by Fiona Riley
She stepped back and bumped right into Scotty. She hadn’t realized how close he was. How close everyone was. Great. Now she felt claustrophobic, too.
“Yes, you can. This is how you get out from behind the desk doing Sharon’s bitch work. You wanna write the movie that gets nominated? You gotta get in there and get a little dirty. This is a tough town, but you can do this. Ask a couple of questions. What’ve you got to lose?” Scotty’s expression was encouraging.
“My job?” This pep talk was falling flat.
“Unlikely. You need a little sidebar puff piece, right? Not even a full page. We can do that. You can do that. I’ll help.” He gave her a broad smile and adjusted the camera on his shoulder. His confidence in her was reassuring. She felt a teensy bit better.
“Hey. What bombshell were they talking about?” She motioned to the backs of Anna Mae and Drake. They stood up against the rail, just millimeters apart. They were both hurriedly talking to their respective camera crews.
“Hmm?” Scotty was looking through the lens of his camera and fiddling with buttons and knobs that looked expensive.
“Emerson Sterling. They said there was a bombshell today.” Emerson was a bombshell. Hayley knew that clear as she knew her own name. Everyone knew who Emerson was. She was gorgeous. And talented. And had a complex Hollywood history that was only further complicated when she was cast in the most anticipated movie of the year opposite Rachel Blanche and Johnny Pietro. Which in and of itself wasn’t complicated, but what happened next was: halfway through filming, Rachel left the project due to scheduling issues, quote-unquote, which Hayley had come to realize was code around here for Rachel was fired.
“Oh, yeah. You didn’t hear?” Scotty pulled out his phone and loaded Twitter. He pointed to the trending topics, and there in bold read the headline, “Blanche Blames Bust-up on Set to Bedroom Fallout with Sterling.”
Hayley grabbed his phone and scrolled through the feed in shock. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” Scotty took his phone back and pocketed it. “It’s the biggest news story of the day. Probably the year. And so far, it’s just a teaser. Rachel released a snippet of an interview—some transcript or something—with a promise to fill in the details later. This is big news.”
Hayley wondered what bedroom fallout meant. Well, she assumed she knew what it meant—Rachel and Emerson had been in a relationship, that took place in a bedroom—but no. No. There was no way. Right?
She mulled this over a bit. Shit. This was huge. “When did that come out?”
Scotty shrugged. “A couple of hours ago, just over two, I’d guess.”
“Literally right in time for the red carpet.”
“Yup. With Emerson and Johnny both presenting tonight, it’s—”
“Ballsy.” And fucked up, Hayley thought, but she kept that to herself. Rachel Blanche was America’s Sweetheart: blond, blue-eyed, and charming as hell. She was the kind of girl every guy wanted to be with and every girl wanted to be. She was the white picket fence, homecoming queen kind of beauty that you hoped would move in next door and fall madly in love with you. Hell, she’d been People’s Most Beautiful Person twice in the past six years. So when her role was recast, and filming had to be reshot with a new actress, Piper Sanderson, pretty much all of Hollywood and the planet had assumed it was because of actor feuding. And everyone wanted to blame it on a catfight. Emerson Sterling with her dark hair and sordid past was quickly labeled the problem in the court of public opinion even though the film studio had released a statement denying that assumption. There were rumors, but nothing was substantiated. Rachel had gone dark for a while. Clearly, that had ended.
“Okay. It’s showtime. Buckle up.” Scotty’s height gave him an advantage over most of the camera people around them. He must have seen something no one else did. Before she could ask him what he meant, he was pushing her forward and using his large frame to box out Drake’s and Anna Mae’s crews from blocking Hayley’s access to the railing. Next thing she knew, she was front and center and she had a bird’s eye view of the warm-up wave of B-list celebrities starting to walk down the carpet in their direction.
“You got this.” Scotty’s encouragement was accompanied by a wink. But she didn’t miss the glare Anna Mae was casting in her direction. Or the snarl on Drake’s face.
Chapter Two
Emerson Sterling looked at the shattered remnants of the champagne flute just outside the balcony door and frowned. Her anger management coach would not approve. Nor would her PR rep, her manager, or her fans. Well, that last part was yet to be determined. If she was out of the limelight for too long, people talked. But if she was in it for too long or too often, people talked. Basically, as long as people were talking, things were okay. Or they weren’t. That seemed to be the rub as of late. Regardless, she was down a champagne flute and it was entirely her fault. Or Rachel Blanche’s fault. Maybe she could blame it on the media?
The two male voices arguing outside her bedroom door had become impossible to ignore. She could hear her manager, David Stilton, clucking and stuttering some point at her personal assistant, Tremont. She smiled as Tremont Winter’s soprano pierced the air in fiery retort. He was good to her, he always had been. Tremont had been with her through the good and the bad, and she trusted him implicitly. She’d be kidding herself if she didn’t admit that Tremont had been her savior all these years. He made sure she was always on her A game, he helped her with her looks and her lines, and he kept her humble. Without him, she’d be lost. Literally. She had a terrible sense of direction. It was almost comical. And David, well, David managed her. Or tried to. He had a hand in setting up her auditions and helping coordinate her appearances and press work, but her relationship with him had been rocky for a while now. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded like David was mad and Tremont was—Yup. He definitely just called David a heartless bitch. Good. Things must be going swimmingly.
She twirled the empty mini champagne bottle on the table in front of her and wondered if David was stopping Tremont from bringing an adult-sized beverage through the door. He was like that, so damn limiting. It’s not like she had any vices anymore. She never drank, except for champagne, and she never did it before a public event. But this was different. This was war, and in times of war, anything goes.
She stood and strode toward the door. She was tired of waiting and even more tired of the angry hum of voices just outside of earshot.
“Boys,” she barked and yanked open the door. David jumped back with a startled expression. Tremont, on the other hand, had his arms crossed across his chest, with his eyebrow raised in challenge. Tremont never spooked. It was one of his best qualities.
Emerson could see the gold foil of the top of the champagne bottle under Tremont’s arm. She reached for it.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Emerson?” David barely got the question out before Tremont started in on him again.
Emerson held her hand up and silenced them both. She nodded toward the bottle, and Tremont opened it with a satisfying pop and handed it to her. She brought it to her lips and sipped before looking at Tremont and motioning toward David.
“Did you tell him that the hotel only stocks mini-bottles of champagne? Mini-bottles. What if there was a champagne emergency and I needed a full-sized bottle immediately? What if I couldn’t wait for them to bring one up? Someone should write a review of this place. The nerve.” Tremont laughed and took a sip from the offered bottle. She didn’t bother offering any to David. He was such a curmudgeon.
“Emerson. Please. No more destruction. We’re doing the best we can to do damage control already,” David whined. He was always whining.
“It was a glass, David. It…slipped.”
“It didn’t slip, and you know it.” David huffed and looked flushed.
“You look a little sweaty, David. Why don’t you sit down and have some water?” She took the bottle back from Tremont and turned, heading back into her room. She di
dn’t wait for him to answer. It was an empty pleasantry. They all knew she didn’t want him around. Not after this screwup.
“Emerson, I tried—”
She spun on her heel and pointed the bottle at him. “You tried? When did you try, David? When Rachel squeezed you like a pimple for information and you popped like an overly hormonal virgin on a first date?”
David looked scandalized. Emerson felt like someone had thrown gasoline on the simmering she was barely keeping contained.
“Was it her tits? Is that what convinced you to sell me out? Because I’ve seen them, David, and they’re awfully nice, but they aren’t worth the price of my soul. Maybe they’re worth the price of yours, though. I’d never given that much thought. Maybe that’s my fault. I had no idea I employed someone so soulless.”
“How was I supposed to know she’d turn on you, Emerson? How?” David dug the hole deeper and Emerson saw red.
“It’s your job to have my best interests in mind, David. Why do I have to be the one to tell you that this work requires a backbone? I had no idea you were so incredibly useless”—she growled—“but lesson learned.”
“She warned you,” David spat back at her. “She warned you when you cast her aside like some jilted lover—”
“Leave.” She couldn’t stand the sight of him. If David hadn’t planted the seed, Rachel might never have figured it all out. But that fucking moron wasn’t thinking with his head. Or maybe he was, just the wrong one. Rachel could be very convincing when she wanted something. He was just too stupid to realize he was being played.
“You knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time.” David’s flush had spread into his neck. His nostrils flared, and Emerson raged.
“Are you serious right now?” Her blood boiled as she stepped toward him. “Did you just fucking say that?”
Tremont stepped between them and held up his hands. “We’ll be downstairs in a bit. You should go, David.”
“Fifteen minutes. She has fifteen minutes to throw her tantrum. Make sure she gets in that car and smiles like she’s supposed to. We all knew that article was coming—we’ve already prepared a statement.” David avoided eye contact with her and spoke only to Tremont. That was probably a wise idea since the bottle felt heavy in her hands.
Tremont scoffed. “This is why you’re single, David. Because you’re heartless.”
“And I hear you’re also a bitch.” Emerson couldn’t help herself. Tremont snickered next to her.
“Fifteen minutes,” David called over his shoulder as he slammed the door to her hotel suite.
She headed to the balcony and lowered herself onto the lounge chair facing the million-dollar view of the mountains off in the horizon. She sipped the bottle in her hands and willed them to stop trembling. This was everything she had feared would happen, except it was a thousand times worse than she had ever anticipated.
“He just doesn’t get it, Em. He doesn’t have the whole story, so he can’t understand.” Tremont sank into the seat beside her with a sigh. “Not that he should have said anything to Rachel, but still.”
She nodded and handed him the bottle. No one had the whole story. Well, except for her and Tremont. He knew just about everything. That helped ease some of the isolation she was feeling. But even that wasn’t entirely true. He knew most of what she was feeling, but not all of it. She didn’t think anyone would really understand.
“I just…I never thought she’d actually do it.” She took the bottle back from him and ran her thumb over the slightly curled edge of the label. “And I’m mad at myself for being so naïve about it.”
Tremont didn’t say anything for a long time. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more scared or more hurt than I did this morning when we got that call. I think it’s best we just accept this for what it is: a betrayal. She betrayed you, and whatever you had with her—whatever friendship or professional courtesy you might have shared—it’s gone. Rachel is seeking her revenge in the most public way possible, and you are the object in her crosshairs.”
“That sounds a little dirty.”
Tremont shrugged. “I heard that on NCIS last week. You know how I love me some DiNozzo.”
“You can do better.” She winked at him.
“So can you.” Ouch.
“Just give me a few minutes, okay? Let me wallow in my self-pity and armor myself for what is going to be the worst night of my life.” She hoped he didn’t notice the pleading in her voice.
His face told her he did. “That’s a little dramatic. I’m sure you’ll have much worse nights.”
She deadpanned, “You’re too good to me.”
“Someone has to look out for your overly emotional and hormonal ass. And you don’t pay me enough to deal with David’s bad breath on top of his usual condemnation. I want a raise.” Tremont pretended to flip his nonexistent hair and left her on the balcony to collect her thoughts. She loved that man. She wasn’t sure where she’d be without him.
She let his words wash over her and her chest felt heavy. Behind the rage and blind panic that came with the call from her PR agency letting her know about Rachel’s big reveal, there was a level of disappointment and pain that had floored her. But as much as Tremont was right, so was David. Rachel had warned her this was coming. She just didn’t want to believe it.
She placed the bottle down on the table next to her and sighed. She’d need her wits about her for tonight’s red carpet. It was not a coincidence that Rachel’s statement came out today of all days. Tonight’s presenter gig with Johnny was part of the studio’s marketing campaign to generate buzz on the upcoming movie’s release. This was the first big push of what would be many exhausting weeks and months of interviews, press, attending events, and smiling for the camera. In just a few months, The Willow Path Convergence would be shown to critics and then to audiences across America. She sighed. This role was supposed to change her life. It was supposed to change her career. And it had. But it also brought Rachel into her life. And at the release, her name would be in the credits and Rachel’s wouldn’t. So, no, she shouldn’t be surprised that Rachel’s teaser tell-all came today. Or any day, for that matter. But that fact didn’t make it hurt any less.
She stretched in the chair and thought about the whirlwind that had been the last year. Getting this role was the kind of stuff that dreams were made of. It was a chance for her to catapult her acting career into the kind of legacy status that she’d always hoped for. This was the chance of a lifetime. But it was a risk. And the studio was taking a risk on her. It was a dark and complex film, and the emotional depth required had been grueling, but it had taught her a lot about herself during the filming as well. And it had brought Hurricane Rachel with it. Everything had changed with this role. Everything.
She knew that tonight’s presenter gig was an attempt to amplify her public persona. Even though the film was still in editing, it was already getting hyped as one of the best films of the year. She had thought this would be her chance to change her image. She’d hoped that the days of her Hollywood Bad Girl status were long gone. It looked as though this role was going to do just that, until Rachel was let go from the film under a cloud of suspicion. And now she was the villain to Rachel’s one-sided sob story.
“It’s time.” Tremont held out her clutch and lipstick. “You need to reapply. Thank Gucci the makeup artist left this behind. That champagne bottle is wearing all your lipstick.”
She glanced down and laughed. “So it is.”
“Ready?”
They both knew she wasn’t.
“No.” She sighed. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“So remember, smile and let Chandra field all the questions. Don’t go off script. We released the statement on the ride over here. All you have to do is say no comment. Got it?” David said. Emerson knew that wasn’t really a question.
“Don’t worry, David. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Emerson turned back to
ward the commotion outside the limo’s window. “All the vultures are circling. Must be foulness afoot.”
David dared to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s going to be fine, Emerson.”
She had to will herself not to snatch her hand away. “Let’s not kid ourselves, David. It’s going to be a veritable shit show. And I’m the main attraction.”
“Good thing we packed an umbrella.” Tremont held up his designer messenger bag and tapped it confidently. “Shit shield in tow.”
Chandra Patel, her PR rep, knocked on the window and opened the door. “All right, Emerson. We’re ready for you.”
The cameras flashed, and Emerson’s name rang out from every media outlet imaginable. Tremont stepped out and took her hand, guiding her and her designer gown onto the red carpet. He held his hand up to deflect some of the glaring lights as Chandra stepped forward and addressed the group.
“Ms. Sterling will pose for some pictures, but she is not giving any statements at this time. If you ask, she will move on without a shot.” Chandra’s announcement was met with disgruntled groans.
“Emerson, Emerson! Over here! To the left!”
Emerson raised her head as she stepped onto the marked X on the carpet in front of her and flashed that perfect Hollywood smile she’d paid a fortune for.
The lights were always more blinding than she expected. She’d been on plenty of red carpets and press junkets before, and yet every time, it felt a little overwhelming. There was no getting out of the center of attention at these things. That was the point, right? To be there and generate buzz, to make people want you. To make people want to be you. To make them want to see what you were up to. It was all part of the game. It was a part of the big, scary Hollywood machine: Show face. Smile. Look pretty. Sell the illusion. That’s what this all was, just an illusion.
“Emerson! Here! Up here. Smile!”
She turned toward the voice and obliged. It was difficult for her to see any specific person during these walks. The lighting was complimentary but made it impossible for the actors to see any of the media’s faces until the flashes faded. If it wasn’t for Tremont following closely behind and guiding her over the occasional rogue cord or bump in the carpet, she’d face-plant. That would be almost as interesting as Rachel’s attempt at a distraction. She considered it.