Romance Collection - 16 Contemporary Romance Stories!

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***Not sure which story you want to read? Read this intro with blurbs and covers to help make your decision.***

Book 1

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ACCIDENTLY MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE

Rebecca is an aspiring actress. While at a fancy cocktail party, the socialites begin to pick on her. And that’s when she claims she’s dating the billionaire host of the party. When he goes along with it, Rebecca is in shock. And when this billionaire offers her a proposition she can’t say no to, she dives straight in. This is a three book series.

Book 2

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SEDUCED BY MY BILLIONAIRE BOSS

Jenna Harks left Goldman Sachs. Left the two hundred thousand starting salary on the table. She left to make her name with something bigger, better. Even if it did mean starting out as a low-level assistant without recognition or the chance of dental. But when mistaken identity gives Jenna the job of her dreams, her entire world is changed. 

Book 3

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ACCIDENTLY MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE

Billionaire, Brandon Cates is days away from losing everything, from his Fortune 500 company to his huge estate. 

His only hope is Marjorie Reynolds. 

Can Brandon convince his new ‘accidental’ bride to play along with the charade? 

Book 4

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GROOMLESS

When Julia finds out her father is dying, she is devastated. He tells her his biggest regret is not getting the chance to dance with her at her wedding reception. So what does Julia do? She creates the perfect wedding reception. But there’s one problem. Julia doesn’t have a groom.

Book 5

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THE BOSS’S SON

What would happen if you ran into your one night stand at the office?

Book 6

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MY DESPICABLE EX

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/41TVh-9mvI4

Short blurb: A woman must travel around the globe with her despicable ex in order to get her hands on her inheritance. 

Book 7

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THE EDGE OF TOMORROW

Needing someone to protect, he goes against his better judgment and steps into her world and makes her fight his own. With the largest syndicate in New York searching high and low for them, the pair doesn't have the luxury of living in the present. They're forced to stay on the razor edge of tomorrow. 

Book 8

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THE EXPEDITION

Eric Bloom, reeling from the news that he may have a life-threatening illness, is sent off to check on a dig his company is funding at Machu Picchu. Eric anticipates a few days in the jungle and some awkward conversation with the nerdy archaeologists. What he doesn't expect is to meet Dr. Alexis Perry: fiery, sarcastic, smart as a whip, and drop dead gorgeous. Unfortunately, she isn’t fond of him at first sight. Also unfortunate? The fact that someone has set their sights on the artifacts at Machu Picchu. And they're willing to kill to get them.

Book 9

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WHAT LIES BEHIND US

This is the story of three sisters living in Maryland as the disaster at Pearl Harbor looms, and their own participation during World War II. 

Book 10 - Bonus Read

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ADDICTIVE COLLISION

Book 11 - BONUS Read

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FORBIDDEN

Book 12 - BONUS Read

**Click on each title to be taken to the book**

THE PRETEND BILLIONAIRE GROOM

Book 13 - BONUS Read

MISTAKEN IDENTITY

**Click on each title to be taken to the book**

Book 14 - BONUS Read

**Click on each title to be taken to the book**

MY FAKE ITALIAN LOVER

Book 15 - BONUS Read

**Click on each title to be taken to the book**

THE PRETEND FIANCE

Book 16 - BONUS Read

**Click on each title to be taken to the book**

MY COWBOY: RECKLESS HEARTS

This is the end of this introduction. Book 1 will start now. Thanks for joining and giving each series a chance.

Book 1

The Billionaire’s

Fake

Girlfriend

By

Sierra Rose

Copyright 2015 by Sierra Rose

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Chapter 1

I was flying on a crystal clear morning. The sky was tinted pink with the rising sun, and clouds parted lightly between my fingers. I picked up speed and let my long hair stream out behind me as my heart slowed to a steady, calming beat. There was nothing that could touch me up here. Nothing that could find me. My eyes closed and a gentle smile warmed my face.

I wasn’t coming down this time. I’d found my heaven. I’d found my peace.

Until...

A thousand screams tore apart the skies as fire rained down from above. I covered my head and tried to get back to the ground, but I already knew what was coming.

The dragon had attacked many times before.

I ducked and rolled through the smoking clouds, dodging molten streams of death, until all at once, the beast was upon me. And it was MASSIVE! My eyes widened to terrified saucers as I gazed up in sick horror. The monster opened its mouth, almost like it was smiling at me. But just as it drew up a final breath to smite me once and for all—

—it turned into a puzzle and dissolved into a million pieces.

Wait...what?

I pried open my eyes and squinted up at the ceiling as bits of plaster and dust misted from above. A predictable sliding thump rattled the rafters, and I covered my face with a groan. Mrs. Wakowski was up to her Zumba earlier than usual today. My alarm hadn’t even gone off.

Then it went off.

You are going to be late again. You silly, irresponsible girl. You are going to be late.

Speak of the devil. It started repeating the same line over and over again. I slammed the top of the clock and cursed the cosmic forces once again for sticking me with this apartment. It wasn’t easy to find affordable living in East Hollywood. Certain horrifying concessions had to be made. Mrs. Wakowski and her early morning Zumba were just the tip of the iceberg. Then there were the roaches, the gas leaks, the police helicopters, and the overall stench of urine baking up from the sidewalks. But my recurring dragon dream...?

To be honest, I had no godly idea how that fit in.

I shimmied out of bed and landed on the ground with an undignified thud. My industrial-grade fan—aka my personal savior, aka did I mention there was no air-conditioning?—shot all my hair back like I’d been shocked and I was quick to angle it away with my toe as I pulled myself up to my full height and cast a wary glance into the mirror.

This had to be what they meant when they said, trying to make it in LA. I felt like I was the poster girl.

Long auburn hair, pale creamy skin, a pretty face, and a rail-thin body. In any other town, I’d be a knockout, a star. But for whatever reason, in this city built on the parking tickets and rent traps of other small-town stars, I was one in a million. And not in the good way.

With a habitual sigh, I leaned in to see what the damage was today. Eyes were red, but not puffy. Dark circles were already fading. Not bad after a night of heavy drinking. My liver, on the other hand? It was best not to think about it.

There’d been a lot of these nights lately, it seemed. It had started as a tradition between my roommate Amanda and me. Every time we didn’t get a part we auditioned for (this included getting turned away from the casting beforehand because the coveted two-line role had been filled sometime in the six hours we were standing in line), we would come together over a bottle of tequila and flip on a Netflix fest as we wallowed and swallowed our grief. It was actually pretty fun. Much more fun than waiting forever at the castings.

A muffled retching from bathroom let me know that Amanda wasn’t having as much fun as I was.

I slipped on a pair of amethyst scrubs, pulled my hair back into a messy bun, and grabbed my Chapstick as I made my way out into the hall. Deevus, our three-legged cat, hobbled past me chasing a Tasmanian twister of dust sent flying by my fan. I tripped over his knobby back and set him off yowling as I made my way to the bathroom.

Sorry, Deevus. Tell ya what. I’ll get you some milk.

I poured a tiny bit of milk on a plate and set it on the floor. Am I forgiven?

He meowed. I kissed him on the head and listened to him purr. He was a stray my roommate picked up. We had no idea if he had been in some kind of accident, but we loved him all the same. He could be grumpy at times, but that’s when we loved him even more.

After pulling on my shoe, I knocked softly on the door. You okay in there?

A half-strangled gurgling noise answered me. Something that actually sounded uncannily like our cat. The toilet flushed, the sink ran, and a second later, I heard Amanda slide down against the other side of the door.

That was the last time, she moaned. I’m serious.

Yep, I agreed, as I was certainly expected to. Well, I’m off to work, okay?

How can you even think about work at a time like this?

I rolled my eyes with a grin. The predictable answer of a spoiled cul-de-sac princess.

"I love it, I answered bitingly. I wish I could be there all the time."

She snorted on the other side of the door. I could almost picture her laying her clammy cheek against the cool tiles on the floor. It was a comfort move both of us had done many, many times. It was also the reason we kept the bathroom impeccably clean.

Was that Deevus that wailed earlier?

Yep. I pulled on my other shoe. I gotta go—I’m going to be late.

Did you get that guy’s phone number last night? He was hot.

I blew out a long breath.

Did you mess it up again? she asked.

No. Well, kind of. I started talking about how upset I was that Mrs. Johnson had taken such a bad turn. I guess it was too deep for him. But I’m worried about the woman. She’s been my patient for months and we’ve grown quite close. She might not make it to next week. I’m so worried about her.

Talking about death isn’t the way to go when you first meet someone.

I bit my lip hard. You’re probably right.

You’re working in hospice. You know these people are near the end. And it’s great that you give them so much love and support, but you have to be able to let go.

I get so attached to every single one of my patients.

I know you do. And that’s why you need an understanding man. I’m going to find you the most understanding and compassionate man in all of Hollywood.

No more blind dates.

I promise this one will be different. What do you think? There’s Edward. He still lives with his mom, but I swear, he’s really sweet.

"Late, I said again. I’m swinging by the store on my way home—you need anything?"

Yes. No. She shuffled against the door. Wait—yes. Get some more of those caramel things we had last week at Billy’s. The ones that are shaped like a frog?

I nodded distractedly and typed into my phone. Frogs. Got it. Okay, I gotta run. I slapped a hand against the door. Feel better—I’ll see you tonight. I was halfway out when she called weakly to me.

Bex?

I paused. Yeah?

Put tequila on the list.

Already there.

Chapter 2

I just had to take one subway and one bus to get to the hospice care home where I worked in Westwood. It bordered a nice residential area, separated from the Fortune 500 businesses on the other side by a grove of shaded trees and a million home-brewed coffee shops. Despite Amanda’s rambling, I was able to catch the early bus, which meant I had time to duck into my favorite among these shops before my shift started at ten.

The pavement was littered with a mix of designer dogs and tethered bicycles. I smiled to myself as I skirted around something that I’m sure would have been called a ‘labra-doodle-retriever-pug.’ This was one of the reasons I liked working in Westwood. It wasn’t clearly defined by annual gross income the way places like Santa Monica and Pasadena were; it was neutral ground. A safe haven where the two sides could come together and enjoy a simple cup of joe. No need for class warfare when all anybody wanted was to get caffeinated, right? There was enough room on the sidewalks for both the poodles and the Schwinns.

It was with this uncharacteristically sunny outlook that I walked straight into a fight.

I don’t care what kind of hurry you’re in, just move the damn car!

I froze stiffly in place and stared in shock at the two men standing at odds before me. One of them had to be some kind of maintenance worker. He wore a nondescript slate-colored uniform with a smudgy name tag and entirely too much facial hair. He was still fisting his keys, and from the way he was hastily double-parked alongside a town car, I was guessing he had just ditched his truck and leaped out onto the sidewalk.

The man standing across from him...was a different story.

Everything about him was sharp, crisply cut. From his suit to his hair, to the rigid way he was clenching the muscles in his angular jaw. His hands were empty, and even though the maintenance guy looked like he could have easily just retired from a life of UFC, his fingers twitched like he was aching for a fight. Two silver rings, one on each hand. And a pair of fucking diamond-studded cufflinks—I kid you not. I bet he came from a wealthy background, had a large house, and even employed hired help.

I was guessing the town car was his.

Look.

I could have sworn I saw the man’s eye twitch beneath his heavily tinted sunglasses.

I’m not trying to make waves, but I was already parked by the time you pulled up behind me. It’s not your spot!

"Already parked? A pair of work gloves was hurled to the ground. Already parked, my ass! You swerved up out of nowhere and took my spot!"

Mr. Ralph Lauren just calmly smiled. You can have the spot in five minutes. I’m just running in for a quick coffee.

Think I’m going to let you out, you stuck-up shallow prick? he shouted. I’ll block your car in. I’ll make you late for work. What are you going to do? Call a tow truck? I’ll fuck you up, asshole!

An ongoing dispute over a parking space? Seriously? I needed to step in. A fight like this could go from 0-100, real quick.

The maintenance guy was on the verge of total system failure. As a health-care professional, I was worried the throbbing vein in the side of his neck might actually explode. Either that or he might just run up and take a bite out of rich boy’s face.

Both interesting possibilities, from a my first fight perspective. But both definitely implied me being late for work. The boring pacifist in me kicked into gear, and before they could launch into some serious sixth-grade name calling, I stepped in between.

Hey, hey there! Calm down!

Perhaps it was how ludicrously underwhelming my little bird-like frame must have looked, holding up two twiggy arms to either of their chests, but both men took one look at me and took a giant step back. A rush of satisfaction warmed my blood and it was all I could do not to smile. Or perhaps it was how fucking badass I was!

Keep it together, Bex. Here’s where you come off all cool and heroic.

I pulled off my sunglasses with the gravitas of a seasoned detective. Now what seems to be the problem here?

The rich man started to speak, but I turned deliberately to his opponent. The maintenance man—Barry, I saw his tag now—had turned the color of boiled shellfish.

The problem is, this guy cut me off with his damn town car! Barry said.

Not me. The man held up his hands and blew out a long breath. My driver. Listen, I would love to chat about this more, but I’m late for a very important meeting.

"Your driver? Barry took another threatening step forward. I swear, you rich son of a bitch. I have half a mind to—"

Listen, I cut him off soothingly. A bit of a crowd had begun to gather and I was suddenly worried that when the fun was over, they might start pouring into my coffee shop and I would never get to work on time.

Another maintenance worker stepped next to his buddy. Nothing says, ‘I’m a prick’ like a town car and a sixty-dollar haircut.

There was a muffled reaction next to me, but I ignored it.

I hear you, I said, trying to calm both of them before a riot broke out. But let me tell you what, why don’t we get inside and I’ll buy Barry an espresso—just for keeping the peace?

I threw in a wink for good measure and watched as Barry’s coloration returned to normal.

Make it a double, he muttered, but he marched obediently inside.

I defused a bomb! She shoots, she scores! First no dark circles, and now this? I’m on a roll today!

The crowd around me cheered. I took a small bow, and a man let out a long whistle. Was this what fame felt like?

Way to go! a woman shouted. That was so sweet of you!

Paying it forward, another man said.

You rock! somebody shouted.

Maybe Barry should find a proper parking spot. He wasn’t going to stay double-parked, was he? Oh, well. At least I stopped the fight. Practically glowing with my accomplishment, I started to follow Barry when a cool voice suddenly made me turn.

Don’t I get an espresso?

The rich man had taken off his sunglasses and my automatic reproach was delayed for a second or two as I lost myself in his green-gray eyes. They were the exact color of the ocean, but not the crayon blue oceans at the overcrowded beaches here in Southern California. No, it was one of those ice-cold oceans with big boulder beaches instead of sand. The kind of ocean where I could sit for hours in perfect isolation, staring into the water as salty spray misted my face.

My gosh. The man was absolutely gorgeous. I was taken aback by how hot he was and no words would come out of my mouth. I’m sorry. I shook my head quickly and returned my attention to the man. What?

I had been thinking about oceans, you see.

The corner of his mouth twitched up and he cocked his head to the side. I said, don’t I get an espresso?

I glanced back to where his driver had finally exited the car and was staring at the man with anxious expectation. Cufflinks—again! Even the help made me want to rip my hair out.

The ocean-eyes spell wore off and I slipped on my own glasses. You’re late for a very important meeting. You said so yourself. My eyes flickered back to his driver and I smiled. Besides, you can obviously afford it.

He smiled back at me as I turned to go inside the shop. As a champion for the common man, the crowd parted in solidarity appreciation and it was only a few moments before I made it up to the counter. My favorite barista, Kelly, was already flying around—setting a timer here, sprinkling cinnamon there, but she looked up and smiled when she saw me.

Morning, Becca—the usual?

I sank my elbows down onto the counter, gazing bleakly at the latest pop star’s new Thanksgiving album. Yep. Oh—and let me get that guy Barry’s too. I pointed to the maintenance worker and he smiled.

You got it.

I pulled out a ten and waited as she bustled around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rich man walk into the café and take his place at the back of the line. A faint blush rose up in my cheeks and I kept my eyes front. These cinematic takedowns were always best when you could make a clean getaway afterward. And the elevator music wasn’t helping.

You and Amanda miss another casting? Kelly asked when she returned, carrying two steaming drinks. You look tired.

I handed her my cash. I just haven’t been sleeping that well.

She frowned as she handed me back my change. The dragon dream again?

Yes! I leaned over the counter excitedly, eager to commiserate. I don’t know what’s going on, but every time it gets close to me, it suddenly—

Hey! You in the scrubs! An impatient voice called out from the line. Some of us have to get to work.

I threw back a glare in their general direction. Just like that, my adoring crowd had turned on a dime. Fame was a fickle friend.

I’ll tell you later, I said with exaggerated importance to Kelly, I have to get to work.

I scooped up my mocha-chino with all the dignity I could muster and walked out of the café with my head held high. I could feel the rich guy staring at me as I swept past him out the door, but I kept my eyes on the sidewalk. With my luck, I’d probably trip or something right as I tried to deliver a last one-liner to seal the deal.

Chapter 3

From the coffee shop, it was only a short walk through the grove to the hospice center where I worked. Half a dozen obese pigeons swarmed around me, and as was my morning custom, I tipped my change into the hands of the elderly homeless man who had taken up residence beneath one of the palms.

By the time I breezed through the doors, I was feeling pretty damn good about myself.

Morning, Becca. My overworked supervisor Lisa gave me a tired smile as I swept up to the front counter to sign in. You look...peppy?

I flashed her an overly animated smile. Just performed a virtual citizen’s arrest at our local coffee shop. You know—keeping the city safe.

Uh huh, she answered vaguely, hearing but not listening as she browsed through some papers. Well, here we go. Mr. Cartivan in 308 needs a blood sugar reading. Yeah, I was trained to do some stuff nurses do. Mrs. Wakley is refusing to take a shower, oh—and here’s one you’ll like—Mrs. Diaz in 207 insists that her family is driving across the country right now to see her. She’s been making a Welcome banner all morning.

Lisa gave me a stack of job assignments that had to be done before I left as she clocked out with a huge smile.

Um...thanks.

She winked. Good luck. Then she was gone.

Needless to say, my adrenaline buzz was basically gone by 10:05. I paced from room to room, making the familiar circles and seeing the familiar faces. I liked my job—don’t get me wrong. It’s just... I had been at the same facility for about three years now and I hoped that I would have gotten an acting gig by now. Hospice was in no way a permanent position. Patients were divided into two main categories: the people who had been shunted by the health care system and were temporarily using us as a recovery center due to budget cuts, and the people who came here not to recover, but to die.

Either way, no matter how many people you got to know, you wouldn’t end up knowing them very long.

Amanda would ask me about it all the time. She didn’t understand how I could spend my entire life around death and the dying. I was the person in the patient’s life who would see them through to the end, providing palliative end-of-life care. And I wanted to make their last days comfortable. I wanted to be that trusted and nurturing guide, helping patients and families find comfort and dignity. But no matter how many ways I found to describe it, she’d always end up saying that it sounded like a Stephen King movie and demand we talk about something else.

I pushed opened open a door and Mrs. Diaz, a woman I’d talked to every day for the last eight months, asked me my name. I closed it behind me with a sigh.

It was going to be a very long day.

When I finally got home and pushed shut the door of the apartment, Amanda sprang up to greet me like she hadn’t been imitating The Walking Dead all morning. 

How was work? she asked cheerfully.

I pulled off my scarf and let my purse fall to the floor. I handed her the bag with the stuff she had asked me to buy. Work was fine. I felt like I’d given her the same answer to the same question for the last thousand years. It was definitely time for a change. I got thrown up on.

That’s awesome! she exclaimed, blatantly tuning out everything I was going to say as she waited impatiently for her own turn to speak.

I stifled a smile as she bounced a foot up and down, her heavily charcoaled eyes bursting with excitement. Why, Amanda, how was your day?

I GOT A CALLBACK! she shrieked.

My mouth fell open, and she danced from side to side like a deranged bobblehead.

I know! It was for that dystopian Western thing. I’m going to be... she paused for dramatic effect, Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven. She pulled the tequila out of the bag and smiled. I’m going to celebrate with this! I can’t believe I got this gig!

That’s amazing, I breathed, imagining the possibilities. And to think, I could have been number eight.

No, their quota for white girls was filled, she said practically. To be number eight, you’d have to be Asian.

Oh. I mulled this over for a second before saying, Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!

Thanks! And thanks for stopping by the store.

Not a problem. Oh my gosh! I suddenly remembered. I saw a fight today!

Wow, she raised her eyebrows, looking impressed. Your first genuine fisticuffs. What was it about? Was it gang-related?

It was over a parking spot, I said impressively. Well, actually I stopped it before they came to blows...but I’m sure it was headed that way.

She gave me a long look. So you finally see the makings of a fight, a long-standing life ambition, but you stop it before it can actually get there?

I felt as though I literally deflated. ...yeah, I guess so.

She patted me sympathetically on the shoulder. Come on, I ordered Chinese.

Thank you. I’m starving!

I followed her into the kitchen and was shocked to discover an elaborate setup. She’d pulled out our finest silverwear, and for once, we weren’t eating on paper plates. There was even a chipped tea light or two for ambiance.

What the—

She clicked a button and Florence and the Machine started screeching in the background.

My eyes narrowed and I turned to her suspiciously. All this for Hot Ranch Chick Number Seven?

Well, not exactly. Anxious and excited, she pulled out a chair and shoved me down in a way she obviously took to be endearing. The thing is, Bex... I actually got the two of us a gig. But it has nothing to do with hot ranch chicks.

Really? That’s wonderful.

It is, and it isn’t.

I cocked a brow. What do you mean?

Well, we don’t get paid like normal. She grinned as I frowned. But it’s great for our image. And we have the potential to meet some big names. And we can earn a big bonus by mentioning the agency. If we bring in work, we get a big, fat bonus. Think of this as fun work. We’re going to a party! And it’s tonight!

A party?

Who doesn’t want to party on a Friday night? I’ll tell you more at the salon, she said. They’re getting us all fixed up!

Who?

You just got to trust me. Now come on, girl. It’s time to go primp! Of course, after we eat this wonderful meal I got us.

I laughed. We’re not eating on paper plates, so that’s five star dining to me.

Not to mention, we’re not using plastic forks.

Chapter 4

You know, I can’t begin to tell you the hypocrisy of what’s happening right now, I said.

Amanda and I were sitting in a hair salon in Beverly Hills, getting prodded and fussed over by an army of gay men and one heavily primped woman. The acrid smell of nail polish remover was enough to make me almost light-headed. But I stayed carefully on guard as Paulo came at me with a dozen different aerosols and one or two lethal-looking instruments I believed were modeled after something used in the Spanish Inquisition.

I momentarily vanished into a sticky fog as he let loose with one of the bottles, and emerged a second later, stiff and sad, feeling like an unfortunate Botox survivor.

There go the Wetlands, I muttered, wondering how many pounds of toxins we’d just released into the atmosphere.

Amanda twisted awkwardly to look at me, her head trapped beneath something that looked like it was attempting to harvest her brain. What are you saying?

Nothing. My chair tilted back of its own accord, and suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. Was that supposed to happen? I asked nervously.

Silencio! Paulo commanded, rushing forward with another comb. I closed my eyes with a grimace as he pulled and twisted and corralled whatever was left of my hair into a tight knot on top of my head. When he was finished, he shot me upright again and disappeared into the back to get more supplies.

I sighed. So tell me a little more about this party. But first let me tell you, I’m having a great time already—just with the prep.

Amanda snorted, waving her nails to dry their thick, gold-dusted polish. I heard about it at that casting—you know—the one where my entire life changed for the better?

The dystopian Western? I guessed. I’d been hearing about it quite a lot, actually.

Yeah, well, Billy asked me to go. Said that the agency needed some representation at this playboy trillionaire’s house party.

Right. The trillionaire. Is that even a word?

Of course it is.

You made it up!

I so didn’t. I heard his name is Marcus Taylor, and he’s fucking gorgeous! I wish I could land him. But from what I hear, no woman can. He’s untamable.

Hmm. Untamable? Is that a challenge? I asked. I mean, I did tame our mean cat.

She laughed. I bet you could lasso in the wild buck.

I’m just kidding. I’m not in the mood to tame some wild billionaire.

Why not? Still hung up on the cute coffee guy you told me about?

Hung up? I just met the guy this morning.

She chuckled. Yeah, Marcus Taylor might not be as gorgeous as the guy you keep going on about. But I’m sure he’s a hunk. I at least want to say hello to him before the end of the party. I bet he’s a great host and will greet every single one of his guests.

I haven’t been going on about coffee guy.

Yes, you have.

C’mon! He was hot!

Then you should have bought him the damn coffee too.

I should have. Boy, I screw everything up. If I could go back in time.

I’m sure you could have another shot. Just strike up a conversation the next time you see him at the coffee shop.

He’s drop dead gorgeous, but he’s too rich for my taste. He wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Well, forget him for now. Think about Marcus’s extravagant party. He’s hosting it in his fancy mansion!

Sounds like fun.

Marcus loves the women so he’ll totally be approachable. Just smile and flirt.

And why do I want to approach some stud who has his choice of a million women?

To talk about the agency, of course. I’m getting myself a big, giant, fat bonus. If anyone says they’re coming to the agency through us, well, we get a $1,000 bonus. Isn’t that awesome?

Sweet!

Apparently Marcus just got back to LA from like, Nepal or somewhere, and it’s the social event of the season.

I snorted in laughter, earning me scandalized looks from every corner of the salon. I’m sorry, it’s just—is that a real thing? Does our season have social events?

Amanda faltered, but then continued with confidence. I could tell she had obviously read this somewhere reliable like the Internet in anticipation of my resistance and was ready for any question I could throw her way.

Of course it does. Her voice took on a slightly higher, hollower tone—vowels sagging weakly from all the weight she was putting on them. There’s a ribbon cutting at Tiffany’s in the Grove, Barneys’ opening on Rodeo—and no, Bex, if you make a joke about a dinosaur exhibit it won’t be funny—Karl Lagerfeld is launching his new line so it’s looking for models, and then there’s that huge Los Angeles Diabetes Fundraiser Gala.

Thank you, Google. I rolled my eyes. And here I thought it was just Thanksgiving.

Amanda frowned critically as Veronica Violet (and she’d hit you if you asked if that was her stage name) arranged her curls so they spilled down the back of her neck. I don’t think they have that here.

Of course not, I said bleakly. Why would they?

Amanda ignored me and beamed at her reflection in the mirror. It’s perfect, Veronica, exactly like the picture.

Veronica took a step back. Her eyes dilated hungrily and she poked at the curls as if she took her work very seriously. Either that or she was actually just as hungry as she looked. It is perfect, isn’t it? Well, there are going to be at least ten other girls with the same style at the party tonight, so you can rest assured that it’s very fashionable.

Amanda nodded seriously in response, and I looked at the two of them like they were nuts. I was about to say something along those lines, but at that moment, Paulo returned, and I was forced to duck for cover.

Actually, Veronica, Amanda frowned, haven’t we seen you somewhere before?

She was Confused Cashier Number Four,’ I volunteered from beneath a tangle of steam and wires. I was surprised Amanda hadn’t immediately recognized her.

Number Three, actually, Veronica corrected me coolly. But who’s counting? She flashed Amanda a bitchy smile and disappeared with a cartoonish clicking of the heels.

I can’t believe we live in a city where that wasn’t just said ironically...

Amanda shushed me with a warning look, and I dragged my weary eyes back to the mirror to see what new nonsense Paulo was up to.

I had wanted to move to Portland—not Los Angeles. It was a given that anywhere we’d like to live in San Francisco was going to be way out of our price range, and I had decided that Portland was the next best thing. The music and arts scene was on the rise, and all the pictures I looked at online had at least one person with a wizard beard. I was intrigued. But Amanda reminded me that cinematic glory wasn’t going to come to us, we had to seek it out ourselves. And the best place to do that, unfortunately, was in the belly of the beast.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have been so quick to move if she’d known about Mrs. Wakowski and the three parking tickets we’d get within the first two weeks of living here. Then again, perhaps she would. It was hard to tell with Amanda. You never knew which things she’d choose to desperately care about, and which things she’d let thoughtlessly slide.

Anyway, she answered my question from hours before, you would have gotten an invite too if you’d come with me to the casting.

I told you—some of us have to work for a living. Not everyone can rely on their parents for rent. I threw a hair tie at her playfully and pretended that Paulo didn’t slap my wrist.

Three hours later, we were back on the streets. Not the streets I would have preferred, mind you. Not my dear Westwood where I was still a local folk hero. No—we were prowling around the high-price shops and oxygen bars (yes, they’re real) of Beverly Hills. The agency that employed us to be unemployed actors had set aside a bit of a budget to make a good impression with the social elites at the party tonight. Since two of the four girls going had to drop out due to food poisoning (a lucky break for us, according to Amanda) that ‘bit of a budget’ had grown into more money than either she or I had ever spent in one afternoon.

Even I had to admit that after we left the chemical stench of the salon and stepped back into the sunshine, I actually started to have a little fun.

"Let’s grab another coffee, courtesy of the agency, Amanda drawled in a Southern aristocratic accent she’d adopted specifically to pose that very request a million times. We’d already had three espressos and had stopped just for a bite" at two different sushi restaurants. Still, we’d barely dented the funds assigned to ingratiate us into the land of giants.

I can’t. I grabbed her wrist and tugged her away from the Starbucks she’d started drifting into. There’s so much caffeine in my system, I seriously feel like I’m having heart palpitations.

She rolled her eyes. "That’s just your heart being excited, Bex. It’s jumping for you."

I stopped in my tracks and stared at her in awe. You are a scientist; you know that? The medical profession has got nothing on you.

She laughed and pulled me suddenly into a store with the scariest looking mannequins I had ever seen. Fine, if the sponsored charm is beginning to wear off, let’s just get our dresses and find some shoes. It’s already coming up on five, and we’re supposed to be there no later than seven-thirty.

Hang on. I hadn’t made it past the door, locked in a staring match with an eyeless mannequin. This one’s trying to tell me something.

Oh my gosh, could you just come on already? She trapped my wrist in her wiry fingers and pulled me farther inside. And try not to embarrass me.

I picked up an equestrian riding crop labeled business casual as we rushed past. I always try.

Chapter 5

An hour and a half later, I had self-exiled to a changing room. Wondering, literally, what in the world had I gotten myself into.

I liked to wear nice things. I liked to wear them just as much as any girl who wasn’t either kidding herself or on some existential cleanse liked to wear nice things.

But this...? This had taken that sentiment to a whole other level.

I looked as though I had been painted, skin to skin painted, in shimmering metallic lace.

Amanda called it silver, but I had promptly dubbed the color gunmetal—hearing one of the salespersons mutter the word as I walked past. It was slightly darker than your average winter snowflake—with darker, stormy tints that gave it a bit of an edge. It clung to my body like a second skin but was in no way unflattering. In fact, it made my skin practically glow translucent white under its reflective swirling tints. It wound its way up around my neck like an elegant halter and then plunged down into the lowest neckline I’d ever seen. It was delicately beaded over a thin empire waist, but rather than flaring out in a loose skirt the way most dresses I owned tended to do, it hugged around my tiny hips and then fell straight down to the floor.

Enchanted, I snapped a picture and sent it to my mom before venturing out into the waiting room mirrors.

Oh my gosh! Amanda gushed all in one breath. You look so different! You look beautiful!

I paused a moment with a frown, considering her statement. Thanks...? I’m not going to lie. I absolutely love it! I already sent a picture to my mom.

Amanda’s eyes sparkled as she prepared to try on a gown of her own. What did Sharon say?

Right on cue, I glanced down at my phone as it beeped a reply. She told me that grand larceny is a crime, and I’d better put it right back on the hanger, I answered with a crooked grin.

Amanda laughed and disappeared into a changing room. A minute later, I heard her rustling around.

Okay, she opened the door with a flourish, what do you think?

My hands flew up to my mouth as I gave her a round of girly applause. "You look stunning. That green is the perfect color for your eyes. I snapped another picture on my phone, knowing she’d want a changing room reaction immortalized for all eternity. When I was done, I gave her another once over, and my face softened into a thoughtful smile. Seriously, Mandi, you look perfect. Gosh—sometimes it feels like yesterday that we were playing dress up in our moms’ closets and look at us now. I don’t even know what to say."

She gave me a long look. For a moment, I thought she also imagined our childhood days. But then she gestured to herself impatiently.

Oh! I exclaimed, remembering my scripted lines. And it makes your boobs look amazing!

Yeah, it does. She grinned, adjusting her sweetheart neckline to show off her cleavage. I think this is definitely what Billy had in mind when he said to make a good impression.

I came to stand beside her in the mirror, gazing confidently at our reflections. Two good impressions.

"Yes, two good impressions, she said, keeping her eyes trained on her breasts. You’re right, Bex, I shouldn’t play favorites."

I rolled my eyes and dragged her to the counter to pay.

***

It might have dampened our arrival just a little that we showed up in a Volvo we borrowed from a friend who owed us a favor. But we parked it just inside the gate so that we could walk the rest of the way across the grounds to the front entrance where the socialites and paparazzi were having the time of their lives each pretending they didn’t care about the other. On second thought, walking the grounds to get to the house might also have been a bit of a mistake.

How much farther could it possibly be? I demanded as we tramped over the carefully manicured grass toward the lights up ahead. It didn’t look this far.

"Yeeps! Amanda shrieked and flew to my side as a peacock made its way out of the dark underbrush, examining us suspiciously with its beady little eyes. Becca, get it! She slipped off a lethal looking stiletto and held it up like a knife. Back, you beast, back!"

Mandi! Stop! I said. It’s not a pit bull.

Yeah, you’re right. It’s worse! It can peck me to death!

We’re not hurting the poor peacock, I said. Now put your shoe back on.

The peacock rolled back its head with a languid caw, and I could have sworn there was pity in its eyes as it shuffled off slowly toward the valets at the main door. We followed it at a safe distance and ditched it quickly amongst the parked cars as we wound our way through to the bouncer at the gate.

Hi, Amanda said sweetly, turning on the charm. I’m Amanda Gates, and this is my friend, Rebecca White.

The man scanned down his list, surprisingly unaffected by her foolproof charms. It must be all the beautiful women here tonight, I thought as I smoothed my dress and waited.

It was only then that I really took in the house for the first time. I’d been far too concerned with the rogue peacock to notice it until now. House wasn’t really the right word. It was more like...compound. Headquarters. Lair. Something like that.

It looked like exactly what you’d imagine when you thought of the most ridiculous, opulent wealth in a place like the Hollywood Hills. Sculpted lawns, sparkling fountains, exotic lethal wildlife. You name it—this guy had it. And much more.

Here you are. The bouncer finally found us and scratched our names off the list. You with William Colson’s Talent Agency?

That would be us. Amanda smiled as he lifted the velvet rope for her. Thanks. You have a good evening.

The man looked surprised, like he didn’t get many thank yous or well wishes in his line of work. Looking around the people climbing out of their foreign sports cars, I could easily believe that. The crowd here looked like they’d been purchased to go with the house. Not a calorie or polyester thread among them. PETA would have a field day...

A little nervous for the first time, I followed Amanda inside. It was everything I could do to keep my jaw from dropping open like an idiot.

And I thought it had looked big on the outside...

It was like stepping back in time to the place that fairy tales and fantastical balls were based on. Ten diamond chandeliers glowed like ethereal orbs from the ceiling, reflecting off the white marble floors in watery golden pools. A huge winding staircase led to an upper level that seemed to be off-limits, but I think that if I were given the entire night, I still wouldn’t have had time to explore every room just in the downstairs. A massive foyer led to a sitting room, led to a parlor (is there a difference?), led to another sitting room, led to a dining room, led to a dancing room, and so on and so forth. The walls were hung with what even an art apathetic like me could identify as priceless pieces, adding the only bits of color to an otherwise extravagant but sterile environment.

Caterers appeared from nowhere and faded back into the walls, balancing silver trays with bubbling champagne as Stravinsky leaked down from invisible speakers. Um—scratch that—it was a live orchestra out on the terrace.

I almost laughed as I imagined being in a place that required my mental narration to use the word terrace. We were certainly a long way from East Hollywood.

Well...it’s smaller than I imagined. Amanda turned to me and sniffed with disdain.

I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. What? No coat rack? That’s rude. We grinned but stuck close together, a little thrown off balance by our statuesque surroundings. But seriously, I bet this guy loved to play with Legos when he was a kid.

She snorted. All right, well we have our marching orders. Mingle with as many people as possible.

Check.

Drop the Colson Agency’s name as many times as possible.

Check.

And don’t get too drunk.

I hesitated, and we turned to each other. Let’s...just see how the night plays out.

She nodded in relief. Agreed. But no swinging off the chandeliers drunk. With a quick smile, she started weaving through the crowd. Call if you need anything.

Yeah, I’ll just flicker the chandelier— But she was gone. With a nervous glance around the ballroom, I grabbed the nearest champagne flute hovering toward me and downed it in three large gulps. Swapping it out for another, I sipped far more demurely, floating through the crowds like the caterers did, hoping to chance my way into a conversation or two.

...same every year. We have this huge get together—everybody and their mother wants to come—and he never shows up on time. Honestly, it’s like...why not just wait until you’re going to be home to throw a party?

A musical hum of polite laughter followed the statement, and I drifted closer, blending my way into the back of the crowd. A woman stood at the center—one of those snake-like women who men thought was attractive and I thought was frightful. She was soaking in all the attention, squeezing her manicured nails around her champagne flute and positively bursting from her dress. I watched her with a small smile. She was something my mother would call a trollop.

She held up her glass of wine. "And seriously...the service?"

The smile faded from my face as I peeled off my champagne-tinted glasses and saw the tittering lemming crowd for what they really were.

I mean, where does he find these people? I’ve had steadier hands getting a bikini wax.

"Would you like some cheese with that whine? I interrupted, turning the heads of the crowd unintentionally toward me. The woman’s face soured as she took in every inch of me. She had clearly been going somewhere avant-garde and edgy with her waxing reference, but I had turned it into a classless one-liner with my joke. I mean, I did see this huge platter loaded with various cheeses."

And who might you be? she hissed with a painted smile.

A little voice in my head told me to be careful—that this woman would gladly eat me for breakfast if it weren’t for the carbs—but I continued forward. It must have been my coffee shop win, bolstering my sails.

Rebecca White, I said with a pearly smile, causing the people standing nearest to me to smile as well. I only thought that it seems like a lovely gesture to throw such a magnificent party for a room full of strangers. I think the least we can be is grateful to our host and not pick on his staff.

She rolled her eyes at me. I see why you’re so upset. You’re the help as well.

Yeah, I guess I was. Kind of. Maybe the agency was getting paid, but I sure wasn’t.

Yeah, I saw her driving some piece of junk, the redhead said. We couldn’t stop laughing. We were dying. I almost peed my pants.

She must’ve been in the limo that passed us before we parked. There is no reason to be mean, I said.

You might be dressed up like one of us, but you’re nothing like us. You stick out like a sore thumb. You’re obviously one of the hired models. And your car screams you’re from the wrong side of town. But the agency sure shined you up with fancy clothes, makeup, and hairdos. Did you come here to land yourself a millionaire? Because nobody at this party would touch you with a ten-foot pole. How much are they paying you anyway? Your hourly wage to be with us?

Hourly wage? Nothing.

That’s even more pitiful, another woman said snidely.

She’s working on commission, the blonde said with the silver dress. She gets a thousand dollars for every client she brings to the agency.

That’s even sadder.

There was a low murmuring of assent, and all eyes flashed back to snake-woman like a tennis match. A muscle was grinding way back in her jaw, but she kept that same Rembrandt smile plastered on her face.

She’s not out there busting her butt to earn a commission. She’s obviously here to land a rich guy, the brunette said. Her light tone wasn’t enough to mask the venom in her words, but to be honest, I didn’t blame her. I was the one who had initiated here—she had every right to be angry.

It’s just...the jab about the caterers? The shell-shocked bouncer at the door? Even the condescending peacock on the way in. It all snowballed into one fateful comment. A comment that would serve to haunt me for longer than I could have imagined.

I’ve already landed a rich guy, so I assure you that’s not why I’m here.

Her gaze narrowed at me. You’re a liar. So why don’t you scram? Get back in that piece of shit car of yours and drive off.

Markus is actually my boyfriend. And I think he’d want me here at his party by his side. I might not have a lot. But Marcus loves me for who I am. And what girl doesn’t want that?

Just kidding, just kidding, just kidding. Fucking say it, Becca!

But I didn’t. I just kept my gaze evenly on ol’ snake eyes who looked like she’d swallowed a bug.

You’re Marcus Taylor’s girlfriend? Her stenciled eyebrows were in danger of disappearing completely into her hair, and I hurried to defend my work.

Yes, I am, I said to the astonishment of the crowd. Marcus, I added for good measure, feeling like saying the word somehow bolstered my claim. A dozen pairs of wide eyes fastened onto me—far too exposed in my ridiculous lace. I felt the warmth of a telltale blush coming on fast and decided it would be best if I made a quick exit. Excuse me.

There’s no way Marcus would date that trash, the woman said. I know that for a fact.

Oh, honey. She’s beautiful. Maybe he found her irresistible. I bet she’s just the flavor of the week.

Not a chance. She’s lying and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to make her the laughingstock of the party.

With no further ado, I hurried off through the crowds to find Amanda. Just make a good impression. Sure. No problem. I’ll just claim to be sleeping with the host. Honestly, I didn’t think it could have been worse even if Amanda had stabbed that peacock with her stiletto.

I found Amanda in the center of a group of men, laughing and talking like she’d woken up at the mansion and had just happened downstairs. As casually as possible, I wound my fingers through the crook of her arm and summoned her attention.

Could I talk to you for a minute? I asked with a hoarse whisper and a huge smile.

She sensed trouble and the muscles in her face froze. Sure, she said just as cheerfully.

We delicately extracted ourselves from the crowd, and she pulled me away a couple feet away, prepared to fully let me have it, but I beat her to the punch.

We need to go. Now.

Becca, she said testily, I forced myself into Spanx. Now, what happened?

I threw up my hands with feigned innocence. Nothing that could have been prevented, let me tell you that! It all started with this girl who was impersonating a python, and—

A sharp tap on my shoulder cut my story short, and I turned around with a sinking feeling of dread. Sure enough, it was my Medusa. Smiling and ready for Round Two.

What is it again? she asked with a stabbing grin. Becky?

I narrowed my eyes, brave now that Amanda was by my side. It’s Rebecca, actually.

"Well, Rebecca, you’re in luck."

The dread was back, gnawing a hole in my stomach like an ulcer.

And why is that? I asked.

The girl flashed me another wicked smile.

Your boyfriend just arrived.

Chapter 6

"Your boyfriend?" Amanda said it like an accusation.

Snake-eyes grinned like a mouse had been lowered into her tank. Her boyfriend.

A clammy chill started climbing up my toes before losing itself somewhere in my hollow stomach. My mouth and eyes went simultaneously dry as the belated taste of nail polish remover burned inexplicably in the back of my throat. I wondered if I was being retroactively embalmed.

Yes, I bristled defensively, my boyfriend.

Two pairs of false eyelashes fluttered angrily in my direction. Two pairs of perfectly manicured nails looked like they wanted to curl in and punch me in the face.

I decided to excuse myself once again.

Well then, I better get his gift.

Gift? the woman asked.

I stepped backward onto the foot of a caterer who was able to re-balance his tray of booze only by a miracle. There’s a welcome-home gift I have to get ready...and, um...excuse me.

The lies just keep piling up! What the hell is wrong with me!

William Colson’s Talent