Yu yanked open the passenger door of Beth's beat-up SUV—a dented silver 2018 Honda CR-V with peeling window tint and a faint smell of stale cigarettes—and slid inside, duffel on his lap. The engine growled like it resented being awake this early.
Beth didn't even glance over before she launched.
"Ten minutes late, Yuen! Ten! Do you know how many texts I sent? How many favors I burned to keep this slot open after you ghosted yesterday? You're a walking liability, you know that?"
She slammed the gearshift into drive and peeled out of the alley, tires squealing.
"Pretty face, zero discipline. A vase actor—stand there, look cute, break if anyone breathes on you. I'm a saint for putting up with your entitled ass. Always demanding better roles, better pay, better everything—yet you can't even show up on time!"
Yu stared out the window, letting the tirade wash over him like background noise. Hollywood zipped by:
