freshened up in no time. He kept extra suits at the office just in case, and was “on his way there now.”

  It felt like defeat, letting Dominic close things down for the day, even if she needed to go and Lila was already gone. Sloane heard him barking a tidy list of to-dos on her way out, after she had reconnected with Miles.

  She felt both better and worse. Confident that the Shellys would protect her from the monster, and eager to prove herself on set the next day.

  But she also felt like she was going to die.

  It didn’t help that Jolie had been talking nonstop ever since Sloane pulled out of the lot. She would have loved to send Jolie off with her father, but Miles was apparently even sicker than she was. While saying goodbye before leaving, he was mostly just mumbles and groans, still laying like a broken comma on the bed, clutching his stomach. She covered him with the comforter that had much richer shades of pink and pistachio than the one that had covered her bed as a pre-adolescent little girl.

  He was in no condition to mind Jolie. And besides, Miles was at his worst when ill. He wasn’t a baby when sick like other men in her past. But with his immune system down, it also took him longer to think. The second — or fourth — language became thicker on his tongue. He had a harder time expressing himself and understanding the English-speaking people around him as fluidly as he would in peak form. At such times, Jolie’s incessant chatter was unbearable.

  “RIGHT, MOMMY?” Jolie demanded.

  Sloane blinked, then looked over to the passenger seat. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t really know what you were saying to me. I feel very sick right now and am having a harder time than I’d like concentrating on the road. Do you mind if we finish talking at home? We could listen to the radio … or quiet, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Can we listen to JoJo MoJo?”

  “Sure.” Sloane really hated JoJo Mojo.

  Jolie put on her favorite band, then the cabin filled with caterwauling backup singers teeing up lead singer, JoJo Mojo, for a full-on audio assault.

  And then, the sonic equivalent of a dumpster fire.

  Sloane should have insisted on silence.

  After ten minutes with the soundtrack to her nightmares, she pulled into the driveway of their rental and killed the engine a second after the car was in park.

  “You didn’t let the song finish!”

  “No,” Sloane agreed. “I didn’t.”

  She got out of the car and held her stomach on the way to the door. She was hot and cold, full and empty, inside out and upside down and ready to sleep for a week.

  “Did you know that JoJo MoJo started singing when she was three years old?” Jolie asked as her mother opened the front door. “She was born in Portugal but moved here when she was se
ven years old because her parents both knew she would be famous.”

  To hell with them both, Sloane thought as she held the door open and waited for Jolie to enter.

  “It didn’t even take her a year!” Jolie kept going. “JoJo was only eight when she made Castle in the Water.”

  Sloane had loved everything about that movie, except for JoJo, whom she actively hated. Her daughter went gaga on her first viewing while Sloane fell into a shame spiral, feeling guilty for thinking such terrible thoughts about a child who was so obviously trying her best but was little more than marketing sausage in a human casing.

  “Castle in the Water was the eighteenth highest grossing film of all time!”

  That unfortunate fact was the reason JoJo had a career. She had been riding the success of Castle — which she had little, or arguably nothing to do with — ever since.

  “Her next album is called Brain Candy and she says it’s the BEST ONE EVER!”

  Of course she did.

  Sloane closed the door then sank down into the sofa.

  “Can I make food since you don’t feel good?” Jolie asked.

  “I’ll make something … I just need a minute.”

  “Okay!” Jolie cried out, then sat on the carpet a few feet away from her mother, prattling on about JoJo while Sloane did her best to try and temporarily tune it out.

  Her daughter had a lot to say, and Sloane usually loved that. Jolie was bright and outgoing, always friendly. But she sometimes had a hard time listening to others and was prone to interruption. Miles and Sloane were both aware of the tendency and offered her constant reminders that she had two ears but only one mouth. Jolie tried hard and always wanted to do her best, but she enjoyed talking about a hundred times more than listening.

  Miles tuned out her streams of babble much more frequently than Sloane did. As exhausting as it could be, and often was, Sloane also saw their one-sided conversations as a rare opportunity to know her daughter that much better than she already did. It wouldn’t always be that way. Jolie would grow up fast. Soon she wouldn’t be talking to her mother at all.

  Sloane had been there herself not all that long ago. Though that was apples and oranges. Her mother treated her like an employee, so it was natural that Sloane eventually quit. That’s why she vowed to do better for her daughter. If Jolie could count on her mom to hear all the little things now, she would be much more likely to share later on, when it actually mattered. Sloane saw listening as an investment.

  Just not at the moment.

  Right now, she needed her daughter to shut the hell up.

  “—so is it okay if we watch Castle in the Water together?” Jolie finished what was surely a well-reasoned and intelligently structured argument.

  “Why don’t you watch it while I make you something to eat?” Sloane gave her a smile that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds before hoisting herself up from the sofa.

  Jolie answered by crawling over to the TV as fast as she could.

  Sloane went to the kitchen and dug through the cabinets, looking for something that had zero chance of being there. This wasn’t their home in London. It was a rental, stocked only with what they had bought after one trip to Costco and three to Trader Joe’s. So a plate filled with jerk flavored plantain chips, mango slices, and a Nature Valley granola bar it was.

  She would cook something later. Right now, she needed to lie down.

  “Here you go.” She kneeled down next to Jolie and offered her the plate with a smile.

  Jolie looked down at the spread and gave her mother a grin. “YUMMY! Can I have an ice cream bar when I’m done.”

  Oh my God. “Help yourself.”

  She went to her room, closed the door, and climbed into her most comfortable pajamas — cotton bottoms with a battalion of tiny duckies and a cropped matching tee with one giant ducky wearing a trucker’s cap.

  Anticipating the worst as something rolled over and died in her stomach, she piled her head into a messy bun atop her head to keep it out of her face when she inevitably needed to visit the toilet again.

  She plopped onto the bed, buried herself under the covers, then yanked them to her chin.

  Sloane closed her eyes. Beautiful sleep was just seconds away …

  Jolie knocked on her door. “Mommy!”

  She sighed, then swallowed and said, “Yes?”

  “Are you going to watch Castle in the Water with me?”

  “Maybe later. But I’m going to try and nap right now.”

  “You can nap in front of the movie!” Said like a helpful suggestion.

  Fine. As long as she could sleep.

  Sloane got out of bed and followed Jolie into the living room, dragging the comforter behind her.

  She fell back on the couch, buried herself beneath the blanket, then turned her body so she was facing away from the TV.

  “I can wake you up at your favorite part if you tell me what it is,” Jolie offered.

  “That’s okay, honey. Thank you.” Sloane’s favorite part was every scene without JoJo Mojo in it.

  This was stupid. She shouldn’t be doing this right now. How many times had Melinda offered to help her with Jolie? Not personally, but with Natural Nurturing, the nanny service used by Shellter Productions. One call and her daughter would be in excellent hands, while Sloane could be sleeping for—

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” Jolie yelled.

  “No, you won’t,” Sloane said, struggling to get up.

  That cinched the deal. Sloane wished she had a nanny right now just so she wouldn’t have to get up and open the door. She wasn’t worried about the monster showing up at her place, although maybe she should be.

  Until that moment, Sloane hadn’t really considered that as a genuine danger. Appearing at her residence uninvited wouldn’t play well in court, whereas a film set was the monster’s home, even when it wasn’t.

  Surely this was a solicitor or someone trying to sell her on Jesus. Hopefully she looked contagious enough to scare whoever it was away. They didn’t have to know that bad mayo had done this to her.

  She looked through the peephole and felt her heart fall to the floor.

  Sloane wanted to run back to her room and get back in bed. But Jolie would rat her out.

  “Who is it?” Jolie was suddenly standing at her side, tugging on her ducky shirt.

  “It’s Connor and his dad.” She opened the door, mortified. “And they brought stuff.”

  Connor was holding a white plastic bag. Orson was holding two big brown ones. He raised them both, one per hand. “You said yes to dinner.”

  She looked away, embarrassed, then opened the door all the way so they could both come inside. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “JOLIE!” Connor yelled, delighted to see his friend.

  “CONNOR!” She matched his volume and tone.

  “This is you?” Orson pointed to the couch and comforter.

  She gave him a humiliated little nod.

  Orson set his bags on the coffee table, took Sloane by the arm, and gently led her back to the sofa. Then he covered her with the comforter and called for Connor.

  “Bag please,” he said.

  Connor nodded, then marched over and handed his father the bag.

  Orson finished getting her situated with saltines, ginger ale, and a bottle of Pepto. He made sure her iPad was within easy reach in case she decided to read the latest Rummage Report or article on Hollywood Hunted, which he promised would be “surprisingly absorbing if she gave it a chance.”

  Sloane was still hot and cold, generally miserable and deeply embarrassed, but she also felt thought about and taken care of.

  “Thank you,” she rasped as her eyes grew heavy.

  “This isn’t really our dinner date,” he told her.

  “Okay,” Sloane thought she said.

  “But I’ve got Jolie covered. So you can relax and get some rest.”

  “Thank you … for doing …”


  “Stop talking.”

  She blinked up at Orson, seeing him smile as he set his warm palm against her clammy cheek.

  “Rest.”

  “You …”

  Sloane never finished her thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sloane

  Sloane opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through her bedroom blinds.

  She inhaled the first moments of her morning, trying to remember how she got here. The fog lifted and she remembered feeling sick. So very, very sick.

  Fortunately, she felt much better now. Yesterday’s migraine was now gone, her stomach was no longer churning, and Sloane felt ready to tackle the day.

  As soon as she took a few seconds to assemble her timeline.

  She had been on the couch with Jolie, but she was in her room now.

  Sloane looked over to the nightstand and saw a bottle of Pepto sitting next to three cans of ginger ale and a box of saltines. Then it all came back to her at once.

  She threw the covers off of her body and bolted out of bed, half of her still mortified that Orson had seen her in such a state, and part of her worried that she had been hallucinating. As relieving as that might be, it would throw her into a panic for something that felt so real to have been thoroughly false.

  The living room was empty.

  The sofa had been straightened, with every pillow fluffed and neatly arranged. The surrounding area had also been spruced up — surely not by Jolie or Connor.

  So the thirty-million dollar man had apparently done a little light housekeeping while Sloane had been sleeping.

  She peeked out the window. His Lexus was gone.

  Sloane crept down the hallway then quietly opened the door to Jolie’s room, where she found her sleeping.

  That’s when the scent finally found her nostrils and pulled her like a cartoon into the kitchen.

  “I’m making eggs,” Miles announced when she entered without turning around. “How many do you want?”