While she dressed, she rehearsed—and she plotted. This current run of interviews and appearances wouldn’t last. She’d have to take one of the offers on her table. Lean pickings—straight to video for two, and the third wanted her to play some lunatic in a B slasher that had her cut to ribbons in the first act.

Bullshit on that.

Maybe she could find a way to juggle both other offers, get things rolling again. And that would boost up more press.

Make some connections. If she could find a man who’d back her career—and get her out of this crap house—she’d really be riding again.

An old, rich man, she considered. All you had to do? Lay them right, and you lived like a queen.

She couldn’t get pregnant this time to pull another man into marriage—too late in the game for that even if she could stomach the idea of another kid. But sex, with generous doses of flattery, adoration, and whatever bullshit worked could do the trick.

She’d find one, the right one this time, one without all those sticky family ties and interference.

But in the meantime . . .

As she used a perfume sample on her wrists, her throat, she thought of Cate.

Maybe she hadn’t ever wanted the kid, maybe she’d seen Cate as a means to an end—but she’d treated that selfish, ungrateful girl like a princess.

Beautiful clothes, Charlotte thought as she walked out into the tiny living room with its ugly navy sofa, its hideous lamps. The best clothes, a professional nursemaid. A nanny—and fuck that Nina sideways. Hadn’t she hired a top designer for the kid’s bedroom? Bought her the sweetest little diamond studs when she’d had the brat’s ears pierced?

She made one mistake—and it wasn’t even really her fault—but one mistake, and the Sullivans try to make her into a monster.

She looked around at the beige walls, the secondhand furniture, the view of the street barely steps away from the front door.

Her eyes shimmered with tears of self-pity. For years, she thought, she’d honestly believed nothing could be as bad as prison—the sound of cell doors locking shut, the smell of sweat and worse, the menial work, the disgusting food.

The utter loneliness.

But how much better was this?

Cate had a few hours—hours—in a room, and for that Charlotte had seven years in a cell, and now how much longer in this horrible house?

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.

She felt herself sinking toward depression, then heard the knock on the door. She blinked back the tears, put on the brave yet sorrowful face she’d perfected.

And hit the mark for her next scene.

In her trailer, Cate poured two glasses of sparkling water. “I’m so glad you’re here, Darlie.”

“Like I said, I had a meeting, and thought I’d swing in. How’s it going?”

Cate, wearing the fuzzy pink sweater for her next scene, sat with Darlie at the little table. “It’s good. Steve, he’s—well, he’s just an awesome director. He can really pull it out of you. The two playing my brothers—especially the younger one—they’re just terrific. And they’re a serious riot. Plus, I have my own quirky BFF this time, and she makes me laugh on set and off.”

“Excellent.” Darlie took a sip of water. “Now. How’s it going, Cate?”

“Oh, shit.” Slumping back, Cate closed her eyes a moment. “It’s a good part, and I think I’m doing good work. But she sucked the joy out of it, Darlie. I can’t find the joy in the work. She’s still pushing out stories. Doing some straight-to-vid thing. I know, like you told me once, it’s part of the job, but I can’t step outside. Telephoto lenses catching me sitting by the pool at my grandparents’.”

“Were you naked?”

“Ha-ha.”

Darlie gave her a pat. “See, it can always be worse.”

“It got there. We needed to shoot some exterior scenes on location, and somebody leaked it. So they’re swarming, and taking pictures and shouting questions because I made the mistake of thinking I could go with my movie brothers to this pizza place for lunch. Just to do something. But the worst? One of them harassed my grandfather’s cook—the sweetest woman in the world—when she was at the market. He threatened her, Darlie, threatened to report her to immigration if she didn’t give him access to me. She’s a citizen, she’s a goddamn US citizen, but he scared her.”

“Okay, fuck it. None of that’s part of the job. Not any of it.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t stop it as long as I’m in the job.”

“Don’t you give up, Cate. You’re good, really good.”

“Joy,” Cate said and flicked the fingers of both hands. “Sucked.”

“This blows. We need sugar.”

Shock had Cate’s eyebrows disappearing under her bangs. “You? Sugar?”

“Crisis food.” So saying, Darlie dug into her purse. “My emergency stash.”

Cate stared at the bag Darlie pulled out, opened.

“Reese’s Pieces is your emergency stash?”

“Don’t judge me.” After popping one, Darlie offered the bag. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” But oddly, sitting there in the deliberately dopey sweater, eating candy with a friend, settled her.

“I’m going to finish what I started, and do the best work I can. Then I don’t know. I can’t talk to my family about this, not right now. Their worry’s constant, and that’s hard to deal with, too.”

“Fuck ’em—not your family. The rest of them.”

“I’m feeling sorry for myself,” Cate admitted. “Absolutely Maybe’s about to release. I couldn’t do the circuit. I can’t go to the premiere, not without getting my family—and me—all stressed out.”

“Not worth it.”

“No, not worth it.” She propped her elbow, rested her chin on her fist. “I haven’t so much as kissed a boy—as me—since Ireland.”

“Ouch.”

Wallowing, Cate took a handful of Reese’s. “I’m going to die a virgin.”

“No, you won’t. Not with that face, those legs, and your annoyingly positive outlook.”

Cate managed a snort, ate candy.

“But you’re overdue for some touch, even considering your tiny tits.”

“Tell me.” And she found herself able to smile and mean it. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Mutual.”

“And way, way enough about me. Tell me what’s going on with you, so I can add envy to my list.”

Cate glanced over at the knock on the trailer door. “You’re needed on set, Ms. Sullivan.”

“Sorry, damn it. I spent all this time crying on your shoulder.”

“I’ll go dry it off. Look, how about I text you, and we figure out some hang-out time. I can come to your place.”

“That would be great. Seriously.”

As they walked out together. Darlie put an arm around Cate’s waist, and Cate returned the gesture. “I’d hang now, watch you work, but I have to book it. I have a date—a hot one—tonight.”

“Bitch.”