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  Yes, of course Sloane would surrender the film if she had to.

  But it was infuriating to imagine that he might force her to give up and let him get away with his evil again. She had to move across an ocean to stop him from finishing what he started and ruining the remainder of her childhood. Now she had weaponized her trauma to craft a piece of art that could serve as both sword and shield.

  Yet the very day she donned her armor and stepped into battle, he was there to get inside her head, destroy her Hollywood debut, and erode her faith in the people around her.

  A parasitic presence, feeding off of old hate and shame to become something grossly symbiotic. Sloane hated that her trauma fueled her, because she loathed its existence, knowing that the symbiote would only grow in size and strength once nourished with silence. That’s why—

  “That’s all the minutes!”

  Jolie’s announcement yanked Sloane from her reverie. She sat up and straightened on the bench next to Miles. She was just guessing at the time, but Sloane had zero doubt that Jolie was right.

  “It’s time for the swings,” she reminded them.

  “Or … maybe we could get ice cream,” Miles suggested.

  “ICE CREAM!”

  Miles stood and held out his hand.

  Sloane grabbed Jolie’s hand and offered Miles the other.

  Then the three of them walked over to their picnic blanket and started putting everything away.

  Sloane tried to focus on the good things.

  And tried not to think about any of her many resentments.

  Maybe Sloane needed to have a narcissistic mom who treated her like a meal ticket so she could be the best possible mother for Jolie and possibly change the world with her art. Maybe there was a good reason people preferred drama to the truth — not just the media and the world that consumed it, but the law who either listened to her, or didn’t.

  The truth of it all was so much harder to take.

  The press would never help her. Nor would the cops. He had too many friends in both places.

  So if the worst happened, what recourse would she have?

  Even if Melinda was the only person in the world who could have made her such a promise, that still didn’t mean she could keep it. He would do everything in his power to silence her, do anything to evade accountability. Attack her credibility and make sure no one would ever listen. From denial to rationalization, his arguments would be impressive and varied, sprinkled with apologies where necessary, all of them dripping with polished sincerity.

  None of that ever — or could have ever have — happened.

  To say Sloane Alexander is exaggerating is putting it kindly.

  She is clearly a self-promoter, directing her Hollywood debut as a lie.

  West Hollywood Sunset was supposed to be her revenge.

  Instead, the film was giving her worst enemy the chance to ruin another life.

  And this time, it was Jolie’s.

  Miles could surely feel her mood and did his best to obscure it from their daughter, joking around and on their way to the car, fueling the mirth with funny words in different languages on their way to the Inside Scoop.

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” Jolie asked when they got there.

  “Just a little car sick,” she lied. “Nothing a scoop of Mexican Vanilla won’t cure.”

  “How are you really doing?” Miles whispered after Jolie was on the other side of the door.

  “Much better,” she lied again.

  But it was fine. Sloane could be sick today.

  As long as she was fine tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  Sloane

  Sloane woke up the next morning, sick as a dog.

  She had no choice but to ignore it for now. She still wasn’t over her nerves from yesterday, but Sunset was now several days behind schedule and Sloane wanted to prove that she could recover the lost time.

  So she got out of bed, took two Advil before deciding to pop a third because wow was her head pounding. And a couple of Alka-Seltzers because something was seriously wrong with her stomach.

  She turned the shower even hotter than she usually did, a degree away from hot lava, and let the water scald her scalp and rain fire onto her body.

  After drying off, she still felt lousy but went downstairs and started on breakfast for Jolie in the well-appointed kitchen of their posh little rental. Five minutes into mixing batter for a fresh batch of waffles, Sloane decided she would pivot to pancakes instead. Flapjacks felt more manageable, considering her head and stomach were apparently planning some sort of mutiny inside her.

  She almost bailed halfway through and turned to instant oatmeal, but if she couldn’t make her daughter a short stack for breakfast, then she had no hope of a successful day directing.

  “Good morning, Mommy!” Jolie announced, tromping into the kitchen, sounding even louder than she usually did while climbing onto the barstool. She slapped her notebook onto the counter. “Look, I drew a picture of Tiffany’s family emergency.”

  Sloane looked at the picture. It was a house on fire. A woman that was almost for sure supposed to be Tiffany, though she was about two-thirds the size of the house, stood looking horrified beside it.

  “Did her house burn down?” Sloane asked, frightened by her own question.

  “I dunno,” Jolie sang.

  “Why did you draw a fire?”

  She looked at her mother as though that were a perfectly silly question. “Because that would be a BAD emergency!”

  BAD came out loud enough to feel like a nail in her skull.

  “Can we go to the park again today?” Jolie asked.

  “Sorry, kiddo. It’s a workday.”

  “Yesterday was a workday, but we still went to the park.”

  “We weren’t supposed to do that.”

  “Then why did we?”

  “I think Miss Tiffany is still having her family emergency, so you’re going to play with someone new today.”

  “She doesn’t really play with us,” Jolie said with a shake of her head. “Will Daddy be there today?”

  “Daddy is shooting the movie, so he’s there every day.”

  “Will Connor be there?”

  “His father is on set today, so yes, I imagine he will be.” Though what did she know? Maybe Connor was with his mom.

  And maybe Orson was getting pissed at all the delays. There was a reason his scenes had all been scheduled first.

  Sloane set Jolie’s plate in front of her.

  “Thank you for making pancakes for me, Mommy.”

  Eight simple words that did more for Sloane than the Advil, Seltzer, and shower combined.

  “Of course, honey.”

  An hour later they were on their way to the set, and Sloane had half-convinced herself that she felt perfectly fine. Yes, she had a headache, but it wasn’t a migraine. Her stomach was … unsettled, but nerves would do that, and at least she was getting her anxiety under control.

  Everything would be fine. Or even better than that — things were about to be better than ever.

  She pulled onto the lot and wasn’t sure whether she felt soothed by the additional security or nervous thanks to the reminder that the beefed up measures were necessary.

  Sloane submitted to an additional ID check and photograph at the gate, even though her laminated badge showed her as the director. An escort met her and Jolie at their assigned parking spot then walked them onto the set.

  “Who is that man, Mommy?” Jolie whispered.

  “He’s kind of like a policeman. His job is to keep us safe.”

  She took her mother’s hand, appearing to think. “Is this because of the man from yesterday … Mr. Auspicious?”

  “Yes,” Sloane answered, glad that Jolie had asked. “It is.”

  They went to the childcare trailer first. She knocked instead of just opening the door. A second later, Arnold Schwarzeneggeranswered. It wasn’t really Arnie, but that was all Sloane could see when looking at hi
m. Not the former governor of California, but Kindergarten Cop, specifically. Jolie’s new sitter was six-something, with a square jaw, granite shoulders, and biceps that surely weighed more than she did.

  “I’m Jake.” He gave them a smile, his voice surprisingly light and friendly. “You must be Jolie.”

  Connor was already playing with a bunch of dinosaurs over in the corner.

  “Both of our names start with J!” Jolie announced.

  “They sure do,” Jake agreed. “See how fast you can name five more words that start with J. Go!”

  “Jellybeans!” Then, “Jammies … jokes …”

  “Jewels,” Sloane suggested.

  “No helping!” Jolie declared. “Juggler … jam-packed!”

  “Jam packed is two words,” Sloane said, without knowing why.

  “Nuh-uh. It’s one word, Mommy. You always say our day is jam-packed, and you say it really fast.”

  “Sounds like it should count to me.” Jake gave his compatriot a little wink.

  “Super,” Sloane said, already grateful for Jake, and the Shellys — probably Melinda — for putting him there. “That’s five.”

  “We need one more,” Jolie corrected her. “Jewels doesn’t count.”

  “Oh, well in that case—“

  “Judicious!” Jolie cried out. “Dad always uses that one.”

  “Great job.” Sloane turned her smile on Tiffany 2.0. “Thank you so much for being here.”

  His smile was ever-present, calm and knowing. He gave her a light little bow of his head. “She’s in great hands.”

  It was easy to believe. She pictured what the Shellys’ Kindergarten Cop would do to the monster if he dared enter the “babysitting trailer” again.

  Her nerves were soothed, but not entirely quelled. Sloane was glad for the nanny-cam, and would surely be checking it whenever she could, neurotically throughout the day. But so far, the monster had only struck in the most unexpected places. Some of her was still fixed on all the things he had done, but the rest of her couldn’t stop wondering what would be coming next.

  Because there was zero doubt that something was on its way.

  She wanted to call Melinda and thank her. Like usual, everything had been taken care of exactly as promised. But she could do that later. After saying goodbye to Jolie and Connor, then thanking Jake again on her way out, she told herself that calling either one of the Shellys would only be another way for her to avoid thinking about all the things that were troubling her.

  It wasn’t just her head and her stomach. The set didn’t feel empty, but surely it seemed emptier than it should have. Sloane could practically smell another something else, ready and waiting to go wrong.

  “Miles!” Sloane called out when she saw him across the room.

  He turned around and immediately put a smile on his face, but she could clearly see it was only there to protect her.

  “What is it? Where is everybody?”

  Miles sighed. “Half of the crew has called in sick.”

  “HALF OF THE CREW?” Sloane repeated. Several people looked over. She ignored them all, but then spoke in a much lower voice. “More sabotage? Another strike, a different day?”

  “I don’t think so.” Miles shook his head and put a hand over his stomach. “I don’t feel so well myself. Bad enough to stay home if my presence wouldn’t have been missed. So yeah, if there is something going around then I can understand—”

  “Something’s not just ‘going around,’ Miles. Doesn’t that seem awfully coincidental to you?”

  “Well, that is how viruses work.” He gave her a weak smile. “It doesn’t mean that Wentz managed to sneak in here and poison us.”

  “Of course not. He would have paid someone to do it for him.”

  “Is it just crew? Or cast, too? Are we down any actors?” Connor had been in the childcare trailer, so Orson had to be around somewhere.

  “Cassidy isn’t here.”

  “Goddammit!” Sloane said before here had fully left his mouth.

  “I know.” Miles put a hand on her shoulder. “It sucks. But let’s go over the shots, I’m sure there’s something we can do.”

  If anything unusual happens, call one or both of us immediately

  “Fine.” Sloane tried to sound grateful instead of angry. “Just give me a minute. I’d like to call Melinda, even though she probably already knows about whatever this is. Considering yesterday and everything else, I should ask her if there’s anything specific she thinks we should be doing.”

  He nodded. “Let me know what Melinda says after—“

  “What Melinda says about what?” Dominic appeared from nowhere, surprising them both.

  “Half of our crew has called in sick,” Sloane explained. “I was just going to call Melinda and tell her.”

  Dominic nodded. “She’s speaking to the Cavallis right now.”

  “About what?” Sloane asked, immediately suspicious.

  She had good reason to question the motives of any parents with children scaling the ladder of celebrity, especially in a case such as Cassidy’s, where they had her grabbing that bottom rung so they could push her little ass up the ladder before she could even talk.

  “About the myriad of ways that this production has been breaking child-actor rules, even after only a few days of—”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sloane threw both of her arms in the air, thoroughly livid. “West Hollywood Sunset is about the mistreatment of child actors. Of course I wouldn’t mistreat one of my own, under any circumstances, or in any manner whatsoever.”

  “We know that.” Dominic gave her a calm and patient smile. Sloane didn’t know if his we was referring to him and Melinda, to Miles since he was standing right there listening to everything, or perhaps to everyone involved, since despite her integrity needing constant defense, Sloane’s motives were never truly in question. “Melinda is handling it right now. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Another smile. “I’m here to make sure that we don’t lose another day of shooting.”

  “We’ve lost half our crew and don’t have Cassidy. What am I supposed to shoot?”

  “We were just talking about this a few minutes ago,” Miles interjected. “We can find something else to shoot.”

  “Take care of Orson,” Dominic suggested. “Are there any scenes we can shoot off calendar that involve him but not Cassidy.”

  “Of course.” Miles nodded.

  “Excellent.” Dominic turned to Sloane. “I’ll be sticking around set today. Just direct me to wherever I’ll be most out of the way.”

  She needed their help, and the production was slipping away from her. But Sloane didn’t want to say any of what she was thinking.

  “You’re never in the way,” she said instead.

  Dominic went to find a quiet corner while she and Miles reconvened and decided to shoot the scene where Cassidy’s character told her father what had happened to her. Sloane had wanted them both in frame, but Miles promised that the scene wouldn’t lose any of its power if they shot some of it close in on each of the actors, starting with Orson today.

  And of course, Orson was incredible. She asked for multiple takes several times, but only because raw nerves and a supremely upset stomach had her incessantly second-guessing herself. She would almost for sure run with his first attempt at every shot.

  Despite their morning pivot, the production finished out an exemplary day. Their best yet, by far.

  “You were brilliant,” Sloane told Orson, trying not to gush, hoping she sounded like his director instead of a fangirl. “Especially since you weren’t expecting those scenes — I’m beyond grateful.”

  “I’ve learned to expect anything in this business.” Orson smiled. “It was no big deal.”

  She pointed toward the craft services table. “You want a coffee?”

  “I’d rather have dinner?”

  Sloane stopped. She didn’t know what to say.<
br />
  Of course, she wanted to say yes. But—

  She couldn’t even finish her thought.

  Instead, Sloane raced to the restroom, hoping she wouldn’t vomit before making it inside.

  She burst through the door, ran right to the first open stall, fell to her knees, then barfed in the bowl, loudly and everywhere.

  Sloane hoped that no one could hear her, especially Orson. But of course they could, and he was probably closest to the door right now.

  A light knock, followed by his soft voice. “Are you okay in there?”

  His asking only made things a million times worse.

  “I think you should go,” she told him through the door. “There’s something going around. If you’re not already sick, then you probably will be.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” he replied.

  Sloane couldn’t argue.

  Instead, she kept vomiting. And wondering when the nightmare would end.

  Chapter Eleven

  Melinda

  Melinda listened to the Cavallis, feigning sympathy and pretending to care.

  They were in her office. Melinda had all the power but was showing them the courtesy of pretending not to. It was hard to take a word Cassidy’s parents were saying seriously. But for now, the smartest thing was to stay all ears while they kept talking and getting the bullshit out of their system.

  “Our daughter has rights,” said Cassidy’s mother.

  “It doesn’t matter how much she’s getting paid — you can’t just ignore her mistreatment,” her father added.

  Melinda let the moment sit for a few seconds, then only after she felt sure that their volley had officially paused, she spoke in her most patient and understanding voice. “I absolutely agree, Mrs. Cavalli—”

  “Lisa.”

  “Cassidy has rights that must be respected. And to your point, Mr. Cavalli—“

  “Walter.”

  “Your daughter in no way deserves to be mistreated.”

  Melinda let her consensus settle then finished her thought. “But I do have to disagree that Cassidy’s rights have been disrespected, or that she has been abused in any way. I am happy to discuss any specifics in regard to your daughter or her treatment on set, but your accusations so far have felt more than a little vague and—”