The Fame Game (Love and the City Book 3)

by Jillian Quinn

  Willow

  Ash is sitting at the sidewalk café with two cups in front of her. I drape my bag over the back of the chair and take a seat across from Ash.

  She slides a latte across the table in front of me with a warm smile. “Two Splenda, extra foam, just the way you like it.”

  I beam with delight. “Thanks, babe. I need this after that long plane ride home.”

  “Yeah, so how did that go?”

  “I hit it off with Carrie Le Blanc. She hasn’t signed with us yet, but I think she will after another meeting.” I sip from my cup and let out a soft moan from the goodness exploding on my tongue. “It went so well Burke is letting me work directly with clients.”

  She cups the latte between both hands and gives me a grim look. “That’s awesome, girl. Maybe one day you’ll be my agent.”

  “Finish a screenplay and we’ll talk.”

  Ash flashes a smile that slips after a few seconds. “I feel bad for Vinnie. He asked me to cancel his afternoon and slammed his door. I can’t remember the last time he was this upset over a client.”

  “Why did he let Nico go? Spill it, woman.”

  “Same as before. No studio will work with him. He’s been partying a lot. And you’ve seen all the drama online and his bouts of public drunkenness. He’s not the same. After his role in Twelve Steps, he fell apart.”

  “If I approach him, what am I getting myself into?”

  “It will be a challenge to repair his relationships with the studios.”

  “Yeah, but what did he do to cause these issues?”

  “Showing up late, drunk, or hungover, or just having to do too many reshoots. There was an issue where he got injured—”

  “I remember reading about that,” I interject. “Nico cut his thigh while filming a car chase for Off-road.”

  “Yeah, that was the movie. The studio made Nico take a drug test. He swore he wasn’t on anything... and the results came back negative.”

  “The director threatened to quit. It was a real fiasco. Vinnie had to smooth it over.”

  “What do you think? Is Nico worth my time?”

  “I don’t know,” she admits. “Flashbang has horrible reviews. Variety ripped it apart today. They said it’s the worst movie of the year. It has an eighteen percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes.”

  “If I could help Nico, this could get me a promotion. I could become an actual agent. I could have a client list instead of following Burke around everywhere.”

  “Yeah, but you’d be taking a big chance on Nico. He could also ruin your career.”

  I stare out at the street as I drink from my latte. People are bustling past us, the city crowded and humming with life. I moved to Los Angeles for college and never wanted to return to the East Coast after soaking up the California sun.

  “I can approach Nico and see what he’s like.”

  “I wouldn’t rule him out completely. Nico used to pull in fifteen million dollars per movie. Not so much anymore.”

  “What did he make on Flashbang?”

  “Because the studio considered him a high risk, they were only willing to pay two million.”

  “That’s a huge pay cut.”

  She nods.

  “So, what have you been up to?” I ask her to change the subject.

  “You know Vinnie,” she groans. “He keeps me busy. We have a fashion model who wants to act. She’s a real diva. She calls every day to talk to Vinnie.”

  “Oh, yeah? Which model?”

  “Bianca Sanders.”

  “The new Victoria’s Secret model?”

  She nods. “She’s a royal pain in my ass. Bianca thinks Vinnie can throw her into any movie because she’s pretty. But she can’t act worth a damn.”

  I laugh. “We have a few clients like that.”

  Ash fixes her eyes on me. “We haven’t talked in weeks. Anyone new in your life?”

  “Yeah, right? Like I have the time. Burke keeps me at the office sometimes until ten o’clock at night. Most days, I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at my desk. Between the office and travel, I’m hardly ever home.”

  “You love Tinder. You should find yourself a man for the night.”

  I laugh at her comment. “I don’t love Tinder. I’ve yet to find a single match on there.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I get too many unsolicited dick pics from Tinder dudes. No, thanks. I’ll pass. Not like I have room for men in my life. All of my time and energy go into work.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ll be Vin’s secretary forever.”

  “No, you won’t. Talk to him. Get him to move you around.”

  “No way! Vinnie relies on me too much. He won’t let me go unless I quit, and I don’t want to do that.”

  “You don’t want to be a personal assistant forever,” I point out.

  “No,” she counters. “But I’m hoping at some point I can use Vinnie’s connections.” Ash glances down at her phone. “I hate to cut our coffee date short, but Dylan is picking me up.”

  I get up from the table to throw out my cup, and when I turn back around, Ash is behind me.

  She wraps her arms around me. “Call me and let me know how you make out with Nico.”

  I hug her back, and her sweet perfume fills my nostrils. “Wish me luck.”

  She taps my shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

  Chapter Four

  Willow

  I’m officially a stalker. Yep, that’s me—big fat stalker. For the past three days, I’ve practically camped in front of Nico’s Beverly Hills estate. Not a single car has passed through the tall, wrought-iron gates in the past seventy-two hours. He’s holed up inside his mansion, living the life of a famous movie star.

  What does that even look like? My life is far from glamorous. I couldn’t even afford to rent a room inside his house.

  A few paparazzi have shown up occasionally, hoping to snap a picture of Nico. He’s the talk of the town. With his movie premiere in a few days and the news about his agent spreading like wildfire, everyone is dying to interview him. And me, I’m worrying about him.

  What if he took the breakup with Vinnie harder than anyone thought? Nico is from a small town in upstate New York. He doesn’t have any family that lives in Los Angeles. No one will notice if he goes off the grid.

  My pulse races when the gates open toward me, and a black Mercedes emerges. Nico is alone, with aviator sunglasses covering his eyes and a Dodgers ball cap on his thick, unruly black hair. He makes a left out of the driveway, forcing me to duck down in my seat.

  Did he see me? I hope not.

  It’s bad enough I’m stalking him. Assuming he’s gone, I let out a sigh of relief. But I have the worst luck on the planet.

  As I sit upright, Nico throws a soda at the driver’s side window and yells, “Get lost!”

  He peels off down the street without looking over at me. So, at least there’s that. I fan myself with my hand, still in shock by our brief encounter. And then, I remember… I’m supposed to be following him. Yeah, that will not happen in my ten-year-old Toyota Corolla.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I panic for a few seconds and then get myself together. Maybe he’s stuck at a red light. This part of town is a nightmare on the weekend. It took me thirty minutes to get through all the traffic earlier, and it was only nine o’clock. If I’m lucky, I can catch up to him. I whip through Nico’s neighborhood with a purpose. Even though there’s no sign of him anywhere, I’m determined.

  When I’m down the street from The Beverly Center, I hear tires screech on the asphalt. I glance over, and my blood pumps harder at the sight of Nico’s car. But the second the light turns green, he’s gone. Like I imagined him next to me. I weave in and out of traffic, hoping to catch up to him. He drives like he’s on the Autobahn. I bet he’s used to avoiding tails from paparazzi. Some of those guys are relentless, known for causing accidents in their pursuit of a celebrity.

  He turns off the stree
t. I trail behind him as he valet parks his car at the La Cienega Blvd. entrance. Somehow, I’ve kept up with him. I dig through my purse as I wait for a valet attendant. It’s twelve dollars to park my damn car.

  Ugh, I’m not prepared for this.

  I have a five-dollar bill, a few rolled-up ones shoved into the pocket of my purse, and the spare coins in the ashtray. By the time the attendant opens my door, I blush ten shades of red.

  “Welcome to The Beverly Center,” he says, holding the door open for me.

  Using the bottom of my shirt to hold the change, I get out of the car. He gives me a strange look that makes me uncomfortable. He tears off a ticket I stuff in my pocket, and then he looks down at the change in my hands. He holds open his palms, and I dump my sad collection of change into his hands. A few of the quarters and dimes fall onto the ground. One even runs under my car.

  Oh, my God. Someone, please help me.

  I could die from embarrassment right now. Hey, I’m no stranger to weird, shame-inducing encounters. But this incident just moved to the top of my list. As if I’m not humiliated enough, I still have Nico’s soda running down my window. Streaks of brown cover the parts of my window where the tint is peeling.

  Yeah, it’s a real shit show, and I’m the mayor of the freak town. I look like a weirdo driving my rusty, crusty shit mobile to this fancy pants mall.

  I crawl halfway under the car, my ass sticking up in the air. When a car horn blares from behind me, I jump and almost hit my head on the undercarriage. I push myself up from the ground and give the attendant the rest of the change, apologizing profusely. A line of cars forms behind me, people are angry they have to wait for me.

  Annoyed, the attendant takes the key from my hand, his lips pressed together. He holds up a ticket between his fingers. I grab it from him and stuff it inside my pocket. We passed awkward a few minutes ago, and I’m late for my stalking appointment. If I’m lucky, I can still track Nico down.

  He slides into the driver’s seat.

  All Aboard The Hot Mess Express.

  “Take excellent care of my baby,” I quip, but he doesn’t even crack a smile.

  Once inside the building, I look in every store window. I spot a few guys wearing the same Dodgers baseball cap. None of them are Nico. As time ticks down, I wonder if he’s even in the mall. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he lured me in here just to ditch me.

  By the time I reach the seventh floor, I’m sure he led me down a path to nowhere. And then I see him through the window at the Apple Store. Of all the places, I would have thought he would avoid a place this crowded. No one notices him.

  Head down, his eyes are on the iPad in his hand. He’s dressed in dark jeans that mold to his muscular thighs. A black hoodie covers most of his Dodgers hat. The person before me doesn’t look like a movie star. He looks like a regular guy who wants to buy an iPad. No one around him pays any mind to him. Still, to be on the safe side, he turns away from the surrounding people. His fingers scroll down the screen.

  I stare at him, like a celebrity crazed idiot, and wonder what he’s doing. Why would he choose this store? It seems like an odd choice for someone who’s been in the headlines for days. With only a few more days until the Flashbang premiere, this is the last place I expected him to go. Stars usually have interviews and more critical things to do in the days leading up to events. And Nico is casually looking at an iPad without a care in the world. He could be anyone right now.

  Occasionally, he peeks up from the screen to see if anyone has noticed him. He looks relieved as he goes back to his business. It must suck to have people follow you wherever you go. A part of you belongs to the public.

  I consider heading back to my car when Nico sets down the iPad. He glances over each of his shoulders and then exits the store. Our eyes meet for a split second. Nervous energy shoots throughout my body, making my skin tingle.

  I blow out a deep breath as he approaches me.

  Nico’s mouth twists in disgust. “Why are you following me?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t know you, so stay the hell away from me. Don’t come back to my house. And don’t follow me again.”

  “I work for Weston Burke,” I say. “I’m an agent at Brenton-Lake.”

  I remove a business card from my purse and give it to him. He glances down at my hand like I have a disease and then takes it from me. Nico studies my card for a few seconds and then looks up at me.

  “What do you want?”

  “A meeting.”

  “And why would I want to work with you?”

  “Because I’m willing to take a chance on you, and you don’t have many options.”

  He snorts. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

  “The name is Willow—not sweetheart.”

  “Whatever.” He shoves the card into my hand. “I’m not interested.”

  He walks away, leaving me with sweaty palms and my heart ready to jump out of my chest. Burke says that it takes a few times to woo a celebrity. Nico Chase will need a lot of wooing if I want him to become my first client.

  Chapter Five

  Nico

  I kick up my foot on the coffee table and pound half of my beer. The cold craft brew tastes amazing as it slides down my throat. For days, I hid inside my house, attempting to drink away my problems. I waited for Vinnie to call and apologize. But his call never came. Without him, I don’t know where I stand or if I still have a career.

  On the day I leave the house, I find out I have another stalker, Willow Duvall. If she works with Weston Burke, why doesn’t she approach me like a professional? Instead, she followed me around like some fangirl who wanted an autograph. I feel like shit leaving the way I did, but you have to be careful in this business. Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of lunatics approach me.

  The front gate alarm buzzes, ringing throughout the house. I lift my cell phone from the couch and open the security system app. A black stretch limousine drives through the gates.

  Steven Marx owns this house. I haven’t seen him since the day he agreed to rent to me.

  I meet Steven at the front door.

  “Nico,” he says with concern furrowing his brows. “We have a problem.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t paid your rent.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “My accountant handles all of my expenses.”

  Steven is a businessman who bought this house in the seventies as an investment. It’s worth a fortune now. Most of the year, he lives overseas, only stopping in the United States on business. He had no interest in renting his house, but he’s a big fan of my work.

  “The last check bounced,” Steven says, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. “My business manager deposited the check twice before he asked me what’s going on with you. And since I’m in town for a few days, I figured I’d stop by.”

  Translation: You’re homeless if you don’t pay me.

  “There must be some kind of mistake.” I hold up my finger and reach into my pocket for my cell phone. “Give me a second to call my accountant. He’ll clear this up.”

  “Go ahead.” Steven waves his hand dismissively and then wanders over to the bar on the right side of the living room. “I’ll fix myself a drink.”

  He sits on one of the leather bar stools, making himself at home, his back to me as I dial my accountant. I speak to Josh’s secretary first, and then she patches me through to him. He’s been my money manager since I signed my first movie contract.

  Josh answers on the second ring. “Nico,” he says with a sigh. “I’m glad you called. We need to talk.”

  “I’ll say,” I shoot back. “Steven Marx is at the house claiming the rent check bounced.”

  He blows a deep breath into the phone. “It did. I was about to call you.”

  I step out of the room, pacing in the foyer. “What’s going on? Why did the check bounce?”

&n
bsp; “There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to rip the Band-Aid off. You’re broke, Nico.”

  My chest collapses from his words, sucking every ounce of air from them. “No… That’s not possible. I’ve made millions of dollars over the years.”

  “You haven’t had a hit movie in about four years. Your paychecks keep getting smaller, and yet you spend money like you’re still in your prime.”

  “I am in my prime,” I snap.

  “You know what I mean,” he challenges. “You’re not raking in the big bucks anymore. If you were smart, you would have listened to my advice and moved out of Beverly Hills.”

  “I like this house.”

  “You don’t need that much space. No one does. You can live in a nice single house in The Hills for a lot less money.”

  “I can’t be broke,” I say in a hushed tone as I walk onto the balcony overlooking the pool. “That’s not possible.”

  “It’s basic math,” Josh says. “You spent more than you made. Simple.”

  “How much longer do I have until the money runs out?”

  “You can’t live in that house,” he says.

  “Fine,” I groan. “I’ll get a different place. How much time do I have?”

  “You can afford an apartment in Hollywood for about six months. But the car needs to go. I suggest ending the lease on the Maserati before they repossess it.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, fighting the tears welling in my bottom lids. For months, I’ve been in denial. Josh tried to tell me the truth, and I was too stubborn to listen. He kept harping on my spending habits. At one point, he even canceled one of my credit cards to get me to stop using it. We fought over it and our friendship suffered. Now, I wish I hadn’t been such an asshole. If I had listened to him, I could have prevented this from happening.

  “I lost Vinnie this week,” I confess. “Now, this…”

  “Sorry, Nico. I don’t know what to say. I know this sucks. You need another job. That will get you back on your feet.”