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Neville was beside himself. He'd been home for forty-eight hours straight and not one phone call. What was wrong with them?

Neville was the star.

Not Perry.

The studio had shut down for Perry Cortiss' funeral. They were staging it like a colossal tragedy. Perry was on the front of every paper.

And the cheek of the reporters.

To even suggest that without Perry Cortiss, Neville Hillyard was through was preposterous.

He couldn't sleep. The nightmares were too vivid. He woke up screaming and wanting to jump out of his skin.

He needed a drink.

No.

He needed a shot.

Hell, he'd take both.

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