ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
The Girl Made of Clay
The House of Bradbury
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Nicole Meier
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542041560
ISBN-10: 1542041562
Cover design by Faceout Studio, Tim Green
To sisters everywhere, especially mine.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
As the plane descended low into the valley, the landscape came tightly into focus. Bright sunshine bled through the windows, casting an aureate glow on everything in its path. Farther out, the tip of the airplane wing dipped gracefully, like a brushstroke across a watercolor sky.
Glimpses of a craggy canyon emerged next. Mounds of earth rose up to form impressive foothills, extending toward the horizon and beyond.
Lower still, the view gave way to miniature pink stucco dwellings braided throughout the landscape. Towering cacti sprouted up in random patterns. More colors appeared: a spot of fuchsia, hints of ivory, and soft shades of brown. All amid a blanket of green.
How alive it all seemed. How unexpected.
Every so often, a thin stream or riverbed could be seen winding its way through the parched terrain. A surge of hope. A watery glimmer of life.
The airplane lowered again, now gliding toward its destination. Wings level, wheels down, a slowing of momentum. A voice echoed from an overhead speaker.
Welcome to the desert.
Welcome home, Julia thought to herself, and what a strange homecoming it was.
CHAPTER ONE
JULIA
One day earlier
The rain drenching Manhattan hadn’t let up for three miserable days. On Thursday morning, an orchestra of percussive drops tapped at the window and woke Julia like an incessant faucet leak. At the same time, her phone vibrated just inches away. She blinked back confusion and raised her head from its spot on the living room sofa. To her dismay, a paper plate containing day-old bits of pizza crust clung to the side of her cheek.
She’d fallen asleep in her clothes again.
With one palm, she swiped the plate to the floor and rubbed her eyes. The beginnings of a muted dawn peeked through the neighboring buildings outside. Everything was blurred.
Her phone buzzed a second time.
“Okay! Okay!” she groused. The heel of her hand rose to press against an uncomfortable thrumming in her head. She smacked her dry lips and grimaced, detecting a layer of film coating her tongue.
Trying to focus, Julia studied the screen. It read 5:45 a.m.
Oh no. She tensed. Without hesitation she punched “Answer.”
“Hello?” Clearing her throat took considerable effort. She really needed to stop working such late hours.
“Julia? Where the hell are you?” A woman’s voice on the other end was sharp and insistent.
Catrine.
“At home,” Julia blurted, a shot of adrenaline sending her to her feet. Surveying the room, she noticed work papers strewn everywhere. Her eyes widened at the full realization of her mistake. She’d drifted off without setting an alarm. Her much more punctual other half, her fiancé of nine months, James, was away on business, which meant there hadn’t been anyone around to insist she set the alarm. Or not fall asleep on top of a plate of takeout. She should have left for the studio forty-five minutes ago.
Catrine’s tone turned to worry. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m not. I overslept.” Julia groaned. With the phone pinned under one ear, she scurried about, urgently gathering up files. “I can still make it! You’ll just have to work quickly. I have a feeling I look like a train wreck today.”
“Well, you better hurry.” Catrine’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “You-know-who is already getting his hair blown out.”
“I’m on my way!” No! No! No!
The pinpricks of alarm were multiplying.
She was unbelievably late. Of all days. To make matters worse, Miller “Perfectly on Time” Warren was already in the studio, probably rolling his eyes at Julia’s tardiness and savoring how he’d deliver the news to the executive producer. Their EP, Peter Henry, was not known to show mercy. If he detected an iota of weakness among his staff, he seized upon it. Julia both admired and feared this about him. Currently, fear was winning out.
This morning’s slipup would be used against her for sure.
Without so much as stopping to brush her teeth (she kept spare toiletries at work), Julia snatched her tote bag and phone, buttoned up her wrinkled blouse, and cast about frantically for something to put on her feet. She opted for the closest thing, a pair of running shoes with neon swooshes. Pausing to glimpse in the oblong mirror above the entry table, she recoiled.
“Oh hell.” She scowled at her reflection of electrified hair and purple half-moons drooping under bloodshot eyes. “This is bad.”
There wasn’t much choice in the matter. Swallowing back horror, she used her fingers as a makeshift comb. The clock was ticking. She had to go. She yanked the door open and uttered a little prayer as she raced downstairs to catch a ride.
As her driver snaked through Midtown and Julia urged him to speed up, she balanced on the edge of the back seat and agonized. She counted the milliseconds as blocks went by. Please hurry. Please hurry. Please hurry. She chewed on her lip and considered what kind of excuse she could possibly give for holding up the morning show so dangerously close to airtime.
If Peter found out, heads would roll.
If the other execs found out, it would be curtains for her.
Just yesterday, after Miller had hijacked nearly the entire news segment, Julia had been summoned to her boss’s office. Her presence was hardly ever requested upstairs at the network, but that morning, she’d been seated at an imposing mahogany table and scruti
nized.
Julia shuddered at the memory.
All those sets of eyes bearing down on her, the executives accusing her of not meeting expectations. It was awful.
“We count on everyone to pull their own weight around here,” announced Mr. McBride, a member of Gamen Broadcast Network’s executive team. He was an unforgiving older man, lean and sinewy, lacking any ounce of softness. Julia watched, terrified, as he tapped a pencil with a stern and unyielding gaze that made her squirm. It was a test of some sort, and she wasn’t prepared. Even so, she smiled meekly in his direction.
“Yes, of course.” She nodded and wished her wobbly response hadn’t betrayed her. For some reason, none of her team were in the room with her. If anyone else had been called on the carpet, she wasn’t aware. This meeting was all about how her performance, and hers alone, was disappointing the network. “I, uh, I thought the show had been going pretty smoothly,” she responded.
There was a pulse of silence before someone from marketing, a Paul Something-or-other, sprang up from his chair with terrier-like reflexes and passed around a mind-bending spreadsheet to everyone in the room. From what Julia gathered, the focus was her recent dip in ratings.
“We’re concerned about this,” McBride said, stabbing the spreadsheet with the point of sharp lead. “Your viewers just aren’t staying engaged. They’re tuning out.”
“You don’t have a brand,” the Paul guy piped up. His eyebrows arched just below a perfectly coiffed hairline. Julia instantly hated him.
“A brand? Isn’t that something the show should have?” She was confused. She’d been hired to do a job and she was doing it. Wasn’t she? Sure, the morning show was less than a year old, and perhaps she was still finding her footing. But initially she’d received all kinds of positive responses on social media. Viewers had likened her to a breath of fresh air. That counted for something. But that was early on, she glumly realized. The numbers apparently no longer reflected this.
Miller’s larger-than-life personality had begun to drown her out. That was why her cohost’s numbers had spiked higher than hers. What was Miller’s brand? she wondered. Julia had no idea why the media company had paired the two of them together eleven months ago. She and Miller coanchored Daybreak, a weekday program that included headline news and light elements of pop culture. Her producer had claimed he detected a “chemistry” between the two of them upon their hiring.
She gazed desperately at the spreadsheet for answers. The data distorted in and out of focus. Pretending to study the math, she stalled.
What on earth was she supposed to say? It felt as if she’d been called into the principal’s office for an offense of which she wasn’t guilty.
“We want you to think about how to turn these numbers around.” McBride interrupted her contemplation. “This is a prime spot, your morning show. And it’s imperative the ratings swing our way. Understand?”
No, not really, she wanted to say. She’d shown up for work every day, reported the news in front of her, and put up with her slimy cohost. Julia needed to say something in her own defense, but before she had the chance, she was swiftly excused from the room. It seemed her time was up.
The door swung open as someone mumbled instructions, and she was ushered into the hallway. To her shock, a much-younger woman was seated just outside, wearing a tight-fitting dress and a smug smile. Julia glimpsed down at her own boxy pantsuit, which suddenly seemed wildly outdated, and then watched, dumbfounded, as the woman was welcomed into the room just as quickly as she’d been whisked out.
The heat of humiliation had engulfed her.
GBN was considering firing her. And that younger model would be her replacement.
A surge of newly formed rage washed over Julia now as she willed the car to drive faster. But emotions weren’t going to do her any good.
What she needed was a plan.
CHAPTER TWO
JULIA
Landing hard in her seat facing the teleprompter, Julia ignored the annoying trickle of perspiration running down her spine. A finger tugged on the collar of her blouse as Andy, the tech guy, came from behind her and attached a mic. Julia tried to shrug away the feeling of discomfort. She was overheating by the minute, both from the exasperating rush to get into position and the glaring studio lights. It was a miracle she’d pulled it off, actually. She’d whizzed through hair and makeup, ripped a clean blazer off its hanger, and parked herself in front of the camera just in time for the show. All before Peter had the chance to catch up with her.
By the gawking faces of the staff, though, it appeared no one was impressed.
The clock on the wall counted down ninety seconds until Daybreak went live. Julia hadn’t had any cushion time to scroll through the newswires or even review the notes the writers had left on her desk. She was going to have to fly without a safety net for the next hour, with a coanchor who was most assuredly far more prepared than she and wanted her to land on her chin.
Her hands twisted together under the news desk as she waited. She silently prayed for a smooth show. Any more mistakes and she’d be out of a job.
“Well, well, well.” Miller appeared just then, coming through the studio doors all lacquered and sneering. His fingers crawled along the buttons of his dark suit jacket, smoothing the already-taut fabric, as he slid into the seat next to hers. Unyielding cologne drifted in Julia’s direction. Her eyes watered.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence after all.” He leaned back and gave her a slow once-over. “Rough night?”
“Hello, Miller.” Julia straightened and reshuffled the stack of papers set before her. A pair of reading glasses was retrieved, and she pretended to be distracted by her notes. But her nerves were too jumpy. The words just floated around on the page like black ants. It was all she could do to keep her heart from hammering out of her chest. Agitated, she cleared her throat. “Just following a lead on a story, that’s all. No need to worry.”
“Oh, really? Which story is that?”
She faltered. There was no way she was going to let Miller know she was bluffing. Her hand swatted the air. “Something I’m developing for Peter. I’m not ready to share just yet.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Miller quipped. Julia thought she heard one of the cameramen snigger. She scowled out into the bright lights.
Despite her best effort to not be ruffled by Miller, his remark delivered a fresh stab of humiliation. Catrine, usually a magician in the makeup room, had been heavy-handed with the application of under-eye concealer. Maybe she had just added insult to injury. Julia was suddenly desperate for a mirror, but the digital clock on the wall showed they were mere seconds from airtime. Instinctively, she fanned her face with her fingers, hoping the heat in her cheeks would diminish.
“Are you ready?” A production assistant hustled in, lowered his clipboard, and addressed Julia with a tone of uncertainty. His questioning glance ricocheted from her to Miller and then back again.
Julia squirmed against the dampness collecting at the small of her back.
“Julia?”
“What? Oh yes. I’m all good.” She could feel his expectant eyes probing her. Just get through this, she told herself. Willing her roiling stomach to settle, she pulled the familiar facade of success over her shoulders like a well-worn shawl. “Really, I’m fine. Ready to go.” Ignoring the stink of her own perspiration, she nodded.
The assistant gave a thumbs-up and swiftly exited back to his position in the control room. A cameraman held out his hand, counting down with each finger. “Five, four, three, two, and go!”
The studio lights shone brightly, the cue was given, and the theme music swelled to a climax. Miller turned robotically to the camera. “Good morning from GBN’s Daybreak. Our top stories today . . .” And Julia snapped into focus.
Twenty minutes into the show, they paused for a commercial break. The news, so far, had been fairly vanilla. Nothing terribly substantial or exciting happening in the world that mor
ning, apparently. Julia had found her rhythm, masking her trepidation, and read the teleprompter while Miller took his usual number of liberties with some ad-libbing.
At the break, Miller went for his water and Julia for her notes. Scanning the segment schedule, her eyes widened.
“Wait, we have Mayor Rossetti coming on next? For an interview?”
“How nice of you to finally tune in. Don’t worry, I’m interviewing him.” Miller lifted his chin with satisfaction. “It took me weeks to get this guy booked. He’s all over the media, but for some reason he hasn’t agreed to do our show until now.”
Julia’s mind raced. This topic hadn’t been part of their weekly news editorial meeting. As far as she knew, Rossetti coming on the show wasn’t ever formally discussed. Miller had obviously changed things without informing her. But that was typical. He liked to put Julia in the position of playing catch-up.
And now she was caught unawares as the mayor was about to do a live interview.
Julia pictured the city’s most prominent figure, rotund and flush-faced, usually photographed pumping hands with the residents of New York, always smiling and showing off his pearly teeth. People liked him. Rumor had it he was on an upward route to the governor’s office.
But Julia knew something else.
“What’s Rossetti going to talk about?” Her voice inched up an octave.
Miller cast her a sideways glance. “What do you think he’s going to talk about? Mayorly things, you know, like the status of the city. Pretty light stuff. But still, it’s a prize that we got him. All thanks to yours truly and my brilliant powers of persuasion.”
Julia perked up. She looked down at her papers, trying to concentrate. There was something she’d overheard at a black-tie affair she and her fiancé, James, recently attended. James was always being invited to those things, and she’d been his plus-one. And while he was usually the one to do all the schmoozing, there’d been a conversation to which only she was privy. Quickly, she recollected the details.
The night of the party, two men had stood outside the bathroom door, talking in hushed voices, without realizing she was inside listening. She recognized one of the voices as a staffer from the state attorney’s office, someone whom she’d met several times before. He had a distinctly nasal tone that was difficult to forget. Who the other person was, Julia wasn’t sure.
The Second Chance Supper Club Page 1