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“…I read that Emily Davison never intended to commit suicide…”

Alex politely corrected Olivia’s errors, one after another.

Olivia glanced around the room, taking stock of her audience. She adjusted her notes and answered calmly. “Quite right. Thank you, Alex.”

A smile crept up on Isabella’s face. “You’re well-versed on the British suffrage movement. Coming from an American, that’s doubly impressive.”

“I was born in Manchester. My dad’s from Moss Side, so the subject’s close to home, I guess.” Alex returned her smile.

The five workshop participants did a read through of the first act, making suggestions for staging and discussing the various character arcs. After an hour, Isabella paused the session for a fifteen-minute break. The room cleared leaving Alex alone with Olivia.

She scraped her chair towards Alex and snarled in her ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Alex continued to type. “I could ask the same of you. Shouldn’t you be locked away in your coffin? Next session I’m wearing a garlic necklace.” She chuckled. “Unlike you, Olivia, I have every right to be here. Not only did Isabella like my suffragette idea that you’re passing off as your own, but she’s also keen on another play I’ve written. I’m here because I’m a good writer. Period. I didn’t have to steal someone else’s work to get a spot.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you—correcting my mistakes?” Olivia’s eyes checked the doorway and flew back at Alex. “You’re going to tell Isabella the play’s yours, aren’t you?”

Alex shook her head. “You can have the suffragettes. I’d never hurt Harry. He means a lot to me, and he’s been a good friend. It would hurt him, telling Isabella that you’re a thieving, lying cow.”

She patted the side of her laptop screen. “I’ll just keep my suffragette play locked up in here as a reminder of how far I’ve come. Besides, I’ve got plenty of other ideas where that one came from. I’ve been writing like a whirlwind since moving away from you.”

“Your devotion to Harry is cute.” Olivia waved her sparkly rock; the diamond’s size would make the Crown Jewels blush. “See this? He proposed. I’m now wearing your entire family’s net worth—and then some—on my left hand. I’ve won. I’ve got the play and the guy.”

Alex halted her typing, making eye contact with Olivia for the first time. “Look, for some reason he’s besotted with you. I still don’t get it, but whatever. Let’s just move on, okay?”

The whites of Olivia’s eyes shone. “I don’t trust you, Sinclair. In fact, I can’t bloody stand you. I’ve never wanted you as a friend—and I certainly don’t want you as a colleague, either. I just want you gone. Out of both our lives for good…so, how much?”

Alex scrunched up her face. “How much what?”

Olivia tossed her hair, reached into her Mulberry bag and pulled out a chequebook. “How much to send your Yankee arse back to Florida? Or New York…I don’t care where, as long as Harry and I don’t have to see you again. Name your price. Fifty thousand pounds? A hundred thousand?”

Alex’s jaw dropped. “Paying me off?” She laughed. “Oh, Olivia. Your money doesn’t interest me. I’m probably the only person in London you can’t buy. Nice try. This Yankee’s staying put.”

Olivia’s hands shook. She shoved the chequebook into her handbag, her pretty face now contorted with barely contained rage.

Alex stood up calmly and headed to the water cooler. The other writers would be back any minute.

The brunette bolted to her feet, teeth clenched and nostrils flaring like a cornered mare. She snatched up her coffee, raising it to her lips, then hesitated. A wicked smile spread across her cheeks. She popped the lid and poured every ounce of the hot, milky liquid into the keyboard of Alex’s laptop.

Alex heard the splash and turned sharply away from the water cooler. A torrent of excess coffee dripped along the edge of the table, pooling on her chair, the floor, and staining her laptop bag.

“Shit! What have you done?”

Olivia cocked her head and sneered. “Whoopsie.” She tossed the empty red cup down to the floor.

Alex leapt towards her computer, elbowing Olivia out of the way. She jabbed at the keys, summoning documents, but the screen turned a sickly grey hue.

“You did this on purpose!” She grabbed the soaked device and shook it upside down, but the liquid had already done Olivia’s dirty work.

Two of the three playwrights ran back into the room, followed by Isabella. “What’s going on? I could hear you in the ladies’ toilets.”

Alex’s voice croaked. “She dumped her coffee all over my laptop. It’s ruined!”

Olivia covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh God, it was an accident. I’m so sorry. My heels are slippy. I lost my balance.” She peered over Alex’s shoulder. “Is it working? Is it? Oh God, how did this happen?”

Isabella swept over. “Try a restart. Maybe the shock of the liquid put it to sleep temporarily? Don’t panic yet.”

Tears streamed down Alex’s cheeks and quivering chin. She couldn’t pull up any documents on her screen. No email. No Internet. Nothing. It wouldn’t reboot, either. Her shoulders sagged. “It’s destroyed. Everything’s…gone.”