“I wonder where we’ll all be recording,” Trace said, peering down the hall.

“Recording?” Confusion knit my brow. “Like cameras? I’m pretty sure they’re all hidden.”

“No silly. Recording equipment.”

Her emphasis did not help my comprehension.

“Like laptops and notebooks? I’m sure they’ll provide us something to write with.”

“What do you⁠—”

She stopped talking as we both turned our heads to see a stunning, tall, tanned woman saunter into the room. She wore a black dress with cutouts that instantly made me feel all kinds of inferior. Apparently, I was the dowdiest writer they could find in the continental US.

Trace raced over to hug the new arrival while I hung back and waved, hoping to excuse myself from the obligatory interaction.

“I’m Sofia.” She grabbed my shoulders before giving me two air kisses on either cheek.

“Calla,” I said.

“This place is adorable.” Sofia waved her arms and walked around the room as if already starring in her own personal fashion show.

“Where are you from?” Trace asked.

“I’m in Miami right now.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful there!” Trace exclaimed.

“It is,” Sofia said, turning her face and pursing her lips, almost as if to give the hidden cameras her best angles. She didn’t bother asking us any questions. Trace snuck a smile at me and winked.

“So, what do all y’all do for work?” Trace asked.

“I’m a full-time model,” Sofia said with a bored tone.

“Wow,” Trace gushed. “That’s awesome. I’m just a waitress. . . Well, you know, at least until I make it big. What about you, Calla?”

I did not want to admit the reality—that I’d been living off the modest advance for my first novel, but had recently depleted it, plunging myself into a mild financial crisis.

“Um, I’m between things right now,” I said.

Trace nudged me. “I get it. All of us hanging in the balance until we become superstars.”

“Wait, what?” The word superstar felt like an odd choice to describe a successful author.

My question hung in the air unanswered as another new arrival walked into the lounge.

A girl dressed in a flowing, all-white two-piece set waltzed in, her long black hair in braids that hung almost to her waist. “Hey everyone,” she called out. “I’m Rachel,” she greeted us, and in return, we all introduced ourselves.

I was beyond grateful she offered us each an outstretched hand instead of trying to pull us in for hugs.

“You’re stunning,” Trace said. I couldn’t help but notice Sofia eyeing Rachel up and down, sussing out the competition.

Brady stood in the entrance to the hallway. “Ladies, you’re doing great. If you could just migrate over to the couch by the fireplace and continue chatting for a few minutes, the host will be in shortly.”

“Thanks, Brady!” Trace called.

“Calla, right?” Rachel asked, as we all followed Brady’s instructions and made ourselves comfortable by the fire.

I nodded before remembering I needed to speak more. “Right.”

“You seem nervous,” she observed.