Erin Lowell emerged from the hidden back room to answer the call. She set her phone on the table, switched on the speaker, and went to the fridge for a bottle of wine. "At a bar?"
"Yeah. You coming?"
'She must have had a lot to drink.' Jocelyn Lawrence's words were slurred, and with no background chatter, she had to be drinking alone and brooding.
'Probably because of that trending topic from earlier.'
"Okay." She put the bottle of wine back, detoured to her walk-in closet, and pulled on a long, dark coat. After pulling her hair back, she said, "Go easy on the drinks. I can't carry you home."
The sound of a bottle shattering came through the phone. Jocelyn Lawrence had reached the pinnacle of her career, but she was never the arrogant type. In the world of A-list celebrities, she was known for being good-tempered; it was rare for her to fly into a rage like this.
"I'm telling you, Erin, if I find that son of a bitch, I'm going to break his third leg."
Erin Lowell: "..."
