Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  It’s a little bit different with Lizzie, who is perfectly happy to meet me for lunch or for a beach day.

  But this party, I know, won’t be an opportunity to relax. Even though most of the people around me will be blowing off steam, they’ll also be networking. Business cards will be exchanged. People who have never been in front of a camera will come up to the cast of the show, thinking we can use our clout to get them cast in something. After two or three drinks, someone with ambitions of parlaying their acting career into directing will approach the showrunners about possibly doing an episode.

  That’s how it is in LA. Even parties are work.

  I love my job, but I also miss the way, back in Ohio, work ended at the end of the day. I could go home and put my feet up on the couch, spread some peanut butter on some celery, and relax. Ever since I was cast on Royal Blue, it feels as if I’m working all the time.

  And tonight, if I’m honest, I want a night off.

  Lizzie glances over at me. She’s clearly taken note of my long silence.

  “You will be there, won’t you?”

  I sigh. “You know me too well.”

  “Come on. You cannot skip the wrap party. This is going to be the party of the century. I forbid it.”

  “That’s what you said about the New Year’s party,” I remind her. “And it turned out to be completely lame.”

  “It was not lame. That was the one where Chris taught us how to do keg stands, remember?”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t fun.”

  Chris Watson plays our older brother, Boniface Redfall, on the show, and he’s probably the cast member who’s most like his character.

  Boniface is the medieval version of a frat boy. A part of me is really hoping to see him assume the throne next season—that ought to be good for some laughs.

  Lizzie plants her hands on her hips. “Erica. This was Gary’s final episode. This isn’t just a wrap on season two, it’s a wrap on Gary. You are not going to miss his farewell party. You wouldn’t do that.”

  Damn. She’s right. No matter how much I want to go home, get in a bubble bath, and forget all about the fact that I’m famous for a few hours, I have to go to the party. Gary deserves that.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell Lizzie. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  “Yeah, you’d better be,” she says, turning her attention to the mirror, beginning to wipe off her makeup. “You don’t really want to give Jay the satisfaction of finding out he got you to stay home from a party, do you?”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with Jay,” I protest.

  Lizzie sighs. “Of course, it does,” she says. “You don’t have to lie to me, Erica. I know he totally humiliated you.”

  Jay. Possibly the biggest mistake I’ve made since leaving home, and the one that most gave away how naive I still am, in spite of the fact that I’ve been here in LA for six years now.

  It’s not that I loved him or anything. Of course, I didn’t. We only went on a couple of dates—we didn’t even sleep together. But I did like him. I thought there was something between us, and I was looking forward to getting to know him better.

  He was level-headed, I thought. Down-to-earth. He owned a coconut stand on the beach and rented surfboards to tourists. On weekends, he gave surfing lessons. He was free-spirited and easygoing and nothing like any of the clamoring, ambitious people I work with every day.

  Or so I thought.

  Then he sold me out to a gossip magazine. I don’t know if he was even interested in me as a person. Probably not. Likely, he only went out with me to gather details that he could sell to anyone who was willing to buy.

  Lizzie had warned me off the whole situation. Despite her girlishness, she’s a lot more savvy than I am when it comes to the ways of Hollywood. Her parents were both in the industry, and she grew up around all this.

  “Don’t date someone who’s not in the business,” she warned me the first time I told her about Jay. “They get stars in their eyes and then they never see the real you. It’s not worth it.”

  But I didn’t listen. I thought I knew better. I wanted it to be real with Jay. I wanted to believe that I’d finally found someone here in my new life who liked me for me—not a colleague, not someone who needs to get along with me in order to have a pleasant work environment, but a real friend. Not one of the many reporters or interviewers or bloggers who shout my name and take pictures when they see me walking out of the drugstore. Someone I could really talk to.

  Jay, it transpired, was not that person.

  “I wasn’t humiliated,” I correct Lizzie as my attendant eases Aeryn’s tunic off over my head. “I was lucky, really. I think Jay was hoping to uncover something scandalous about me. And there just isn’t anything that dark in my past.”

  “Yeah, he was hoping the whole ‘sweet little girl from Ohio turned superstar’ thing was an act, for sure,” Lizzie agrees. “I’ve seen it before. A friend of my mom’s used to go around acting like she was fresh off the bus, and then it came out that she had done sex tapes before getting her first TV role. She never got cast as a good girl again, but she was able to make the most out of it. She actually came out of that situation with a lot more fame.”

  “I wouldn’t want to get success that way,” I say, putting on my sweatpants.

  “Me either,” Lizzie decides. “But maybe burlesque shows, or something more soft-core. But seriously, you’re okay about what Jay did?”

  “I mean, I’m not wild about it,” I say.

  The story Jay sold was one in which, unfortunately, I recognize myself all too well. It was the tale of a beloved Hollywood actress, gorgeous and admired from afar, who just hasn’t been able to fit in or feel at home since arriving in the city. Jay painted me as a farm girl out of my element, the unpopular kid in the high school lunchroom, awkward and shy and unsure. It’s played up for drama, of course—I don’t have that much trouble feeling at home—but at the dark heart of the story is some truth.

  Jay’s name doesn’t appear anywhere in the article. He’s too smart for that, I suppose. He knows that if he and I started throwing stones at each other publicly, my fans would all come down on my side. He could be ruined, put out of business. Staying anonymous was a coward’s decision, perfectly in keeping with the man who pretended to care about me so he could make a quick buck off my struggles.

  I don’t need to see his name to know it was him, though. “Erica Steadman loves to talk about the barn she used to sit alone in as a kid,” the source is cited as saying. I never told anyone but Jay about that.

  I thought he’d understand, as independent and free-spirited as he was. I thought he would relate to the need to be alone with my thoughts. Instead, he makes it sound as if I was isolated or hiding out from the world, an outcast.

  Everyone in the cast read that article. There’s no way they didn’t—I even saw a copy of the magazine in one of the green rooms. So, not only will I have to be networking at this party, putting in face time with the important people in my business, I’ll also be dodging questions and sympathetic stares about my poor, lonely life.

  But going home would be proving Jay right.

  The hell with him. I’m not too awkward and isolated to have a good time. I deserve it.

  Besides, this is Gary’s farewell party. And it’s more than just that. With season two filming at an end, the cast is about to scatter. Everyone will be heading to vacation homes or family homes, wherever they spend their time away from the set. A nice long hiatus from filming, a break during which I won’t have to be Princess Aeryn at all.

  In truth, I’ll miss her. I love Aeryn. Stepping into her skin is empowering.

  But this hiatus I’m looking forward to a trip back home. I’m leaving for Ohio in just a few days, and I’ll be staying in my parents’ house, sleeping in my childhood bedroom and completely forgetting about the realities of fame and LA and show business.

  In Ohio, no one looks for famous people at the grocery store or th
e movie theater. I’ll be able to go out and have fun, breathe a little bit, without worrying every moment about my image and what might end up in the tabloids.

  My parents’ friends will probably want me to sign a few dozen autographs and regale them with stories of what Chris Watson is really like, but I can deal with that. It could be a lot worse.

  Lizzie finishes pulling on her clothes. “I’ll see you tonight, right?” she asks. “Promise you’re coming.”

  “I’m coming,” I say. “You know I’m good for my word.”

  “If you don’t come, and I drink too much, it’ll be all your fault.” She grins and hugs me. “Nobody cares about the article, babe. We’ve all had bad press. Most of us have had worse. At least it wasn’t one of those gross bikini pics where they pick apart your flaws.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I say.

  Lizzie leans over my shoulder and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you tonight,” she says and flits out the door, tote bag slung over her shoulder.

  Chapter 2

  The assistant director, Peter Cornwall, is a Hollywood enigma. He’s one of the only people I know in this town who made his money outside the industry, as a hotel magnate. You can stay in Cornwall hotels all around the world, and it wasn’t until Peter was in his late thirties that he decided to come to California to settle down and try his hand at directing.

  There’s a rumor he only got the Royal Blue gig because he’s friends with the showrunners—apparently, they were all in college together—but it’s hard to hold that against him. He’s actually very good at what he does. He has a vision for the show we’re trying to create. There have been many times I’ve been struggling with Aeryn’s motivation for a certain scene and Peter has taken me aside and said the perfect thing, making it all fall together in my mind.

  One of the best things about Peter, though, is that he owns the Cornwall Coastal Hotel a few miles from the studio where we film. It’s a great place for parties. No one ever feels out of place showing up here dressed to the nines, and we often hang out here alongside other names from the industry. Tonight, though, it will be just us. Just the family.

  My driver drops me off in front of the hotel and looks back over the seat. “What time should I pick you up?” he asks.

  I feel bad asking him to wait— I could be out in twenty minutes, or I might surprise myself and have a great time, emerging in the early hours. I settle on a compromise.

  “Not sure yet,” I say. “If you want to head home now, I’ll call you when I’m ready. Is that okay?”

  “You got it, Miss Steadman.”

  I step out of the car and look up at the hotel. This place never fails to amaze me, no matter how many times I see it. Tonight, Peter has lit up the footlights at the base of each of the columns in front of the main entrance, using colored bulbs so they glow in the red and gold of the Redfall family crest. I suppose that’s in Gary’s honor.

  The door to the main lobby stands open, the warm, dry California air blowing in, and I pass under the archway and onto the mosaic tiles.

  The woman behind the reception desk looks up at my entrance. “Welcome to the Cornwall Coastal Hotel, Miss Steadman.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’m not used to everyone knowing who I am. I probably should be, but it’s only been true since Royal Blue started to be so successful. Nowadays, everyone I meet knows my name, and most of them think they know something about me, too.

  This woman is staring at me with that hungry gleam in her eye that lets me know she’s mining our interaction for details to report back to her friends later. Anything I do, anything I say, might indicate something to her.

  “She seemed overly cheerful,” she might say if I smile back and say hello. “She was obviously covering up her embarrassment about that article we read last week.” Or, “she didn’t say anything at all to me. She’s so cold. No wonder she has trouble making friends.”

  Every conversation, every interaction, is fraught. All of a sudden I’m counting down the hours till I’m back in Ohio.

  At least the people inside the party itself are my own people. They don’t draw any distinction between me and themselves. And tonight has also turned out to be a good opportunity to dress up. I love wearing designer dresses for award shows, and I enjoy the period costumes I wear as Aeryn, but it’s just not that often I get to pick out a nice dress in a store and wear it somewhere. Tonight’s is a rose-gold strapless sheath covered in sequins from top to bottom. I’ve pinned my hair up on one side, leaving the rest free to tumble around my shoulders.

  As I make my way down the hall to the Cornwall’s main ballroom, Lizzie emerges and comes racing toward me. I would say she’s already had a few drinks, but honestly, with Lizzie, it’s impossible to tell. She’s just as buoyant when she’s completely sober. Right now she’s like a balloon, bumping along the ceiling. I wish I could bottle her good energy and drink it like a tonic.

  She flings her arms around me. “You came!”

  “I told you I would,” I say, laughing. “You didn’t believe me?”

  “Seeing is believing,” she says sagely, her tone as serious as if she’d just come up with that saying herself.

  “So what’s been going on?” I ask her. “Have you made your move on Peter yet?”

  She groans. “Not yet. He’s too gorgeous. I can’t.”

  “You’re not ever going to do it, are you?”

  We’ve reached the door of the ballroom now and I lean on the frame, taking in the room. A large bar has been set up at one end, and small tables, each seating six, have been arranged around the parquet dance floor in the center of the room.

  From here I can see Gary at one table, surrounded by several members of the cast and crew—they’ve pulled up chairs to talk to him. The boy who plays my youngest brother is racing around the dance floor, being chased by the girl who plays the daughter of the royal stable master, and their parents—the only non-industry people at this party—are clustered in a corner around their drinks, talking.

  Lizzie takes me by the hand and leads me over to one of the tables, close to the bar. “I saved you a seat.”

  “Great.” I drop my purse on the table in front of the empty chair. “Let me just go say hi to Gary, okay? And get a drink? And then I’ll meet you back here, and we can set up a plan for how you’re going to approach Peter.”

  Lizzie’s eyes sparkle. “Awesome!”

  I shake my head slightly as I walk away, amused by my friend. She might never actually make a move on Peter. For her, planning it and fantasizing about it are almost as good. A part of me wonders if that’s a function of growing up in Hollywood, if it’s made her more able to live in her own imagination. And, if so, is that something that will happen to me if I stay here too long?

  I stop by the bar and order a rum and cola. It arrives perfectly mixed, with a lime wedge perched on the rim, just the way I like it. I know Peter is particular about the staff in his hotels, refusing to hire any but the best bartenders, chefs, and even housekeeping staff. It’s one of the reasons his hotels are so noteworthy.

  Drink in hand, I make my way over to the table where Gary is sitting. He’s surrounded by a random assortment of people from the show—Chris Watson, two of the writers, one of the showrunners, a background extra who appears regularly in crowd scenes, the art director, and a girl I recognize not from the show but from a spread in a fashion magazine I have in a basket beside my bathtub at home. Of course—she must be Chris’s date. He’s famous for his proclivity for models.

  I pull up a chair at the table and Gary’s attention immediately shifts to me. “Erica! You made it!”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him, feeling sincere in the sentiment now that I’m here. I’m very glad I came out, glad to be among these interesting people, glad to help honor Gary as he leaves the show behind. “Royal Blue isn’t going to be the same without you.”

  “I guess you two will be fighting for the throne,” Gary says, indicatin
g me and Chris with a chuckle. “I don’t really see Lizzie getting mixed up in that.”

  “He can have it,” I say, taking a long pull of my drink.

  “Lord Boniface Redfall, King of the Realm,” Chris says, trying it on. “It does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?” The model squirms on his lap and whispers something in his ear, and he laughs aloud. “Someone likes it.”

  Gary turns to the writers. “I don’t suppose you could give us a clue?”

  “Couldn’t if we wanted to,” one of them says. “Honestly, we haven’t decided where it’s going yet. We’ll probably hole up in a cabin over the hiatus and figure it out.”

  “I just wanted to come by and congratulate you,” I tell Gary. “And to tell you how much you’ll be missed.”

  He gets to his feet and hugs me. “I’ll miss you too, Princess. You keep kicking ass, okay?”

  “Come by and see us,” I say. “Promise?”

  “Of course.”

  I take my drink and head back over to the table where I left Lizzie. It looks like a few people have gathered there in my absence. One of them is the girl who plays the queen of a warring faction set to destroy the Redfalls. The others play her bevy of handmaidens.

  I’m coming up behind Lizzie, but it’s not my intention to eavesdrop. I’m about to announce my presence when I hear my name.

  “Poor Erica, I mean, wouldn’t you just die?”

  The tone of Lizzie’s voice is familiar to me. She’s in gossip mode. Her words could be sympathetic, but there’s something in that tone that’s full of delight, gleeful at the chance to dissect someone else’s misfortune. I’ve always known Lizzie had a gossipy side, but it’s so common in LA that I never held it against her.

  But now it’s different. She’s talking about me.

  “It’s not that bad, is it?” one of the other girls says. “It’s not like they turned up anything scandalous.”