Black Light: Purged
Excerpt By Livia Grant
Available at: Amazon (and on Kindle Unlimited!)
My mental illness?! Are you nuts? I am an A-list actress in a cutthroat industry and I’m bringing in millions. You show me one peer of mine that doesn’t struggle with her weight exactly like I do.”
“Yes, but we aren’t considering any of them for the role either. We already found the perfect Margot.”
“Who? I want to know…”
“Shannon Williams,” Charlie the director answered.
“Shannon who?” she blurted, but she knew damn well.
The plucky blonde was four years younger than Khloe and the last time Khloe had seen her on the red carpet at a premier, she’d admired the way the actress’s collarbones had protruded. Khloe remembered feeling especially fat that night because she’d had to have her gown let out just so she could breathe.
This right here was her worst nightmare. It was happening. In Hollywood, there was always going to be someone younger. Thinner. More beautiful. Ryder had convinced her that as long as she had the most talent, it wouldn’t matter. She’d known he was wrong. This proved it.
“Everyone ready to order?” The waiter was back, looking around expectantly.
She yanked her hand away from Edward’s grip and stood so fast that her chair spilled backward, toppling with a loud crash to the floor.
“I’m not able to stay,” she huffed.
“Come on, please sit down, Khloe. Have lunch with us,” Angie urged quietly.
Manic anxiety took hold, something she hadn’t felt since the weeks when she had been threatened by the stalker the year before. Her breath came in short sips. She needed to get the hell out of there before she lost it.
She willed herself to stay strong long enough to deliver her parting shot. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I have an eating disorder. I don’t eat lunch.”
“Yes, but we aren’t considering any of them for the role either. We already found the perfect Margot.”
“Who? I want to know…”
“Shannon Williams,” Charlie the director answered.
“Shannon who?” she blurted, but she knew damn well.
The plucky blonde was four years younger than Khloe and the last time Khloe had seen her on the red carpet at a premier, she’d admired the way the actress’s collarbones had protruded. Khloe remembered feeling especially fat that night because she’d had to have her gown let out just so she could breathe.
This right here was her worst nightmare. It was happening. In Hollywood, there was always going to be someone younger. Thinner. More beautiful. Ryder had convinced her that as long as she had the most talent, it wouldn’t matter. She’d known he was wrong. This proved it.
“Everyone ready to order?” The waiter was back, looking around expectantly.
She yanked her hand away from Edward’s grip and stood so fast that her chair spilled backward, toppling with a loud crash to the floor.
“I’m not able to stay,” she huffed.
“Come on, please sit down, Khloe. Have lunch with us,” Angie urged quietly.
Manic anxiety took hold, something she hadn’t felt since the weeks when she had been threatened by the stalker the year before. Her breath came in short sips. She needed to get the hell out of there before she lost it.
She willed herself to stay strong long enough to deliver her parting shot. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I have an eating disorder. I don’t eat lunch.”