Would you Swallow all your Pride?

Chapter Three: White.

TW: Brief mentions of murder.

"I'm aware." Billie Dean was the one to show some attitude, now. Wilhemina Venable worked for her, after all. And as she had already admitted to herself, the situation was urgent. "But I'm also aware Jenny has let you know I would need you on set sometimes. That's one of these times. A car will come pick you up in half an hour. Bring pen and paper." And with that, Billie Dean hung up. Who did Wilhemina Venable think she was?

Indeed, the car arrived in thirty minutes. Wilhemina fumed. She carried that stupid notepad in hand as well as a pen, coral in color. For fuck's sake, why is everything coral?! In her anger-filled state, it didn't occur to Venable that everything she owned was one color, too. All she knew was that she was annoyed and mad and that those colors crashed horribly with her purple skirt and shirt.

The driver opened the door, greeting Wilhemina with a smile. She glared at him and got to the backseat, not saying a word. Just because Billie Dean was famous didn't mean she could do anything she wanted. What am I even going to do in that stupid place? Her jaw was as hard as a rock as she sat on the backseat.

It didn't take more than thirty minutes for the car to park in front of a huge mansion. Wilhemina was surprised with how fast the ride was. As she stepped outside, brown eyes looked up; the building was old. It radiated a melancholic, almost nostalgic feeling. Cameras were all around, and people yelled over to each other nonstop. It was overwhelming. Calmingly and as collected as always, Venable began walking to the entrance.

"Ma'am," someone yelled. "You're not allowed in this property. We're filming."

Great. Now this. Wilhemina turned around to the man wearing a 'crew' jacket. "I'm with Ms. Howard."

"Do you have your credentials?"

What? Wilhemina leaned onto the cane, purse on the other arm. "No, I do not. It was a last time arrangement."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I can't let you in without a creden—"

"She's with me," Billie Dean cut the man as she stepped on the doorway. The man nodded and apologized before going back to work.

Venable looked over to Billie Dean; she now had a glow to her that was provided by the professional makeup contrasting with such a dark background, her hair shone in bright shades of gold and her clothes accentuated her frame. Still, Wilhemina was pissed. "What should I do?" She asked without even saying hello.

Billie Dean glared at her. Had they had more time, she'd show a little attitude to Venable as well. But they were in a rush. "Follow me." And so, she led the way inside, walking swiftly through the cameras and cables and all the crew. Inside, the mansion was just as huge and just as old as it was outside. "Did you bring your MacBook?"

At the question, Wilhemina felt herself growing small. She had forgotten to grab it. So, instead of caving in, she stood up even straighter. "No, I did not. You didn't tell me I had to."

Billie Dean stopped in front of a chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sighed. "I told you the e-mails were sent to you." Besides all the stress from work, that mansion was fucking loud; so many souls tried contacting her. This one was a real one. Four murders that were known of, and not a single person had lived there ever since the last one. Billie Dean could definitely understand why; she wanted to leave, already.

"I assumed that was an explanation of why you needed me here, given I've read all of them." Venable's palm was sweating against her cane. Like it or not, Billie Dean was her boss, and she hated not doing her job right.