Choosing to ignore the guilty voice in my head telling me that I was only hungover from the Chez Jay experience, I convinced myself that I must have some sort of food poisoning. I called Azita to tell her I wasn’t coming in.

“I’m really sick,” I told her. “Can you let Steve know? And tell him that I’m really, really sick.”

“Ohmygod . . . are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m just going to stay in bed all day. Tell Steve if he needs me at all to call me at home.”

“Sure thing, sweetie, and let me know if I can do anything.”

Hanging up, I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom. A vein of patched drywall ran the length of my bedroom ceiling, a souvenir from the last big earthquake. If “the big one” were to happen now, I would be crushed under the falling roof and no one would come to find me.

I’d gotten no sleep the night before and now it felt good not to move. I pulled the covers over my head and stayed in bed. No one called.

The next morning, I sheepishly made my way to Steve’s office. People who work on TV shows just don’t call in sick, and I knew he was going to give me major shit.

“There you are!” he exclaimed brightly when he saw me lingering in his doorway. “Are you feeling better? Are you sure you’re okay to come to work today?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling a little better, thanks.” This wasn’t the greeting I’d been expecting.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here and that you’re feeling better, because there’s a lot going on.”

“What’s up?”

Steve kicked his feet up on his desk. “The network wants to bring back Assistant Number Two.”

At first I thought the hangover was still clouding my ability to understand. “My Assistant Number Two? How can that be possible? We found her guilty of murder and put her away in prison.”

“I know, but you know it was our highest rated show ever. They want us to figure out a way to bring her back. But there is one big problem.”

“What, is the network chickening out again and having doubts about the necrophilia thing?”

“No, it’s a casting problem. We can’t get Jennifer Love Hewitt to do it this time.”

“Really?” I asked. This was disappointing. “Was it a money thing? She was so perfect the first time around.”

“I know, but she’s back shooting on Ghost Whisperer and unavailable. But don’t worry—we’ve got a great replacement.”

I stared at him, waiting for the name.

“Chloe Johnson.”