Chapter Eight

Being on a movie set was a bizarre thing. There was so much happening at once and at the same time absolutely nothing at all seemed to happen. How was it they could spend hours upon hours and only film one and a half pages from the script? A lengthy scene could take weeks.

There would be bustling and energy and shouting of words Madison didn’t know but was starting to understand. People would wheel equipment in and out and lights would flash. Stand-ins—one of those new terms—would run the scene in place of the actors and they’d even film bits of it, Charles and Erin glued to a monitor to see how scenes would play out on a screen. There were so many people involved.

In some ways, it reminded her of the ER. So much happening beyond the patient that people couldn’t see. In the hospital there was everyone from the patients to the nurses and doctors, aids, orderlies and janitors, receptionists and admin workers, phlebotomists, physical therapists, radiologists, pharmacists, social workers, speech pathologists, psychiatrists, nutritionists, and cafeteria workers. And that list wasn’t even exhaustive. All of this was going on all the time, even if all most people saw on a certain level were the hands on the patient performing CPR. Here, on set, people would see the actors in the scene, and maybe think about the director.

But just on set, there were the actors, stand-ins, stunt crew, director, director’s assistants, producers (not on set, but they liked to throw their weight around), production assistants, set dresser, set designer, director of photography, camera operators, the gaffer, something called a best boy (what?), grips, hair and makeup, costume designer, costumer, boom operator, and craft services (Madison’s favorite people—there were bagels every single morning). Then there were all the people after production: editors and special effects technicians and…

It was never ending.

Unlike the ER, however, all those people would be running around, everything completely hectic, Madison unable to really tell who was doing what and what was happening, and then Charles would call, “Action!” and every single person and every single thing stopped moving except for the actors on the set.

It really was something to behold.

The first day on set, ‘getting the hang of things’ as the asshole Dan had said, was overwhelming, and she went home at eleven after being there all day, everyone else still going. There’d been some kind of issue with a light that had set filming back, and then Charles had not been happy with the scene Wren and Trinity were filming—a scene that was from near the end of the show. Why they didn’t film in order had been beyond her—wouldn’t that make the actors more connected to the story? But then Erin had mentioned they filmed based on the set use and location availability. If they had a set up that would be used at the start of the show, they wouldn’t dismantle it to then redo it for a scene that was six episodes later. Usually, they filmed like this.

It still confused Madison.

However, then she watched Wren and Trinity step onto the set. They spent some time ‘blocking’ the scene, even after it had been blocked by the stand-ins. That meant they spent a while figuring out where to sit and stand and move during the scene. Erin would confer with Charles, then pop over to the set and murmur to Trinity and Wren, who would nod, talk, run it again. They’d pause to shift lights, to adjust microphones.

Then Erin called, “Final touches!” and a group of people with fanny packs bulging with mascara wands and foundation, and with hairbrushes in hand, swarmed Trinity and Wren, who stood perfectly still except to follow instructions like ‘look up.’ The swarm left as quickly as they came, one of them calling, “Final touches done!”

Erin asked, “Camera rolling?”

“Ready.”

Everything started to calm.

“Lock it up!” Erin called. Everything stilled even more. “Roll sound.”

“Sound is speeding.”

It was like a well-oiled machine. Like watching a code blue being run, one doctor at the helm, calm and steady, calling out to their team, who knew exactly what to do but still followed their guide. Like that, but a code was the opposite in another way—filled with a frantic energy. There was an energy here, but one that, while buzzing in the air, settled over everything and calmed.

Wren and Trinity took their marks.

Someone said the scene and take, snapped the clapperboard (according to Erin, that was the name of the thing she’d only ever seen in bloopers when watching extras on DVDs back when that was a common thing).

“Action!” was finally called by Charles in the video village, and the hush was…indescribable, after so much energy on set.

Then Wren and Trinity started speaking, and Madison realized why it didn’t matter the order things were filmed. Both of them simply transformed. Wren’s shoulders had drawn back, her arms crossed over her chest almost defensively. Trinity was slumped on a couch, her head in her hands, and when she raised her face up, her eyes were swimming, expression absolutely crushed. Wren didn’t even respond to the devastation on her face, her features hardening even more as she turned away, Trinity’s face falling even more.

“Cut!”

Madison blinked, because even in just those few seconds the two on set had pulled her in.

She was loath to admit it, but Wren was a phenomenal actress. She was more than happy to admit Trinity was also incredible.

Charles conferred with Erin and Erin went onto set and made some motions to Wren, who nodded, face serious, though nothing like it had been in the moments after action was called. Trinity was nodding as she focused on what Erin said.

“Got it,” she heard Trinity say.

Then it all started again.

That Wren up there moving and talking wasn’t at all the Wren that Madison had stood across from hours before, scathing remarks falling from their lips. She was completely professional, smiling and thanking crew, nodding at instructions. At one point, Trinity flubbed a line and Wren gave a laugh so loud it echoed in the room, a few of the crew laughing, even as Wren rubbed both of Trinity’s shoulders in consolation.

She was charming and kind, and even in Madison’s limited view, Madison could see she was fantastic to work with.

Too bad she was such an infuriating person to know in real life.

Homophobic?

Madison almost snorted to herself.

Presumptuous. Infuriating. Annoying. Attention-seeking.

She could list adjectives about Wren all day.

Consummate actress could just be very low on the list.

Madison had stewed all day as she’d talked to Charles about her ideas, going over some of the middle episodes in which things got most intense for medical things, and Madison actually felt excited about how she could bring medical reality into it.

“I watched the first season,” she’d told him.

He’d nodded. “What did you catch?”

“Well, it was like Dan said—there wasn’t anything glaringly wrong—and believe me, I’ve seen shows that were painful as an ER doc to watch. You didn’t shock someone flatlining, at least.”

“That’s a pretty infamous no-go these days,” he’d said, eyes roving the scripts she’d highlighted, fingers tracing the notes she’d made in the margins. He was able to read through it and follow their conversation. Madison was in awe.

She could barely listen to someone speak without her brain listing ten things that weren’t useful until she realized she’d missed everything said.

“It is?”

He’d looked up, finger paused on a line. “Oh yeah, it was basically a meme. I don’t think anyone would be able to get away with that one now.”

“I had no idea. We made fun of it all the time, so I’ll be sad we can’t anymore.”

He’d given a short laugh. “Something new will pop up, it always does.” He’d squinted at her. “What did you think of the first season?”

“I enjoyed it,” she’d said. It had been an honest statement, too. She really had. Much to her chagrin. “It was incredibly raw. The emotion. Watching Riley struggle with her sense of duty at work and going out alone to find her sister. I felt it.”

“Wren brought everything to that, and it showed.”

Behind Charles, Erin’s eyebrows had raised, and she actually appeared impressed. Apparently, praise was few and far between with Charles.

She’d spent the weekend binging the show on her couch, eating popcorn and ignoring the one hesitant message from Casey asking if it was true she was going to take some time off.

I think it’s really great you’re taking some time for you. You haven’t had a break in so long and I’ve been worried you were going to lose yourself in work completely.

It had been kind and concerned and had left Madison feeling worse, somehow. It had made her wish she had it in her to reach out and ask someone to come watch with her. To sprawl on the couch and throw popcorn at the screen and take notes with her on any medical errors or spots they could have amped it up, and listen to her mock Wren even when Wren was phenomenal.

She hadn’t done any of that, of course. Rather, she’d spent the whole weekend alone.

“She really did, Trinity too,” Madison had said, unsure what else to say. She didn’t want to fill Wren with praise, but also, this was to be her job. She couldn’t be all, “Actually, Wren sucks.”

Because she definitely did not suck at her job.

Thankfully, they’d transitioned on from that and gone over Madison’s ideas. Erin had been dragged in, as well as a few other people Madison was trying to remember but had already forgotten, and Erin had started tapping away at a terrifyingly organized Excel sheet, muttering about a reorganized schedule. The script supervisor (Madison wanted to say Joel? Joey?) had stepped up besides Charles and then Madison had spent hours talking with him.

They all spoke highly of Wren.

Watching her now, Madison could understand why.

Madison and Wren were going to have to learn to talk to each other, because they were going to be working together. Charles wanted her rehearsing scenes with Wren to make sure the details were perfect, wanted her on set when those scenes were being filmed.

They were going to have to work together, and Madison was going to have to get over herself. Wren would, too.

They’d gotten along for a few weeks at nine years old. Surely they could do it again.

“Cut!” was called again and Wren and Trinity slipped out of their quieter, brooding characters and grinned at each other, Wren rolling her neck and Trinity dropping down onto the couch she’d stood up from to yell something passionately at Wren’s character.

At ten, a break was called.

“Take fifteen!” Erin shouted.

They only got fifteen minutes after hours of that?

Madison, in her chair near the video village (the ridiculous name for where the director and company hung out with screens and equipment to run everything from), watched people moving quickly, some running fast toward the bathroom, the way they half-crossed their legs showing they’d held that for a long time. Trinity, her arm over Wren’s shoulders, walked toward Madison. By the look on Wren’s face, she hadn’t realized where she’d been getting dragged to until she was in front of Madison.

Trinity bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and lit up. “How’s your first day on set?”

“How are you so energetic? Aren’t you exhausted?” Madison asked.

Trinity shrugged, and Wren rolled her eyes. “She’s twenty. She’s always energetic.”

Trinity merely shrugged again.

“Youth,” Madison huffed. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

Wren threw her an amused glance and Madison’s stomach lurched. No. She did not want to bond with Wren.

“You two talk as if you’re eighty. If it’s going to be that bad at thirty-five, I’m horrified.” Trinity looked from one to the other of them. “So, when do you two start playing doctor?” She gave an over-the-top waggle of her eyebrows.

Wren had a frozen, uncomfortable smile on her face and Madison probably looked exactly the same.

“Wow, is it easy to make you two uncomfortable. Too easy, to be honest. Going to take the opportunity for a bathroom break.” She started to walk away. “You two just keep being weird.”

Wren seemed ready to pull the finger at Trinity’s retreating back.

They were left staring at each other, people moving around them in a blur.

“We can’t keep having run-ins like that,” Wren murmured.

The lack of a cutting remark disappointed Madison. Even if Wren were right. “Agreed.”

“I get it. You don’t like me. We’ll just get the job done, and you don’t have to talk to me.”

More disappointment.

“That sounds for the best,” Madison said. Except it didn’t. Was it that she enjoyed the tension?

Yes. She enjoyed the tension. She hadn’t had tension in years. Everyone spent far too much effort dancing around her.

At least this wasn’t dancing around her. Wren wasn’t going to pretend it was fine or put up with Madison being cranky.

Refreshing.

Even if that disappointment lingered.

“So.” Wren crossed her arms and leaned against the wall to the left of Madison. “I hear you have a lot of suggestions for me. I thought, maybe, we could go over some of the stuff from last season? You could show me what you’d change from that. That would really help me visualize what I’ll need to do for the future scenes.”

“That could be amenable,” Madison said, purposefully choosing a word to annoy Wren.

It worked.

At least, she got an eye roll.

“Look, I don’t want to dictate this,” Wren said. “If that’s not going to work for you, I’m open to suggestions.”

There was the bite Madison liked.

“We’ll do it your way,” she said. She grinned to herself when the wording made Wren’s jaw clench. “It’s fine. When do you want to start?”

“I have a few hours tomorrow between scenes, in the afternoon. If it suits you, I’d like to get started straight away. How’s two?”

Madison had been told her hours on set were, at the start, to be completely available to Wren. But there was no way she was telling Wren that.

“Two thirty?”

Wren’s eye twitched, Madison would swear on it. “Fine.”

“See you tomorrow,” Madison said sweetly.

Wren didn’t buy it for a second. “See you tomorrow,” she said drily.

“Alright people, back on set!”

Wren eyed her, then turned and walked back up to the set, a flurry of movement around her as others took their positions.

The disappointment faded. That edge was still there.

* * *

For reasons unknown to Madison, she panic-dressed the next morning while getting ready to go back onto set. By the time she’d settled on an outfit, there were pants, shirts, and even a dress dumped over her bed. The darker colors covered her white sheets, a jacket even thrown over the pillows at the head of the bed.

Yesterday, the first day on set, she hadn’t thought much about it; simply pulled on the jeans she favored on her rare days off and a black tank with a sprawling yellow sun on the front. Today, though? Today was one of those weird, obsessive, nothing-looked-nor-felt-good days. Freezing as she adjusted the strap on the black overalls she’d finally settled on, she stared off into space. Was she getting her period? This kind of appearance anxiety was rare for her, but pre-period her was a whole other kettle of fish.

She counted backward.

Nope. Two weeks away still. Thankfully. So, not where the appearance anxiety was coming from. Strap finally adjusted, she blew her hair out of her face and took in the disaster that was her bed. She cringed to herself. Mess. Everywhere.

She’d gotten a lot cleaner after she’d met her wife. She’d never been purely disgusting in her cleaning habits, but she really didn’t care if a few cups littered the space, or laundry piled up on The Chair in her room, or books and papers were strewn about. Madison was quite chaotic in her mess.

Her wife had been a bit of a neat freak, though. And Madison had only wanted to make her happy.

Madison’s stomach clenched and she swallowed, eyes lingering on the side of the bed she still didn’t sleep on, now covered in that one dress she loved, kept, but had never worn because she wasn’t really one for dresses.

Today she’d leave the mess. And not go down memory lane, either. Normally when she started to do that, she went to work and threw herself into an emergency. There were always emergencies. People who needed lines put in or CPR or a scan. She wavered for a second, there in her room, surrounded by strewn-about clothes and open drawers spewing leggings and socks. Two years, and not once had she felt this feeling rising up in her and not had the ER to run to. To escape in. Her palms were clammy. She’d taken her meds, hadn’t she?

She closed her eyes. Sucked in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. All the things she’d been told to do that first year. Yes, she’d taken her medication. She used a container with separated compartments named with the day to make sure she’d remember. She sucked in another breath through her nose. Blew it out slowly. Opened her eyes.

Maybe she didn’t have the ER to lose herself in, the routine of it. The reliability. But she had work today, regardless. She turned around and went through her corridor, running a finger along the empty walls as she did so in a gesture that always soothed her. The smoothness of the paint against the tips of her fingers, the pressure remaining the same the entire length of the corridor.

She’d acquired a lot of little ways to soothe herself, the last couple of years. It was all normal.

Everything was normal, apparently. You could say anything or do anything, and it was normal.

Except work nonstop for two years. That started to get you some blowback. Vacation she was required to take. Concern. All the rest.

Maybe this wasn’t a vacation, but her boss had been more than happy to give her a leave of absence to do this. HR had all but insisted. She could distract herself with this, instead.

Why not?

Her fingers left the wall, and she walked into the living room, plants dotted around the space which she barely kept alive. She’d need to water them when she came home tonight. The notebook was on the sparse white table where she’d left it, little colorful tabs sticking out all over the place. Not having had the scripts from the first season to attack, she’d made notes while binging the first season. It would have to do if that was what Wren wanted to start with. She tucked it under her arm, grabbed her bag, and headed downstairs right on time.

Swearing under her breath, she spun around, ran back up, and let herself back in. Her phone wasn’t on the kitchen counter. Bathroom sink? There it was. She jammed it in her bag and then left again. A neighbor passing her on the stairs nodded to her, clinging to the railing as he took a breather on his way up to the sixth floor.

“No scrubs today?”

“Having a bit of time off, actually, Mr. Kumar.” She paused below him on the stairs, genuinely a little concerned at how hard he was breathing.

“Good for you. You work too much. Diya says so too.”

“Well, if your wife says so…” She tried not to make her smile a bit too tight. “Is the elevator broken?”

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “No! Doctor told me to walk more. So now I take the stairs. Every day up and every day down. Sometimes it just takes me a while.”

His breathing had mostly returned to normal, his coloring good. “Okay—well, take it slow. It’s not a race.”

He waved a hand at her dismissively. “I’m eighty-two. You think I don’t know it’s not a race?”

Her lips twitched, her smile a lot more genuine this time around. “You got me there. Any pearls of wisdom for me, then?”

His expression went pensive for a moment, and she paused at the bottom of the landing. The hand not clinging to the railing came up and he stroked his chin, deep in thought. She was going to get some real wisdom, she knew it. “Telling some people to ‘be themselves’ is actually some of the worst advice anyone could give them.”

It only took a second to sink in, and when it did, Madison gave a bark of laughter. His entire face lit up at her response, grin cheeky.

“Not what I was expecting,” she said.

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” With that, he turned and continued his slow advance upstairs, chortling to himself.

With Mr. Kumar’s laugh still in her ears as she slid into the car that was waiting out the front of her apartment building, the drive seemed to go quicker than the day before. The sun was fairly warm already, the inside of the car heating up where the light splashed through the window. She sank into the soft seats in the back, the partition up between her and the driver in front. Which was a secret relief. Yesterday, the driver had been incredibly chatty, and all Madison had wanted to do was sit in the back quietly, stare out at all the traffic, and question the life choices that had got her thinking that going to a film set for months had been a good idea.

At least after a month or so, she was going to be back at the hospital part time.

Blessed silence was what she had today, at least.

The beam of sunlight was warming her arm where it speckled her skin. She was paler than she used to be. Not pale by anyone else’s standards; her olive skin was always brown. But it had lost a lot of its color. There’d been a time when she was always a much darker brown, using vacations to get all the sun she could. She’d soak it up. A week camping in the mountains. Days on the beach. Being by the pool in her complex when she could.

Past-Madison would be shocked at her now. Maybe even just these thirty minutes or so in the car were going to leave her with a darker brown slash over her arm. She held it perfectly still, just in case. At least that would be kind of funny.

By the time the car had pulled into the studio lot, going through two checkpoints before she was let out at the studio they were filming in, her skin was hot to the touch. She’d be regretting the three-quarter-length white shirt and the long, thicker black overalls if she hadn’t experienced the extreme level of air conditioning on the set the day before. Hospitals were incredibly cold, always. Patients often complained. Staff noticed it less, running around all day as they did. But even during times she’d been sitting for hours in a meeting or conference or taking notes, it had never been as cold as the set the day before. Nope, she’d come prepared today.

She swiped herself into the building with the card she’d received the day before, then went through security and was back in the maze of corridors and rooms she was nowhere near knowing.

Standing right near security, she drew in another breath and took a step into it all.

She spent the morning with the script supervisors again, going over what they’d highlighted the day before. Their questions surprised her—they were thoughtful, every single one, and had taken what she’d said and run with it. When she questioned how fast they’d rewritten a lot of what she’d suggested already, one of them had given a one-shouldered shrug and grinned.

“We have a huge team.”

Which they clearly did. She’d sat as the credits rolled on the final episode on the weekend and watched name after name after name scroll on it. The undertaking of filming a movie or show was beyond her. The scale of it all—the money involved. What they were paying her was slightly obscene, let alone the car to and from her apartment each day she was on set. When you scaled that up to the number of people showing up for it?

It blew her mind a little bit.

She had patients that couldn’t afford their health care and ended up in ruins because they didn’t have insurance when they’d broken a leg.

At one in the afternoon, she went and grazed at the craft table, hanging back again as people flocked over it. She stood by a wall, watching all these people move around each other who seemed to know exactly where they belonged. As it neared two thirty, one of the younger people she’d seen zipping between rooms and around the set with headphones connected to their ears caught her attention. They seemed to know what was up.

“Can you let me know how to get to Wren Acker’s dressing room?” He eyed her, and she held up the lanyard around her neck with her pass to be here and her job. “I have a meeting with her.”

He gave her directions that seemed easy enough to follow and it only took backtracking down various corridors three times before she stood outside a door with Wren’s name on it very officially.

She clutched her notebook to her chest, tried not to dwell on what she was wearing for absolutely no reason at all, and knocked.

“Come in.”

She pushed the door open and entered a room that was far bigger than she was expecting. It was basically a small apartment, sleek and shiny. Nothing about it had the appearance of something particularly temporary. She’d imagined trailers and the like. Earlier, when she’d seen no trailers and it was clear everything here was run inside, she’d asked one of the script guys, and they’d said that in the studio they usually had dressing rooms.

So, she’d imagined a cramped little space to get changed in.

Nope. It was a whole apartment. Complete with flowers on a little table. From a cream couch on the far side, Wren stood up. The sight of her alone set Madison on edge. She’d thought that feeling might have calmed down by now. After all, she’d watched Wren yesterday, they’d interacted after their little spat in the meeting room. Surely they could now play at adults and get along? Wren seemed like she was someone who was professional at work. Not a lot in the media had ever really contradicted that image. And Madison herself was sure as hell never anything but professional at work.

They could do this.

“Hi,” Wren said. “I realized I didn’t give you directions when I asked to meet here. You find it okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” she lied breezily. Those three times she had needed to backtrack weren’t important. “Piece of cake.”

She shut the door behind her and stood with her back against it, still hugging the notebook to her chest.

“Good.” Wren stayed standing. “About yesterday—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Wren hesitated, as if wanting to say more. Finally, she sat back down. “Okay.” She smiled, wide and open, and Madison clutched that notebook tighter to herself like a shield. Wren’s hair was in perfect auburn waves, her makeup flawless.

“What are you filming today?” Madison asked, right as Wren said, “Do you think—”

They both blinked at each other. “You go,” Wren said.

“Uh—what were you filming today? You don’t look very disaster-y.”

Wren’s lips quirked and Madison held onto that notebook for dear life. “It’s one of the very first scenes, before the disaster-y moment.”

“Oh.” Wren’s head cocked. “What were you going to say?”

“It was more a question. Do you think we can play nice? And get through this? We don’t have to like each other.”

Madison nodded. “I’ve worked with a lot of people I don’t like.”

“Me too.” Wren grinned. “Like, a lot.” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “There are a lot of insufferable people involved in film and TV.”

Madison snorted. “You don’t say,” she said drily.

Wren narrowed her eyes, but didn’t take the bait. Despite their supposed truce, Madison couldn’t help but feel a little let down.

“Come take a seat, let’s get started.”

As Madison wove around the table and the coffee table, Wren asked, “Do you want a coffee or anything? Water?”

“I’m fine for now, thanks.” Madison paused. Next to Wren on the couch? Or the armchair? Wren needed to see the notes. She finally sat down on the couch next to Wren, who radiated heat. What was that about?

Madison cleared her throat, opening her notebook and laying it out on the coffee table. Wren shifted closer, her leg pressing into Madison’s as she put her elbows on her knees to lean forward and see the notes.

Her leg was warm against Madison’s. Almost charged. An electricity zapping along her leg. An uneasy feeling settled in Madison’s belly.

Wren’s gaze roved over the first page. She grinned, eyes darting up to Madison’s face. Why was she sitting so close? Why was her gaze so intense? Her eyes were an incredible brown. Like honey.

Madison’s chest was tight.

“What, no tablet?” Wren asked.

“You’re going to pick apart how I take my notes?”

The words burst out of her. She used the way Wren reeled back to shift her body away from hers, that unease leaving her stomach and that electricity no longer charging along her skin. Even as she could feel that the words were too harsh, the band that had started tightening around her chest loosened as the previously open expression on Wren’s face shut down.

“You’re seriously going to take everything I say as some kind of major criticism instead of purely a conversation starter or observation out of curiosity?”

The band loosened even more.

“Well, sorry if being called homophobic gets to me.” Throw that in, why not Madison?

It didn’t take Wren long to jump right back into what they’d just agreed to leave behind them. “Sorry if your actions are what led to that comment!” She pulled even further away, and Madison could breathe even more.

“Sorry if you came out in a way that screamed attention seeking.”

“Because you know me so well? Go on.” Wren stood up, throwing her arms in the air. “Hit me. What more do you know about me from what bullshit the paparazzi publish?”

Madison didn’t know anything about her. Not really. True, it was impossible not to see clickbait articles about someone as famous as Wren Acker. But due to Madison’s little, incredibly stubborn grudge, she rarely paid attention to them. Occasionally, she clicked to be petty. But she knew what she was reading—made-up opinions, things barely based on facts. A photo well timed to make Wren appear angry when she’d probably only felt full from lunch or something and was grimacing on a walk, and the artful writer made up a whole feud between Wren and some other actress. Madison knew she didn’t really know Wren. Not Real Wren. All actors had all kinds of things exaggerated or made up about them.

But Wren held her arms out in a classic ‘come at me’ move. “Go on, hit me with it! I called you a homophobe, I acted like I knew you. Come for me.”

The words bubbled up in Madison’s chest, and heat rose to her cheeks as she stood up. “Fine. Sorry if you had several girlfriends at once and that added to the whole ‘you came out for shits and giggles’ theory.” The tendons in Wren’s jaw stood out, and it did nothing but spur Madison on. Wren had asked her for this. Why not? She didn’t think any of this, she’d just read it. “Sorry if you crashed your car while under the influence. Sorry you haven’t ever had a long-term relationship.” Wren’s eye twitched this time. That article had been particularly scathing as it had made all these conjectures about Wren’s ability to maintain relationships. On the surface, the public and media loved Wren. She came across as wholesome and funny and didn’t have any drama. But clickbait never rested. No one was safe, really. “Sorry you lost an important role years ago because you were difficult to work with.”

Wren’s nostrils flared at the final one. “Yup, you sure know me, then.” Wren crossed her arms. “Really got me down.”

“You asked.”

This was absurd. They couldn’t hold one normal conversation. Deep down, Madison knew this was on her. She really needed to get a handle on this. She was standing here, having petty arguments with one of the most famous people on the planet.

It was still kind of giving her a buzz.

Wren’s chin jutted up as she considered Madison, a flush to her skin.

Madison, for the hundredth time that day, took in a long breath. She let it out slowly as they measured each other with a look. This had all been her, even if Wren had snapped back to what was fast becoming their normal as soon as Madison had given her the chance. “I like to write.”

“What?” Wren blinked rapidly at the turn around.

“You asked about my not having my notes on a tablet or something.” Wren still looked confused, then it seemingly sunk in, and her entire expression relaxed. “I like writing notes. It makes me feel like I’m back at med school. It’s the only way I feel like I’ve actually made any notes and can take the information in. If I type I don’t absorb anything. I don’t know why. They asked if I wanted digital or printed for the script, so I said printed. I figured they wouldn’t care if my notes for the first season were written, then, either.”

Wren ran her tongue over her bottom lip, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “No one will care. I didn’t either. It was just a curiosity question—everything’s usually digital. So, I asked. That’s all.”

They stared at each other, a few feet between them.

“Okay,” Madison said.

“Okay,” Wren answered.

The silence buzzed around them.

“So, let’s go over these notes of yours.”