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The sum sat there on the table like a stack of dirty laundry. Eliza had done it. She’d said it. She’d voiced her needs, and now all she could do was let the chips fall where they may.
Jocelyn pursed her lips. “I assume you have a business plan?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m currently in the process of securing my first large client. Have you heard of Marguerite Hill? She writes popular women’s self-help books. Take Charge swept the bestseller lists last year. She’s got a new book coming out next year—Be Free— and I’ve presented a proposal for what my company could do for her. I suspect we’ll win her business.”
“What’s the name of your company?”
Eliza’s mouth went dry. “Eliza Tate Public Relations.”
Jocelyn smiled as if she suspected Eliza had made the name up on the spot. “So you had a business plan in place before you quit your job, but you are only just now realizing you need additional funding?”
“It was a gross miscalculation on my part,” Eliza said, feeling her cheeks heat with shame. “I’m sorry it’s so last minute.”
“You are the most detail-oriented young woman I’ve ever met.”
Jocelyn raised her water glass to her lips and crooked an eyebrow. “Were you fired?”
“Laid off.”
“Does Roman know?”
“Enough.”
Jocelyn nodded, unperturbed. “Does Roman still…” She frowned, looked down. Her fingers brushed gently over a bruise on her wrist that looked suspiciously like a thumbprint.
“Roman has his flaws.” Eliza watched her mother-in-law tug her sleeve down to cover the mark. “But he’s my husband. I’m sure you understand.”
Jocelyn studied Eliza more closely. Eliza couldn’t tell whether the tint in her eyes was one of crushing disappointment or grudging respect.
“Well, then, consider your request done. It’s the least I can do. I imagine you want the funds transferred to a personal account? Or actually, I’ll just have Todd write a check in your name.”
Eliza swallowed as Todd wrapped up his conversation across the room and sauntered back toward their table.
“Thank you, Jocelyn,” Eliza whispered. “For everything.”
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: Four months ago, the victim filed for a restraining order on you. Why?
Penny Sands: You’ll have to ask him.
Defense: It’s impossible to ask the victim, seeing as he’s dead.
Penny Sands: Right. What’s your point? I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t allowed to be within one hundred feet of him, remember?
SEVEN
Seven Months Before
July 2018
Come in.”
With trembling fingers, Penny twisted the doorknob and let herself inside the office at the back of the acting studio. She found the room dimly lit, a bit musty due to the age of the building, but neat. Movie posters dripped down the walls while spines of brightly colored books winked out from dusty shelves.
Most of the books were on the craft of writing screenplays, acting, or navigating the shark-infested waters of Hollywood. Surprisingly, one shelf was dedicated to a selection of self-help books. Yet another thing they had in common. Yet another reason fate had brought them together.
“Thank you for sending this along.” Roman wore a pair of glasses that Penny had never seen on him before. They were thick-rimmed and made him look studious in addition to striking. He gestured to his computer where, presumably, he was studying Penny’s screenplay. “I always knew you’d be a talented actress, but I hadn’t suspected your writing would be incredible as well.”
