"Why did he talk to you and not me?"

" 'Cause it's my job to keep you on your leash."

"Leash or choke collar? Sorry." I apologized before he even had a chance to glare at me.

"You need to quit the show," he said. His hands clenched the steering wheel.

"You always do what Arturo tells you to?"

Sad, that this was the best argument I could think of. Carl wouldn't want to think he was making Arturo happy.

"It's too dangerous."

"For whom? For Arturo? For you? For the pack?"

"Is it so unbelievable that I might have your best interests in mind? Arturo may be overreacting, but you are bringing a hell of a lot of exposure on yourself. If a fanatic out there decides you're a minion of evil, walks into your studio with a gun—"

"He'd need silver bullets."

"If he thinks the show is for real, he just might have them."

"It won't happen, Carl. I'm not telling anyone what I am."

"And how long will that last?"

Carl didn't like the show because he didn't have any control over it. It was all mine. I was supposed to be all his. I'd never argued with him like this before.

I looked out the window. "I get a raise for every new market that picks up the show. It's not much right now, but if this takes off, it could be a lot. Half of it's yours."

The engine hummed; the night rolled by the windows, detail lost in darkness. I didn't even have to think about how much I'd give to keep doing the show. The realization came like something of an epiphany. I'd give Carl all the syndication bonus to keep doing the show. I'd grovel at his feet every day if he wanted me to.

I had to hold on to the show. It was mine. I was proud of it. It was important. I'd never done anything important before.

He took a long time to answer. Each moment, hope made the knot in my throat tighter. Surely if he was going to say no, he wouldn't have to think this hard.