Page 92 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Miss Morgan.”

“Lena!” Erika’s voice came out two octaves too high. “Hi. Good morning. Beautiful morning.” She gestured vaguely at herself. “Spa emergency. Very . . . recovery-oriented.”

Lena’s expression remained neutral.

“Mr. Blackwell wanted you to have these.” She extended the script pages. “Revised call sheet. Hair and makeup in thirty minutes.”

“Perfect. Great. Excellent.” Erika reached for the pages, but a rogue sheet caught the breeze and fluttered free. She lunged—the robe’s belt situation becoming suddenly precarious—and snatched it mid-air. Her cheeks burned.

Lena, to her eternal credit, pretended not to notice the flash of thigh.

“Thirty minutes, Miss Morgan.”

“Got it. Thirty minutes.” Erika clutched the pages. “Thank you for these. I should go. Be professional. Do . . . things.”

Stop. Talking.

“Have a good morning, Miss Morgan.” Lena’s voice was even, but as she turned to leave, Erika caught it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

As Lena disappeared around the corner, Erika broke into a sprint. Her feet hit stone until she reached her villa door, wrenched it open, and slammed it behind her.

She sagged against the wood and exhaled.

You’re fine. That was fine. Lena didn’t—she knew. She absolutely knew.

Fuck. Fifteen minutes later, Erika slid into Lily’s makeup chair, hair still damp from Stefan’s shower.

Lily tilted Erika’s chin toward the light. “Hold still. You have a hickey the size of a golf ball on your collarbone and I need three layers of concealer and a prayer.”

Erika groaned and closed her eyes. Her phone buzzed in her lap. She ignored it.

“That’s the third time it’s gone off since you sat down,” Lily said, not looking up from her brushes. “Anneliese or Olivia?”

“Does it matter? Either way it’s my sister wanting something I don’t know how to give her right now.”

Lily was quiet for a moment, blending concealer with practiced strokes. “You know I’m the last person to tell you how to handle your family. But the longer you dodge her, the bigger the conversation gets when it finally happens.”

“I know that.” Erika stared at the ceiling of the trailer. “I just need one morning where I don’t feel guilty for being happy. Is that too much to ask?”

Lily’s brush paused. Her expression softened. “No,” she said. “It’s not too much to ask.” The brush resumed. “But you don’t get forever, babe.”

The phone sat in her lap. She picked it up before she could talk herself out of it.

Erika:

How is she?

Olivia:

She watched the dailies. Said you’re “overplaying Luna’s vulnerability.” Direct quote. She also cried during the market scene but she’d murder me if I told you that.

Erika stared at the screen. Anneliese, propped up in a Malibu recovery suite, picking apart Erika’s performance with one hand and wiping tears with the other. That was her sister in a single text.

Erika:

Did she ask about me?

Olivia: