Anna remembered how desperate she had been when the London studios called. She had been behind in her rent, Jenny had offered to take her in, and her mom had offered her the attic room if she wanted to move in with her. The UK television show had been a lifeline, a chance to leave Los Angeles. The year she had been gone had offered a needed break from the industry madness. She had asked the studio why they’d wanted her specifically. They had made vague references to one of her recent, not-so-popular movies.

Her stomach fell. “You got me the London job.”

Tom nodded. “I told you I would always look out for you.”

Anna felt suffocated in this crowded room full of loud, overly polite voices. Its air of forced conviviality did nothing to mask the intense negotiations happening over champagne flutes and untouched hors d’oeuvres.

“They told me you did a fine job.” Tom covered her hands with his. “You’re a good director, Anna.”

“I know.” His condescension rankled her. She didn’t need his approval. Anna pulled her hands from under his grasp. “I never wanted this... I don’t want your help.”

“Trust me, you’ve made that clear.” He schooled his features, the mask of bland enthusiasm returning. “Let me tell you about the project.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t need to hear about it. I’m not taking it.”

“I called in a favor or two. It’s a romantic comedy. You’ll love it.” He described the project with his this-is-what’s-best-for-you voice. He stood tall, shoulders straight, the executive persona back in place. The weight of his expectations crowded her again.

“Stop.” She raised her voice.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “How do you think it makes me look?”

“You come out of everything looking good.”

“If you had listened to me, everything you wanted would’ve been yours by now.”

Tom was convinced of this, she knew. When they were married, an actor notorious for his arrogance had literally gotten down on his knees in the construction dirt in front of their sprawling Laurel Canyon home and begged Tom for a particular role. Tom had made sure it happened. When the actor won an Academy Award, everyone in town had known who was responsible.

“You might be right,” Anna admitted. She had made poor choices, and she hadn’t followed her gut when she should have.

“I’m always right.”

Same old Tom.

His gaze softened, as if he realized what he said might be taken the wrong way. Anna wondered how long he had practiced that look in the mirror.

“Anna, what are you going to do?”

“Why do you care?”

“You think people don’t judge me for your failures?” Tom asked in a harsh whisper. “Hollywood is a small town. At least in London, no one ran into you.”