“You okay?”
“Fantastic. My ex just flexed his success while my career burns to the ground. Living the dream.”
“Ignore him. He’s a walking PR stunt. And I didn’t know Spielberg had lowered his standards to actors who overact ordering coffee.”
I sigh.
“He’s in a Spielberg, Sav. And I’m the crazy diva of Hollywood.”
She pops open a tub of chocolate ice cream and hands me a spoon.
“Correction: you’re the actress who had the guts to stand up to a misogynistic jerk. If Hollywood can’t see that, that’s their problem—not yours.”
“Unfortunately, courage doesn’t pay rent,” I mutter, shoving a spoonful into my mouth.
My phone rings again.
Max.
Still calling.
Maybe not for long.
“You should answer,” Savannah says. “He might have a solution.”
I sigh, swallow my ice cream, and pick up—putting him on speaker.
“Max, I don’t need a lecture on anger management.”
“Jane! Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” His voice fills the apartment. “This is a disaster—but I think I have a solution!”
Savannah shoots me a smugtold you solook.
“What kind of solution? A villain role? I’d be perfect inHollywood Meltdown: The Diva Strikes Back.”
“Very funny. But no. I got an… unusual offer. Are you free tomorrow? We need to talk in person.”
I frown.
“Unusual how?”
“The kind that could save your career. Or at least get you out of the spotlight until this blows over.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not over the phone. Too sensitive. My office. Tomorrow. Ten a.m. And Jane?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t say no right away. It’s a little crazy—but sometimes that’s exactly what works.”
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone.
“What was that?” Savannah asks.
“No idea. Either he found me the role of a lifetime… or he’s about to pitch reality TV.Hollywood Housewivesmight need a certified diva.”
