Chapter 1: The Worst Possible Coauthor

Nora Price had written eleven bestsellers, and none of them had her name on the cover. She liked it that way. Ghostwriting paid the rent, kept her out of interviews, and let her disappear into other people's lives for a few months at a time. The only thing she did not like about it was Eli Barnes.

Eli was a ghostwriter too, which would have been fine if he had stayed in his lane. Instead, he had a habit of showing up wherever Nora was pitching, wearing the same rumpled navy blazer and the same easy smile, and walking away with the client. Three times in five years. She kept count.

So when her agent called about Vivian Hart, Nora sat down on her kitchen floor. Vivian Hart had been the most famous actress in America for three straight decades and had never given a real interview. Now she wanted to tell her whole story, and she wanted Nora to help her write it.

"There's a catch," her agent said.

"There's always a catch."

"She also wants Eli Barnes."

Nora closed her eyes. "For what?"

"For the same book. She wants you both at her house in Montecito for twelve weeks. You each write your own version of the first three chapters. Whoever she likes better gets the contract and the credit. The other one goes home."

"That's insane."

"That's seven figures, Nora."

She arrived in Montecito on a bright, windy Sunday. The house was white stone and glass, perched above the ocean like it had been placed there by a very careful hand. Eli was already on the front steps, holding two coffees. He offered her one. "Oat milk, no sugar," he said. "Right?"

It was right. She hated that it was right. She took the coffee anyway, because it was a long drive and she was not an idiot, and walked past him into the house without saying a word.