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team. Permanently. That’s what I’m looking for.”
    “Permanent. Ugh,” CeeJay said. “Permanent is the last thing I want. That’s what’s golden about the business. You don’t like what you’re doing today, there’s always something new starting up tomorrow.”
    “I’m starting to think it might be kind of nice to have an idea of where your next job is gonna be and where your next paycheck is coming from more than a week in advance,” Greer said wistfully.
    “Say what? That doesn’t sound like you at all,” CeeJay said.
    “I know. It’s just … lately, I look at my mom, and what her life is like, and Dearie’s, and I think, God, I don’t want to end up like them. Lise’s always worrying about what would happen if she lost the residuals from her show. But that’s the business. Mom’s sixty-five, and she’s still getting Botoxed, still harassing her agent about getting her a new gig.…”
    “Wait. Did you say Lise is sixty-five? Are we talking about the same Lise Grant? No way she’s sixty-five.”
    “Way. She was born in nineteen fifty-one. Which makes her totally sixty-five. But if you ever tell her I told you that, I’ll have to kill you.”
    “Wow,” CeeJay said. “Just … wow. Lise’s so put together and hip, I always think of your mom as, I don’t know, like maybe forty-eight or something.”
    “Which would have made her twelve when she had me,” Greer pointed out.
    “I still find it hard to believe she’s actually that old. If you saw some of these bitches I work on close-up, first thing in the morning, with no makeup? I could tell you some stories. Girl, please. You should get down on your hands and knees and thank God for giving you your mother’s DNA.”
    “It ain’t all DNA. Lise’s spent a small fortune keeping that face of hers. I don’t want to be like that. And I definitely don’t want to be like Dearie, having to depend on me and my mother to figure out how to keep a roof over her head.”
    “You won’t be,” CeeJay said. “I love Lise and Dearie, but you’re not like them that way. You’re the most focused woman I know. By the time you’re sixty-five, you’ll probably own your own studio. Or be married to somebody who does.”
    “Married? That’s a laugh. I haven’t even had a date since Sawyer. Two years, CeeJay.”
    “Sawyer was a dickhead. He’s dead to us,” her best friend said. “Anyway, when will you be back in town? I want you to meet you-know-who.”
    “Mmm. We’ll be up here for another week at least. I’ll call you. I definitely want to meet Mr. Not-So-Married.”
    “Done. And, hey, don’t sweat the fire. I’m sure it’ll all be good.”
    Greer clicked her phone off and went back to work, finally drifting off to an uneasy sleep, with her notes scattered all over the bed.

CHAPTER 5
    It didn’t take Hank long to decide where to place the blame for the debacle at the Miller farm. Not even four hours.
    She was in her motel room in Paso Robles when her phone pinged to alert her to an incoming text. Hank Reitz was the sender. It didn’t come as a surprise. She’d already started packing up her files, but it hurt, nonetheless. Only two words, but they cut like a knife.
    “You’re fired.”
    No phone call, no “Sorry kid, it’s not really your fault.” Nothing to soften the blow or mitigate the damages done.
    Just those two ugly words. So this is what it’s like, she thought. She’d never been fired before.
    It sucked.
    And it sucked even more, because she’d had a bad feeling about this shoot from the very beginning, but had somehow convinced herself that things would all work out in the end. Why hadn’t she listened to her gut instincts?
    *
    The drive from Paso Robles to L.A. was only three and a half hours, but to Greer, it felt like years. Traffic on the 101 was brutal, and as she got closer to her apartment in Westwood, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. There was an open parking spot directly in front of her