She liked him all the more for his cluelessness. Too bad she’d probably never speak to him again after tonight. They might have enjoyed each other’s company, at least in small doses, but unlike him she knew exactly what this movie was about, and she didn’t need to offer any spoilers because the opening scene would make the gist of the plot abundantly clear.

Her face filled the frame, young and eager, and she didn’t feel anything but affinity. She couldn’t help comparing her physique of ten years ago to the dailies she’d watched of her work today as her younger self walked into a casting agency. She hadn’t aged poorly. She’d even grown into her more angular features a bit over the years.

“I’m Candy Mickles. Here to see Mr. Jacobs.” She delivered the line in a voice a little higher than her current register. “I have an appointment.”

Vic shifted on the couch beside her, and Sophia took the risk of sliding her hand across the cushion to brush her fingers softly. She hoped the move was comforting, reassuring even, but as the screen switched to a sweaty, balding man with a bad comb-over, she had to admit this part wasn’t going to be easy on someone with Vic’s exacting moral standards.

Still, she sat upright, her legs crossed and one hand draped loosely atop her knee. She would not flinch. Not as the man playing the casting agent leered at her younger self. Not when he explained what a tough business movies could be. Not when he asked Candy to demonstrate what she was capable of to secure a part.

She even managed a hint of amusement as her character launched into a not-half-bad monologue she intended to use for auditions.

The duke, bless his heart, cracked first, clearing his throat as the casting agent cut off poor little Candy’s monologue to explain that wasn’t the type of demonstration he’d been hoping for. Because of course it hadn’t been, and the only two people who’d ever misinterpreted the request had been Candy . . . and now the Duke of Northland.

Under other circumstances it might have been comical how things devolved. If only the scene hadn’t actually depicted something close to actual offers Sophia had received over the years. If only the scene hadn’t been shared out of malice. If only the duchess wasn’t sitting in a high-backed armchair a few feet away, stewing in her own superiority, Sophia might have laughed at the terrible dialogue as the casting director used every heinous euphemism in the book to describe his own dick.