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Freddie gave Alex a dismissive scowl.

“I did. I let her read the entire thing. I should never have accepted her offer to ‘read it’ over.” A warm trickle fled from her right eye down her cheek.

Lucy thumped into the room and handed Alex and Freddie each a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich. “Bollocks! You didn’t ask her to nick it. What did she graduate in? Advanced Bitchery?”

She rushed back into the kitchenette and returned with a tray crammed with her sandwich, ketchup, and several cans of beer and cola.

The cheesy warmth of the toasted sandwich melting on Alex’s tongue felt like a little slice of home. She closed her eyes, sending stray tears towards the corners of her mouth. “I’ve been working on this play for a year, fine-tuning every bit of dialogue, every character, doing research for hours on end, and then in a split second—it’s gone. I’ll have to start from scratch with another idea.” She inhaled sharply. “I have to tell Harry. Let him know what his cow of a girlfriend’s done.”

Freddie nodded between bites and nudged his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “I bet Harry would be livid if he knew that idea was yours. Girls like Olivia need to be brought down a peg or two. Entitled bitch.” He cracked open a can of lager. “She shouldn’t get away with it just because of who her daddy is or how much bloody money she has. Yeah, you have to tell him.”

Lucy furrowed her brow. “Freddie, c’mon. Do you really think that’s a smart move?” She violently shook the ketchup bottle and popped the cap. A large red puddle engulfed her sandwich. “I’m not sure telling Harry’s such a good idea…”

Alex frowned. “Why?”

“I’m the first person who runs into a fight, you know that, but in this situation you’re taking on more than Harry and Olivia. I hate to say it—I’d just let it go if I were you.”

“Let it go? Harry needs to know what Olivia’s really like before it’s too late! He doesn’t know her.” Alex’s nails tore desperately at the box of tissues as a collection of new tears conspired in her eyes. “And if I do it soon, maybe I can get my play back.”

“Lex, listen, babe. If you tell Harry, he’ll take his girlfriend’s side.” Lucy sat on the loveseat’s armrest. “He’s known you for what…eight, nine months? How long has he been with Olivia?”

Alex sniffed. “Three, four years? I’m not sure…”

“Exactly. They’ve got history. They have a bond that goes far beyond your uni friendship. You may think he’s your friend, but when the chips are down, he’ll side with Olivia every time.” Lucy dunked her sandwich in the ketchup. “Harry won’t want his precious girlfriend upset by some chick he barely knows.”

Freddie frowned. “She might have a point.”

“Great.” Alex abandoned a crust on her plate.

“Telling Harry might make you feel better, but you’ll be setting yourself up for a massive shit storm,” said Lucy. “I wouldn’t want to be there when that comes rolling into town. That girl’s a nutter.”

Freddie narrowed his eyes. “But don’t you have a hard copy of the play?”

Alex nodded.

“So Harry can see that Olivia stole the whole thing. There’s tangible proof!”

“Freddie, you know that doesn’t matter.” Lucy lowered her brows. “So Lex has a hard copy…big fucking deal. Are you forgetting that Harry and Olivia are both stupidly wealthy? They’re a different breed from us. He won’t be fazed by her theft. Rich people lie, steal, and build their wealth on the backs of little people like us, and if they’re threatened—they close ranks. They always look after their own and to hell with everyone else. People like us don’t matter.”

“Down with the bourgeoisie! Up with the proletariat!” Freddie pumped his fist in the air.

Lucy scowled. “Freds.”

He shrugged. “Actually, I don’t think I’d make a good communist…their fashions are dreadful. Carry on.”

Lucy sipped her cola and reloaded.

“Olivia and Harry are on track to get engaged—apparently it’s only a matter of time. I Googled them both a week back. Harry’s family owns one of London’s largest and wealthiest property development companies. Olivia’s dad is head of the second oldest law firm in England. They’re an up-and-coming power couple, Lex—just a few rungs on the social ladder from royalty. You really think they’ll let all that be derailed by some Yank with a sob story about a stolen play?”

“Fuck me…” Freddie put his head in his hands.

“Harry won’t care if I have proof?” Alex blew her nose so forcefully it honked. “So, basically, I’m screwed, and no one will believe me? It’s such a big fat mess…and on top of that, I’ve blown it with Isabella.”

Freddie interrupted. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

She shook her head. “You weren’t there. Isabella must think I’m a joke. One moment I’m shaking her hand. The next, I’m struck dumb like I’m having a stroke, and for an encore, I run away hyperventilating with my hand covering my mouth, trying not to barf.”

Her shoulders twitched at the memory, the embarrassment seeping further into her bones. The remaining half of her sandwich lay on her plate untouched, her hands choosing instead to clutch a wad of disintegrating tissues.