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I take off my coat, bracing myself for the worst.

She sighs. “Josh Harvey…”

“The lead role?”

“Yes. You cast him in French Kiss, right?”

My poor coat stand bears the brunt of my anger and ends up on the floor.

“We auditioned more than fifty actors, and he’s the only one who stood out! He was perfect to play Nate, dammit! Did he really go over to them?”

She sighs again. “As soon as they found out we were interested in him, they immediately countered. They just offered him the starring role in the Dark Lights trilogy. That’s enough to tie him up for the next three years.”

“Has he already signed?”

She nods, and I swear under my breath.

“How did they find out about his part in French Kiss? It was confidential!”

“Someone must have leaked the info.”

“Who?”

“Probably someone from our side.”

“Again?” I murmur.

“It’s official, Alma. This means war.”

She gets up from my chair and walks to the door without a backward glance.

“Here we go again, another witch hunt…” I mutter under my breath once I’m alone.

Tightened security measures, limited hiring, publicly exposing our competitors’ questionable practices: Kate wasn’t joking. Our army of lawyers is ready to go into battle.

“Apparently, Kate wanted to plant a spy at Skylight, but the boss refused,” Clarence tells me at the end of the crisis meeting. “He wants to win without stooping to their level.”

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

32

Alma

A Sunday with the family.

I’m bracing myself for my weekly sermon after five days without hearing from Vadim, apart from a few work emails that don’t count. My mother greets me with a hug, followed closely by my brother, who is being his typical, annoying self.

“Lily isn’t with you? I thought you were her driver, on top of being her maid, her cook, her babysitter, her—”

I cut the smart-ass off as he pretends to count on his fingers. “She’ll be here soon. She was working this morning. It’s a new temp job, but you’d know that if you cared about anything other than yourself, asshole,” I hiss.

“Alma, language!” my mother scolds. She still thinks I’m twelve. “And Basile, you’re too hard on your sister. Try to be a little more understanding.”

“Just because she’s the youngest, she gets away with everything!”

“How about we stop arguing for the sake of arguing?” my father implores as he joins us. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetheart.”

My dad, who seems to be in a surprisingly good mood, kisses me on the cheek.