7
Monday morning. Six a.m. We're on set for filming. A cop film Josh is doing between Nightburner movies. He was quite happy to rabbit on about it last night at another of those mansion parties. But this morning, he barely says a word. Two days straight of drink and drugs'll do that to you. He sits in his chair as a woman touches up his makeup. I stand nearby as we wait for the film crew to set up a stunt.
Josh groans, sipping on the Starbucks I got him. Black. No sugar. Not 'cause he doesn't like sugar. Sugar is banned, he tells me. Direct orders from his personal trainer.
"Ugh, I don't remember s**t from this weekend," he says to the curly blonde makeup artist. "I didn't do anything bad, did I Charlie?" he says over his shoulder.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like, uh . . ."
"Throw any wait
