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Summary
Zosia barked out a sharp laugh, the sound grating against Carol’s ears. “Is that what I am?”
Carol slammed her palm harder against Zosia’s chest. The paper crumpled underneath the weight of it.
Zosia jerked backward into the desk, back bowing against the wood.
Carol leaned in, the movement unbidden and despite herself. Her voice was low, warm. “I could say more.”
Zosia glanced down to Carol’s mouth. Her lips parted. She shook her head. “Carol,” she breathed out.
“Zosia,” Carol murmured.
Zosia’s voice was strained, gravelly when she spoke. “The script —”