Emma barely slept.
When the sky turned gray, she gave up, showered, and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail. No dramatic dress, no fragile image—just a white shirt and dark trousers. She needed to look like someone who knew what she wanted.
Charles was still asleep when she left. She didn't wake him.
On the ride across town, she watched the city slide by. Her hands were cold, but her mind was clear.
If you don't fight now, she thought, you'll regret it every time you see someone else play that role.
Upstairs at the production company, assistants hurried through the hallway with folders and coffee. Emma walked straight toward the main conference room. An assistant stepped into her path.
“Miss Lane, good morning," he said nervously. “Do you… have an appointment?"
“No," Emma answered.
