Page 57 of This Changes Everything

“To Zoë!” Kara exclaimed as she raised her Manhattan. “A wild woman who came into our lives like a beast and regales us with tales of sexuality that none of us can compete with—”

“Pro tip.” Maddy leaned toward me. She spoke out of the side of her mouth. “When Zoë says ‘this one guy,’ and I’m anywhere in the vicinity, she’s talking about my brother and doesn’t want to say his name.” Maddy side-eyed me clandestinely.

Turned out Maddy fit in perfectly with our girl group that had originally gotten together on my infamous twenty-first birthday. The foursome of Hannah, Kara, Zoë, and me crystalized when we went to the Finger Lakes in Upstate New York for what turned into a debaucherous spa weekend later that same year. We had needed it. Well, I had needed it. My friendship with Kara had struggled for the first time. The only other time in our relationship when things had been dicey was when I stole her marbles when we were eight, lied to her and told her it wasn’t me, then gave them back to her, like an absolute asshole, on her sixteenth birthday.

At the Finger Lakes, Kara and I talked about Rory, Cameron, and us late at night around a pitiful crackling fire that took us three hours to make. Cameron had broken up with her. He couldn’t forgive her for how she unintentionally destroyed the Campbell boys’ longstanding friendship with the McCain girls. I forgave her because it was never Kara’s fault. It was mine and Rory’s.

“Zoë, when we met, I thought you were Ellie’s freaky New York, flash-in-the-pan friend who would come and go once Bronwyn was over. I had no idea how important you would become to us Canadians.” Kara pushed her drink forward as we toasted our cheese-hating American best friend. “We love you!”

“You just like living vicariously through my roommate’s sex stories.” I stared accusingly at Hannah.

Zoë and I had moved to Los Angeles four years ago. We first lived in Marina del Rey, then moved to Beachwood Canyon, and now we were in a cute, tiny house in Highland Park. She had become my lifeline and security blanket, and was just as significant to me as Hannah and Kara.

“She never lets us down.” Hannah giggled while lifting her drink to her lips. Her engagement ring sparkled beneath the twinkling string lights that lit the dance floor. I frowned when looking at her ring. Hannah was engaged to someone back in Vancouver whom she had been dating for a few years. She had met him online, and he was . . . what’s the word? Unmotivated? Basic? Boring?

“I’m not gonna lie; my stories are fabulous.” Zoë turned to Kara. “Did I ever tell you about the time this one guy ate me out on a table at a dinner party as an appetizer?”

“Yes, Zoë,” Kara said flatly. “And that’s not a dinner party, that’s an orgy.”

Maddy’s eyes went wide when Zoë said “this one guy.” She turned to me stiffly, and I bent over with laughter, believing wholeheartedly that Zoë probably was talking about Maddy’s brother.

“To Zoë!” I laughed as we lifted our glasses once again.

Zoë took a sip of her Negroni, dropped her drink onto the table we were standing around, and started dancing when Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” blasted throughout the bar. She shimmied as if she had no control over her body.

“Oh shit!” she cried out. “I don’t know what’s happening.” She dipped herself, bending her body back so her head almost hit the floor.

“You’re so flexible!” Hannah shrieked, deeply impressed.

“It’s the music. Something’s happening to me!” Zoë started spinning in circles. If anyone was going to get the party started, it was Zoë. Her energy had always been intoxicating. Kara and Maddy joined in.

My phone vibrated. I lifted it out as stealthily as possible to check if it was work. Since moving to Los Angeles, I had worked my way up behind the scenes and become the director of development at Marie Street Productions. My hours were intense, and the job was incredibly demanding, but my boss, Ken Caplin, had given me a first in my career: He treated me like a person. I still didn’t have the job title I wanted, but before Marie Street . . . well, it took a lot to get to Marie Street Productions.

I had heard rumors about the sixty-year-old director and producer Ken Caplin for years. He was not just one of the most influential tastemakers in the television industry, but also had a reputation for being a true champion for his team. I had run across many of his former assistants, executives, or producers over the years, and they were always my favorite people.

The downside to my job? I was living off no sleep and on the brink of stress-induced ulcers twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Also, Craig Sinicki. Craig was ten years my senior and the creator and showrunner of Marie Street’s long-running, critically acclaimed post-apocalyptic drama.

Unsurprisingly, the text came from Craig.

CRAIG SINICKI: What happens in Vegas . . . happens in LA, too?

I rolled my eyes and pushed my phone back into my pocket. I turned to Hannah, handing her my drink.

She stared me down. “Put your work away,” she demanded.

“I am! I will! I have to pee. I’ll be back.”

The moment I sat on the toilet, my phone blew up. I had placed it on the toilet paper holder, and it started vibrating so violently that it almost fell onto the piss-stained tile.

KARA: Ellie!

KARA: Sound the motherfucking alarm!

KARA: He’s here!

HANNAH: E, stay in the bathroom. I’m coming.

ZOË: I don’t see him!