The Cold Superstar Demands A Second Chance

the phone screen bur

sofa of her high-rise apartment, he

tag AveryBirdGetOffTV glared back at her. Beneath

glass, trying to swipe the time

ished by TMZ

ub, his face flushed with alcohol, staring di

slurred in the video, his voice drip

Avery's stomach. She gagged,

he glass coffee table. The sharp crack

buzzing from the do

She walked to the door, her bare fe

uinn, her manager, stood in the hallwa

ocked the

ng a blast of over-conditioned hallway air mixed with

the dining table and slammed a manila folder down on the m

inches, spilling a s

Suspension" were print

ngs stoppe

epping scripts, the thousands of hours smiling into a camera lens, everything she had built from nothing over the last decade-all of it t

oughly through her ha

snapped. "They need to put out the fire

rsonal number, Quinn," Av

a harsh, hum

e about the screenshots Caryn posted. The matching luxury watc

her phone off t

all on Kenneth's agent's number, hol

e room. The call went straight to a full voic

switched to Instagram an

. She was comp

sofa cushions. Her breathing was jagg

t out a long sigh and walked

at whiskey and walked back,

"You need to face exactly h

g condensation on the outside of

one gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery path down her

ve a counter-strategy?" Av

staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the s

ead," Quinn said,

tation in Quinn's tone. The

ry demanded. "Te

er leather briefcase. She pulled o

immediately. They belonged to the

stack across th

," Quinn said quietly. "They

he crisp white envelop

reer was gone, and now, she was