Another short lived victory.

Zoe’s POV

M.J. allowed me to release all the pent-up laughter inside of me before asking, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he said with a small smile.

I finally pulled myself together. I had really wanted to laugh for an hour, but I had to wait until we got the privacy of the car before releasing it. I had been seconds away from bursting.

The anger on his face was rewarding. But now I realized I didn’t think my actions through. I had acted on impulse; I was going to rinse off the dung from the shoe when I sighted him, looking all clean and fresh. I hoped M.J. wasn’t mad at me.

“I did not plan it, it just happened, but I would not deny that it was intentional,” I confessed. My spine hardened in anticipation of the scolding that might follow.

Instead, M.J. reached forth a hand and ruffled my hair. “You naughty girl. I think he deserved it. I’m proud of you. He’ll know you are not easy to bully.”

I couldn’t hold back the childish jiggle. “You’re proud of me?” My mom had never been proud when I did anything that didn’t portray medical excellence.

It was at that moment I knew I had made the right decision by leaving.

“Of course,” M.J. laughed. “I’ll drop you at home. I have something important to do back at the agency. You can practice your script without me.”

I nodded. I would definitely practice. Today had been a good day and the practice had helped. We didn’t do any scene more than three times before we got the perfect shots. Dr. Eloise was happy.

Today was a wonderful day. I was happy. I hadn’t felt like this in years. I took the stairs, too excited to be stuck in the elevator with people with bad body odor. I danced my way up the stairs, taking two steps at a time or randomly taking one step down. Who knew stairs could be so fun? In med school, I was always in too much of a hurry to enjoy the stairs. At the hospital, it was always one emergency or another.

I felt my phone buzz and I jumped. I had not used my phone in days; it was almost an accessory at this point. My heart froze. I had jinxed it. I had fucking jinxed my happiness.

“Good evening, Dr. Adams.” My throat felt tight; my knees shook. She wasn’t in front of me, but merely hearing her voice was enough to invoke a panic attack.

“Where in the world are you? What the fuck are you doing in New York? Zoe, why does your location say New York? You know what? I do not care. I want you back. Right now. Pick up the soonest flight. I want your ass in my office. I want you in and settled by tomorrow evening at worst. Your residency starts in a matter of days; you should be preparing, practicing. You—”

“I quit. I quit, Mom,” I cut her off. I had never heard my mom cuss so much in one breath.

I tightened my free hand on the rail to keep it from trembling.

“You what?”

And the line went quiet. No, she did not hang up. Dr. Adams was flabbergasted. Short of words. I said nothing, and we listened to each other’s breath for twenty seconds before my mother got a grip.

“I’m going to pretend you did not say that. I’m giving you a chance to correct that blunder. I’ll see you in my office tomorrow.”

“I quit, Mom.” I added the word ‘mom’ intentionally, wanting to hear her reaction. By now I was sitting on the tiled stairs; my legs couldn’t carry me.

My mother burst into hysterical laughter. “Is this it, Zoe? A rebellious phase? Aren’t you too old for that? Tell me, what do you intend to do with your life if you won’t be a doctor?” she hissed.

“I met someone. He’s going to make me an actress. A successful one. I—”

“Can you hear yourself?” Dr. Adams screeched. This was not my mother. This was not a mother. “You want to be a prostitute? I trained you, gave you the best education so that you can continue my legacy. I gave you everything.”

“Except the things I really wanted, Mom. I never wanted to be a doctor. I was only good at it.” There was a plea in my voice. I would do anything she wanted, if only she let me do this one thing I want.

“Really? I should have seen this coming. You were never really smart. I’ll let you have this phase; it’ll only be more enjoyable when you come back crawling and begging. Don’t say I did not warn you. Enjoy yourself. Whore all you can.”

And the line went dead. She hung up.

Fear twisted around my heart like a vice and pulled. She was right—if I failed, I would have no choice but to crawl back to her.

Were all actresses prostitutes? I would not sell my body. I did not leave a thriving career to sell my body.

I was on the stairs, sitting for an hour, before I made my way back to my apartment. My victory over Arman was forgotten.

I picked up my script, but the words would not stay. Dr. Adams had planted a seed in my heart, and it was growing—and growing fast.

What if some director asks me for sex before assigning me a deal? A role? What if I failed woefully? Would I be any better than a prostitute? I’ve heard endless stories of aspiring actresses made to bed rich politicians or influential men for deals and roles. Would that be my fate?

M.J. was being so nice to me. Was he breeding me for the woe to come? What had I signed up for?