Ted shrugged and smiled. He refilled his glass. As far as Zanne knew, on the rare occasions that he drank, he never had more than one.

“Who do you suppose blacklisted her?” Zanne asked.

“Jerry, it seems.” Ted took another sip of his scotch.

“That’s awful,” she said.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I mean, that’s really disgusting. To stop her like that? He must have been really afraid of her.”

“Afraid?”

“Of how good she was.”

Ted glanced at her and said, “Peter Leo wants to have a call tonight with his team and ours before his flight takes off, to plan for the meeting tomorrow. I don’t know that I need to be on the call if you’re there, too. I trust you to handle it, Zanne. You’ve been such a rock today.”

Just be smart. Zanne had tried. Taking this job, shoveling any amount of shit that would get her out of debt, wasn’t that smart? Didn’t she have a retirement fund now and a reliable car and a little bit of savings besides? She’d thought she’d made it when she got here. Finally, she would be judged not by her looks but by her intelligence. But it came at a cost.

Just be smart, she told herself now. She didn’t have to be the work wife anymore.

Zanne extended her hand and Ted, flummoxed but cheerfully so, stood and accepted it. “I want to thank you for the opportunity, Ted. But I don’t see myself growing here.”

“You’re turning down the promotion?” he said. He still had hold of her hand.

She shook again and pulled her hand away. “Yes. And I’m quitting, too. I’ll let Dawn know so you can figure out another succession plan.”

“Dawn? Right. Okay. But—”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you tonight, but I have a hard stop. You understand. Good luck.”

Zanne backed toward the door. The pages she’d printed pressed against her spine—the emails between Ted and the producers Phoebe had approached about her film, after she left him. They were the proof that Ted had blocked Phoebe from getting her movie made and restarting her career—not once, not twice, but over and over again.

She pulled the door behind her. Just before it closed, Ted called after her.

“Zanne? Peter Leo—”

“His number is in contacts. Under L. Try the direct line.”

29

Phoebe