Page 45 of The Ex Factor

Ashley was delighted, and fortunately, not working till two. ‘Sure.’

A little while later, after coffee had been located and several members of the household had wandered through the kitchen in varying states of consciousness and undress, Ashley checked her socials. Though she didn’t like to be on them, she had to have some sort of presence as a performer.

The internet at the house was stretched to the limit, and loading Twitter took so long she clearly gave up. Eventually, her page appeared, her inbox showing notifications. She clicked through the usual collection of nonsense.

Then she stopped. ‘Oh.’

Molly looked up from rehearsing audition pages. ‘Good oh or bad oh?’

‘Potentially good oh?’ Ashley said without any real optimism.

Ashley opened the message. Read it. Reread it, then smiled. ‘A guy was at the gig last night.’

Molly frowned. ‘What guy?’

‘Apparently, some sort of talent scout.’

The phrase felt absurd even saying it aloud. Nobody talent-scouted Ashley. Talent scouts discovered people in films.

Yet here was the message.

A local band was putting together a small regional tour. Nothing glamorous, tiny venues, tiny money, tiny audiences. But they needed support. And somebody had recommended her, and the guy had caught the last twenty minutes of Ashley’s gig last night. It was left implied that he liked it.

Molly’s face lit up immediately. ‘Ashley.’

‘You know, I’ve heard of this scam. I say I’m interested and a fee pops up. To pay for transport or hotels. You’ll see,’ Ashley said.

Molly abandoned the script pages and moved around the table to read over Ashley’s shoulder. Their shoulders touched. Ashley became aware of this immediately. Which was ridiculous. They had literally slept together.

Yet there was still tension in a small touch.

‘I guess we’ll see,’ Molly said as she squeezed Ashley’s shoulder. ‘Hard not to think…’

Ashley smiled. ‘What?’

‘Maybe we bring each other good luck?’

Ashley snorted. ‘Oh my god.’

‘I’m not about to do your horoscope. I’m just saying.’

Ashley laughed. But she kind of believed her.

And sitting there in Molly’s terrible kitchen, with the house falling apart around them and their futures still mostly theoretical, Ashley found herself thinking that things were beginning. Life was beginning.

Sixteen

Now

Molly lay on her sofa and stared at her phone screen, wishing she could use telekinesis to set the entire internet on fire.

It was barely nine in the morning, and her face was plastered across every single corner of the digital world. It wasn’t the sophisticated, ‘rising dramatic actress’ look she had envisioned when she signed up for this fake-dating nightmare. No, it was pure, unadulterated idiocy.

The Daily Mail had gone with the headline: FALLEN IDOL: Sitcom Star Molly Sullivan Takes a Spectacular Tumble, exposing Pop Princess Ashley Malone’s breasts!

That was an exaggeration. Her breasts had stayed in their housing. At most, people had seen her stomach and some admittedly nice cleavage. On TikTok, a slow-motion video of her mid-air flail, set to a ridiculous techno remix of Ashley’s biggest pop hit, already had three million views. The top comment, with fifty thousand likes, simply read: She fell for her. Literally.

Molly groaned, burying her face in her sofa cushions. The embarrassment was a physical sensation. She had wanted to show the industry she was ready for serious, dignified roles, not prove that she was a walking health hazard.