Don’t Cry for Me
DON’T CRY FOR ME
Eve Marlow’s heels clicked confidently against the polished floor as she strode down the hall toward her producer’s office. She paused outside the door, running her fingers over the front of her dress to smooth any wrinkles before lifting her hand to knock.
“Come in,” Greta called from inside.
Eve grasped the handle and pulled the door open.
Greta sat behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she looked up from her computer screen.
But she wasn’t alone. Bruce Koslowski, Life & Leisure’s director of advertising, stood beside her.
“Greta,” Eve said with a polite smile. “Bruce, this is a surprise.”
“Hello, Eve,” Bruce said with an equally polite nod.
“Have a seat.” Greta gestured vaguely to the guest chairs in front of her desk.
Eve sat, placing her laptop on the edge of the desk.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Bruce said.
Eve nodded. “Greta told me this morning that the ratings for our season two premiere weren’t as high as we’d hoped, but I’ve put together several proposed adjustments to Do Over’s advertising plan that I think should—”
“Actually, that’s not why I’m here,” Bruce interrupted. “You can discuss advertising with Greta later.”
More bad news? Eve straightened in her seat, clasping her hands loosely in front of herself. “All right.”
“We have to pull episode eight,” Bruce said.
“The ice cream shop?” Eve said, incensed. “That’s one of our strongest episodes. Why on earth would we scrap it?”
His lips drew into a frown. “The owner has been charged in a sexual assault.”
Fuck. Eve felt a heavy sensation in her stomach, as if the remnants of her lunch had hardened into concrete. “That’s…not good.”
“I know,” Greta agreed. “It’s a publicity nightmare. There’s no way we can air it.”
“Is there time to shoot a replacement?” As the CEO of Marlow Marketing, Eve had built an empire helping underperforming small businesses reach their potential.
Two years ago, the Life & Leisure channel had offered her a television show—Do Over—that followed her as she worked.
Each episode featured a different business, offering viewers the chance to become invested in their success as she helped them rebuild.
Season one had been a runaway success. So far, season two was off to a lackluster start, and without this episode, she might be in real trouble.
“It’s possible,” Greta said. “But the timing would be extremely tight.”
Bruce’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid there’s no room in the production budget to reshoot, even if you were able to fit it into the schedule.”
“I’ll make room in the budget,” Eve said automatically.
This was what she did for a living, after all.
She saved failing businesses, and now she would save her television show, because if she didn’t get her ratings up, Do Over would never get renewed for a third season.
“I’ll draw up a revised advertising plan. ”
“If you’re able to make room in the budget, I’ll think about it, but I’m not making any promises,” Bruce told her. “Have it on my desk by the end of the day.”
She nodded. “Consider it done.”
Bruce left, and Eve slumped in her chair. “How much time do I have to find a new client and shoot a replacement episode?”
“Not much,” Greta told her apologetically. “You’d need to bring me the client’s name by Friday, with filming to begin next week.”
Eve pressed her knuckles against the edge of the desk in front of her, letting the cold wood bite into her skin, providing an outlet for her frustration. “Friday, as in the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. And first, you’ve got to make room in the budget and have Bruce sign off on it,” Greta reminded her.
“I’ll do that right now.” Eve stood, picking up her laptop.
Greta nodded, waving a hand in Eve’s direction. “Go work your magic. You’ll pull this off. I have full confidence in you.”
“I will,” Eve confirmed. She left Greta’s office and strode down the hall toward her own.
They had hundreds of leftover applications from their season two casting call.
The trick would be finding someone who could bring her the ratings she needed, when she’d already chosen what she’d believed to be the ten strongest applicants from the bunch.
Hopefully, she’d overlooked a potential breakout star.
First things first. She closed the door to her office and spent the next two hours reallocating funds from Do Over’s already stretched advertising budget to allow her to shoot the replacement episode.
As much as she needed those advertising dollars, she needed a full season more.
She emailed the revised budget to Bruce and settled in to sift through previously rejected season two applications.
But as the sun slid behind the Manhattan skyline outside her window, she was no closer to finding a replacement client and her stomach had begun to growl obnoxiously. Stifling a growl of her own, she packed up to head home. She’d find something to eat, change into her pajamas, and keep working.
Preferably with a glass of wine.
Since it was going to be a late night, she stopped in the break room to fix herself a coffee for the ride home.
She spent her thirty-minute subway ride making notes on her phone, outlining ways to maximize what remained of her advertising budget.
While Marlow Marketing wasn’t in any trouble, Do Over was dangerously close to cancellation.
She enjoyed filming the show. It had become an important part of her brand, and perhaps most importantly, it had tripled her income.
She wasn’t going to lose it, not when she knew it could be saved.
Her cell phone rang as she exited the subway, and Greta’s name showed on the screen. Eve connected the call. “Please tell me you’re calling with good news.”
“I am, actually,” Greta told her. “They’ve signed off on your revised production budget. All you have to do now is bring us a new client in time to get the replacement episode filmed.”
“Excellent.” Eve exhaled in relief as she dodged a bike messenger, stepping aside to let him pass. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have a name.”
“Friday,” Greta reminded her.
“Got it.” Eve tossed her empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can. A tiny, muffled cry echoed from somewhere, and she paused. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Greta asked.
“Nothing. Listen, I’ll check in with an update tomorrow morning, okay?
” She strode down the street toward her building, intent on getting upstairs, out of these heels, and warming up something for dinner.
Where had that cry come from? Had it been something on Greta’s end of the line?
It hadn’t sounded human, more like an animal.
Probably someone nearby on the street was watching a video on their phone or carrying some kind of exotic pet.
This was New York City, after all. She’d once seen a man carrying a tiny pig in a backpack.
But an uneasy feeling deep in her gut worried that the sound had come from inside the trash can, and it only grew stronger with each step she took.
Holding in a sigh, she turned and walked back to the bin.
It was filled almost to the top with garbage.
Eve couldn’t believe she was even contemplating poking around in a public trash can.
God knew what was inside, but it was sure to be disgusting.
She grimaced as she stood there, listening.
Other than the steady hum and honk of traffic, laughter from a couple passing by, and the distant roar of a jet overhead, she couldn’t hear a thing.
She was being ridiculous. Hours of work awaited her in her apartment, so she had no idea why she was standing here, staring at a trash can.
To satisfy her conscience, she turned on the flashlight on her cell phone and shined it inside.
There was her coffee cup, laying on a plastic grocery bag at the top of the garbage pile. No animals. Nothing but gross, smelly trash. She wrinkled her nose, shining the light quickly over the rest of the bin, but…did that bag just twitch?
Oh, hell.
It twitched again. A sick feeling washed over her, all thoughts of ratings and clients wiped from her mind.
With her free hand, she reached cautiously into the bin, nudging aside her coffee cup to uncover the bag beneath it.
She hesitated before touching it. What if the movement was caused by a rat, rooting through the rubbish? Or something even less friendly?
But that stubbornly uneasy feeling in her gut made her grasp the knot where the bag had been tied shut and lift it out of the bin.
Something inside squealed, and Eve’s heart slammed into her ribs.
Her skin prickled. Oh God, there was really a live animal trapped inside this bag. What kind of sick joke…
She knelt and placed the bag on the ground.
Cautiously, she tore a hole in the plastic, keeping her fingers well away from the opening in case whatever was inside tried to bite her.
She’d just free the rat and be on her way.
But the tiny creatures inside weren’t rats.
The bag was full of some kind of baby animals that looked like…
were those kittens? Tiny newborn kittens, eyes closed and barely moving.
Eve exhaled harshly, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She ripped the bag all the way open and reached inside. Her fingers brushed soft black fur, and the kitten mewled softly, rooting its head toward her hand. It was cool to the touch.
“Jesus,” she murmured, scanning the rest of the animals. She counted six total, a mixture of black, gray, and one solid white kitten. Not all of them were moving. Oh fuck. Were they even alive?