Page 128 of Badd B*tch

He frowned. "Your director? Fuck no. I don't fuck with your Hollywood dudes, Lore, you know that. They're all nuts."

"Weird, then. He said exactly the same thing. Like, exactly."

Danny, on the video call, shrugged. "Maybe the universe is giving you a sign, then, man."

I stared out the window at the admittedly beautiful view of the mountain and the bay. Now that looked inviting—the mountains, the trees. No people.

"Maybe so,” I mumbled, "Maybe so."

"Just go, Lore," Tom said. "You need to reconnect with yourself. You're lost, man. Ever since—"

I held up my hand. "Do not go there."

“Okay, but you know what I'm saying."

“Yeah, I do."

"So get the hell out of Dodge, man. Go somewhere wild. You always say the only peace you've ever found is outside."

I nodded. "I do say that, don't I?"

"Look, my girl is back, Lore. I love you, man. You're gonna be okay. Go get out into the wilderness and do some thinking. Yeah?"

“Yeah, you're right, Danny. Thanks, brother. Love you, man. Say hey to LuLu for me."

"Will do. Call me when you get wherever."

"Yup, I will."

I packed my shit, went back to SeaTac, and stood in front of the board, picking my destination.

Alaska is nice this time of year, huh?

Cool. Sounds like fun. Maybe I'll see an eagle, or catch a salmon. Fight a bear, maybe.

“One first-class ticket to Ketchikan, please."

This place was cool as hell. Beautiful, interesting, remote. Crowded with tourists, but that just meant I, with my ballcap, sunglasses, and stubble, fit right in. No one looked at me twice, which was nice.

A cruise ship blasted its horn somewhere. Seagulls screeched and wheeled and fought over scraps. I’d spent the last couple of hours wandering Ketchikan, picking up tourist shirts and trinkets and whatever for my sister and nieces. But now my feet hurt and I was hungry, and every sit-down place around here was packed.

So I wandered off the beaten path, letting my feet carry me at random until the crowds had thinned to a manageable level. A smell found my nose—searing meat wafting from an open door.

I followed my nose to the doorway of a truly adorable little cafe—and if you tell anyone I said it was adorable, I’ll deny it. It was done in classic 50s diner style, with a hand-painted sign over the door naming it Ella’s, the floor a classic black-and-white checkerboard, vinyl booths along the right-hand wall, and cushioned stools at the soda-jerk counter facing the door.

Behind the counter, a tabloid lay open, held up by dainty little fingers painted pastel pink—one tapped a noisy, idle rhythm on the page.

The headline?

"LORE MACKENZIE FLEES HOLLYWOOD AMID NEW SCANDAL!"

Fuck. Someone leaked.

I almost made it away, but the owner of the fingers heard me shuffle and dropped the paper.

And she was…

Oh.