"What a disgusting script!" I slammed the pages shut so hard the coffee on the table jumped.
Doyle blinked at me from the couch and smiled like he wanted to laugh and be serious at the same time. "You sure you want to say that on camera?"
"I don't care if it's viral. I care if it's insulting." I threw the script back onto the stack. "Isabel Sandoval is a wet napkin. She apologizes for existing, cries on cue, and her biggest personality trait is 'tragic.' Who wrote her, a sympathy robot?"
Doyle linked his fingers and leaned forward. "Novikov loves 'tragic.' It trends. It sells award-season sympathy. Calvin wants someone fragile who collapses beautifully and gets rescued by a billionaire."
"Calvin wants a puppet," I said. "I want a role that doesn't require me to be tissue paper."
"You want a role that gives you two lines and a duet with Arden," Doyle said. He raised one eyebrow. "And a PR avalanche."
"I want a role where I don't have to pretend weakness to win applause." I pointed at the script. "There are ten scenes where she waits to be swept off her feet and three where she makes a choice. That is not a choice."
Doyle sighed. "You tossed this because Isabel's notes came with a Summit Screening Room pull and a Havenlight co-pro. That's not 'two lines.'"
"If I play a musty heroine who melts every time the
