Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(36)

“Oh. You’re local then. That’s cool. Which sister?”

“Parker.”

My forehead scrunches as a memory from the past dawns on me. “Madeline… from Parker’s English 30 class?”

In our family we called her Plagiarism Madeline because she stole Parker’s paper and tried to pass it off as her own. It had nearly gotten my sister suspended until she could prove that she’d emailed it to herself a few times over the course of working on it, just to save backups.

“Yes!” Madeline confirms, not a shred of embarrassment on her face. This chick is as delusional as I remember. Which makes the rest of our conversation uncomfortable as hell.

The only thing that gets me through it is knowing I’ll be able to eliminate her soon.



* * *



“I hated that movie.”

I grimace at Cynthia, trying to find some sort of common ground with a woman who appears to hate everything. I’ve tried music, travel, television, and sport, all of which seem to bring her zero joy.

“Do you have a favorite movie?”

She shrugs, a sour expression on her face as she stares down at her nails. “I prefer reading.”

“Cool. A favorite book then?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. Everything being published these days is so basic. Bad writing. Predictable storylines. I just keep rereading the classics.”

God, she’s fucking miserable.

“Maybe you should write a book?” I suggest dryly. “Put something up to snuff out there, ya know?”

Someone like Cynthia gets off on criticizing people for doing the things she’ll never be able to do herself. I know the type. Grew up with one coaching me at every rodeo.

She lifts one shoulder in a bored shrug. “Maybe.”

I look over at Julia—standing off camera, just behind a frowning Richard—and roll my eyes. Because talking to Cynthia is more painful than being gored by a bull.

All it does is make me realize how easy it was to open up to Julia that day in my kitchen.

And that I enjoy her company a whole lot more than I should.





CHAPTER 16


Julia


“SO, HOW WAS the first week?” my mom asks.

Her skin is soft and pale. An almost perfect match for the blond (but now trending gray) long bob that frames her face. She’s Norwegian and she looks it. I suspect her and my dad would have been a striking couple to see side by side. His dark features contrasted against her light ones.

I might have her button nose and round cheeks, but the rest of me is all Silva. Theo looks even more like our dad than I do.

I smile at my mom. Happy to see her. This visit has become one of my favorite parts of my week.

“Well?” She tucks a strand behind her ear as she eagerly waits for my answer. She’s seated on the wicker love seat across from me on the bricked-in patio behind her sprawling rancher, so I can’t escape the expectant glint in her eyes. I don’t want to lie to her—I hate lying to my mom—but I also don’t know what to say.

When I can’t delay my answer any longer without her noticing, I give her a casual shrug and a soft smile. “Pretty good.”

Because that is what this first week at the show has been. Pretty good. Not great. Not exceptional. Not terrible. Highs and lows. My boss is a douchebag, and I got prickles in the ass. But I’ve realized that Emmett might not be as bad as I’ve always thought he was, which is strangely satisfying. It’s like he’s slowly restoring my faith in humanity.

Or my faith in men.

“Just pretty good?” she asks, head tilting as she lifts her cup of tea to her lips, eyes narrowing inquisitively.

“Yeah, you know how it is. Nothing in life is perfect. You’ve always told me that.”

She grins now and shoots me a wink. “That’s a guarantee, baby girl.”

“The executive producer told me that if I keep up the good work, he’ll write me a letter of reference, which would be huge. This show on my résumé, plus an endorsement from the head honcho, would push my foot in the door in Hollywood. I’m already eyeing job listings for scripted TV with major streamers.”

My mom’s head tilts. “Which is where you wanted to end up eventually.”

I point at her. “Exactly. So this would be huge. Especially so early in my career.”

“Does that mean he could also hurt your job prospects if this doesn’t go well?”

“I suppose so. But you know me. I’m a hard worker. I have a positive attitude. What could go wrong?”

“What indeed…” She trails off with a thoughtful hum.

Leave it to my mom to play devil’s advocate. I chuckle at her predictability and scan my surroundings. Beyond the trees, I can see the edges of what was once my father’s ranchland, purchased when he first moved here from Brazil. Since his passing it’s been sold off in pieces to people who are eager to use the land in the way he would have wanted. My mom interviews every prospective buyer and chooses who to sell to based on “vibes.” And sometimes the vibes don’t match the highest offer, much to her realtor’s dismay.

But that’s Loretta Silva. Practical, but also an incredible judge of character. She always knew that land would keep us afloat, but as a midwife and suddenly single parent to two young children, she was certainly not in a position to manage a ranch. Still, every swath of land found what she refers to as “a good home.”