I pull up at the Starbucks drive-through for a triple espresso. I need to bring my A game for today’s read through, and a heavy dose of caffeine is just what the script doctor ordered. I need to be wide awake and ready for action.

I pass my credit card through the window, pay for my coffee, and drive to the studio.

The top’s down today, and the sun is fucking magnificent. I love LA mornings when there’s no smog and the air is almost fresh.

When I get to the lot, I park my car, and who do I see? Brad. Bam!

What a way to start the day.

I mean, he’s a nice-enough guy, and if we weren’t in a competition about whose character is gonna live and who’s is gonna die, I might really dig him. Maybe grab a beer together after a long day on set—if I weren’t competing.

I guess I need to cut him some slack. This wasn’t his idea.

The whole situation is just fucked. Seriously.

I need to stop thinking like this.

Before I get out of the car, I pull down the visor and give myself the once-over in the mirror. I check the hair, give a big smile, and make sure there’s no breakfast stuck in my teeth. Looking good. Time to move on out.

“Breathe,” I tell myself. “Stay calm. People can smell desperation.”

There are certain things that are out of my control, but I refuse to believe this is one of them. I will act my ass off (and any other body parts necessary) at this table read to make sure I’m the character they can’t live without.

“Yo! Brad,” I call as I jog over to him. “Wait up.”

“Hey, Scott. What’s going on?”

“Ah, you know, the usual.”

“Yeah? Kinda tense around here lately, don’t you think?” Brad asks.

“Yeah, just a little,” I say, trying to sound like I’m tossing off the remark.

We push through the revolving door, and we’re greeted by Sam the guard.

He’s about a hundred years old and can’t see worth shit. If there were any type of disturbance, we’d definitely be on our own. But he’s been with the studio for twenty-five years, and no one has the heart to fire him.

He just scowls at us as we say our hellos. We sign in and head toward studio A.

Most of the cast for The Kings is already at the table, and the only person missing is Kayla.

I hang my jacket up in the corner, take the script from my back pocket, and head over to the table with my triple shot and plop down in the seat next to Brad.

I inch my chair a little closer. I bet he can feel me breathing on him. I figure a little intimidation might throw him off.

My mother used to say, “Whoever has the upper hand has control.” And I want control.

The truth is, I gotta have it. I hate, absolutely hate, not knowing what’s coming next.

When I read a book, I skip to the end so I know who did it. I can’t take the anxiety of not immediately knowing what’s going to happen.

Like right now, I want to know what Brad knows, and the best way to do that is to get him talking.

“Kayla’s late,” I say and blow a breath out as if I’m exasperated.

“Not really,” Brad says, looking at the clock on the wall. “She has another five minutes.”

“Aren’t we precise, and protective.”

Brad sits back in his chair and looks at me. “Meaning?”

“Let’s just say I have my sources, and I know what goes on around here.” I make a circular motion with my hand, indicating the studio.

“I’m not sure that’s something you want to brag about. It’s a little girlie, if you ask me,” Brad says.

“So now you think you’ve got comedy chops? ’Cause that wasn’t funny.”

“I just call it like I see it.” Brad folds his arms over his chest. “Who would have pegged you as gossip girl?” And then he chuckles.

It’s the chuckle that gets me. It’s a little superior, so now I’m feeling like I gotta pounce.

I lean in and whisper, “I know you think you’ve got it all going on with Kayla.”

“Jeez!” He turns in his chair and frowns. “Was your last gig as a code breaker, because you’re being incredibly cryptic. What are you talking about, and what is it you think you know, Scott?”

He sounds pissed, and a the few cast members are starting to look our way.

“Well, I know about that little lunch run you did for Kayla.” I shake my head. “Dude, that was so freaking lame. What makes you think wining and dining with the head writer saves your ass? It’s gonna take a lot more than that.”

Brad just stares at me and shrugs. Smug is all over his face.

“I’m seriously asking, why do you think that’s your save?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” Brad fires back, pointing to his head. The rest of the people at the table are definitely staring at us now. “There is actually something underneath this hood. And I have a plan.”

I so wanna wipe the smirk off his face. But it’s true, the guy is good-looking, and clearly he’s working as hard as I am to stay in this game. So I gotta give him some props.

“If you know so much about what’s going on around here,” Brad continues, “and if you have your finger on the pulse, as you claim, why don’t you know who’s getting written off?”

I gotta admit, this catches me slightly off guard.

Now it’s my turn to shrug.

“If the studio is looking for an easy answer,” Brad says, “I have a tire iron in my trunk. I’ll make it painless, I promise.”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is it’s going to take a lot more than bringing Kayla lunch to beat me. It’s going to actually take some acting skills. And sorry. Last time I checked, there was no contest. Mine were front and center.”

I slap the table for emphasis, and the girl across the table jumps.

“Oh, ho, ho, ho…you think? Dream on. Who got twelve, count them, twelve script pages in the last episode?”

“Bro, what the fuc—” I shake my head, “Your character’s name was on twelve pages, but you were lying unconscious for ten of them. It’s not as if you had to act, for God’s sake!”

“Remember who won the People’s Choice Award? Right, that would be me.” Brad gives a low whistle. “Man, why don’t you go sit on the other side of the table?”

He pushes to his feet and walks over to the craftytable, all eyes on him.

I get up and step right in line next to him. “Listen, this is getting out of hand,” I say in an angry whisper.

“Asshole, you started it.”

“I am not the asshole. You’re the one who’s playing Kayla. And if I find out that’s the case, they won’t have to figure out who to write off, ’cause I’ll kill you.”

Brad grabs a bottled water from the table and takes a long chug while I stand there and wait for a response.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I feel the same way. If you’re using her to keep your job, then I really will take out that tire iron.”

Now I’m pumped the fuck up. I want a piece of this guy. I’m about to take a swing when the door opens, and in sweeps the director’s assistant, a girl named Sandra.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” she asks, her foul mouth fast at work while her gaze sweeps the room. “You’re in the wrong fucking room. Kayla has been waiting for you for ages.”

As the rest of the cast starts getting up from their chairs, Sandra raises her hand and stops them. “No, today’s just the three wonder brothers—Brad, Scott, and Ian.”

Ah, fuck.