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Evelyn let Jo’s rare moment of vulnerability slide. “You admitting you took the girl as a buffer isn’t helping your case,” she said. “You brought her so you didn’t have to deal with people you don’t like. Ergo, she is not in the category of people you don’t like.”

“Yes, Evelyn, I like my assistant. That’s not some ‘gotcha’ situation.”

“Oh God,” Evelyn said. “I know you haven’t accidentally texted me when you meant to text her in a while. But if you start sexting, please make sure you find the right contact in your phone first.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Jo rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Evelyn had a point about the accidental texts, though. It happened more often than Jo would like, generally when she’d taken her contacts out and wasn’t looking closely at her phone. Emma and Evelyn were next to each other in Jo’s contact list.

“She looked gorgeous, Jo,” Evelyn said.

“I’m not going to deny that,” Jo said. It would be a lie. Emma had already looked good when she arrived at the suite the day before. Jo’s prep team didn’t need to help much. “She’s twenty-seven years old and looks like she could be goddamn Wonder Woman. And yes, I enjoy her company over that of obnoxious, self-important actors, especially at a night designed to celebrate their self-importance. The rest is so-called journalists speculating about things to get clicks.”

Evelyn was quiet for a moment, and Jo considered that maybe she’d convinced her.

Instead, Evelyn said, “When you give in to the inevitable way you guys were looking at each other, will you call me?”

“Do you want me to ever call you before then,” Jo asked, “or would you rather never hear from me again?”

Evelyn hung up without responding. Jo went back to her script.

—

Innocentscentered on agroup of lawyers working to exonerate the wrongly convicted. It was Jo’s second TV show, even more successful than the first. As they approached the fifth-season finale, Jo was ready to move on. She loved her characters, but she knew them by this point. There wasn’t as much to explore, weren’t as many new ways for Jo to challenge herself.

So she turned to an action franchise with six decades of history; Agent Silver wasn’t like anything she’d done before. The announcement of Jo as writer was scheduled for Thursday, but thewhispers about how people expected her to fail were already everywhere. Jo would never admit to being nervous, especially becauseterrifiedmight be the more appropriate adjective. But she couldn’t get better unless she pushed her limits.

Jo imagined leavingInnocentswould feel like what parents experience when their children go off to college. Her baby, suddenly grown up and not under her roof anymore. She’d already delegated a lot of her show-running duties to her co–executive producer, Chantal. Jo trusted her. She knew Chantal was more than capable of running the day-to-day.

Plus, Jo liked the way she was always prepared to step back when Jo showed up on set. Chantal ran things while Jo was away and offered to hand over the reins in her presence. Today, she nodded at Jo, her corkscrew curls bouncing. Jo waved her off. She wanted to watch a bit, clear her head from all the words jumbled inside it.

Emma stood beside her, working on something on her tablet. Normally, Emma’s presence on set was filled with hellos from PAs. Today, acknowledgment of her was noticeably subdued. Before Jo could give it much thought, Chantal called for a five-minute break while they adjusted lighting, and Tate, one of the leading actors, headed her way.

“You got that finale script for us yet?” he asked.

Jo managed not to roll her eyes at him. As an actor, he wouldn’t get the script for weeks, after it went through revisions and rewrites, but he always liked to meddle.

“I’m surprised I get any writing done,” Jo said breezily. “What with how much Emma and I are apparently fooling around in my office.”

Tate laughed, big and booming, and the crew joined in, albeit less enthusiastically. Jo smirked. Emma was the color of a tomato.

“You take your time with that,” Tate said, his white-toothed grin standing out against his hickory skin. He glanced at Emma and chuckled. “You okay there, Emma?”

“I hate you,” Emma told him. Then: “Ms. Jones, let me get you a refill.”

She took the tumbler right out of Jo’s hand and marched off. Jo didn’t bother to point out that it was still mostly full.

“Go easy on her,” Tate said.

“She can handle it,” Jo said, fluttering a hand like she wasn’t worried about how this all might affect Emma. “Your break’s almost up.”

It had barely been a minute, but Jo didn’t want to deal with him anymore.

“Yours, too,” he said, then left her alone.

Jo tried to be unobtrusive on set. People were working, and she was only there to clear her head. But she could feel eyes on her, darting away when she looked back. At least some of these people believed the rumors, which was unfortunate. Not worth doing anything about, but unfortunate nonetheless.

Emma hadn’t returned with her promised refill, and loath as Jo was to admit it, Tate was right; she had to get back to writing. She headed to her office. Emma would figure out where she went.