I’m no longer your agent. WTF? Anya texted back. You lied to me about losing weight. I saw the video, pork chop. What video? She called Trey, but it rang and rang and went to voice mail. She did it a few more times until the phone immediately went to voice mail. The second text hit her harder. You won’t be getting the part. They gave it to someone with a thigh gap. “Asshole,” she said, and had to duck into one of the classrooms before she started to cry in the hallway. I didn’t even get a chance to audition. That son of a bitch. Anya tried to get control even as her head stuffed up and the sobs racked her. This was an angry cry, damn it. By the time she got it together, there was no way she was going to face Clint looking like she had just been put through the wringer. She made a beeline for the spa and booked a facial. They took one look at her and hurried her in. About an hour and a half later, Anya felt cool as a cucumber and refreshed as a rose, because that was what the goo they’d smeared all over her was made of.
