by Marie Garner
formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
Highland Creek Series
Finding Eva
Enticing Stella (Coming Soon)
Loving Gwen (Coming Soon)
The Misses Trilogy
Miss Congeniality
Miss Man-Eater (Coming Soon)
Miss Hollywood (Coming Soon)
To my parents, who have always loved and supported their children throughout all their endeavors.
“She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too brightly for this world.”
Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
“Come on, Brea.” Alexander Richards knocked softly on the door. Brea Richards pulled back the door slowly, her black hair hanging down in strings to frame her heart-shaped face and expressive blue eyes. He smiled softly, reading the fear in her eyes before he slowly pushed the door open to let himself into her bedroom. She stood back and stared at him, her hero, always standing guard. He protected her, told her when it was safe to come out, and made sure Mama and her bad men didn’t get her. He made sure she didn’t touch the bad stuff either. At least, that’s what he called the white stuff laying on the table the other day. She wanted to have some, because she thought it was sugar and she loved sweets, but he told her it wasn’t. She was hungry now, but there wasn’t any food in the cabinet yesterday.
That’s why Brea was anxious to get to school; even though Mama said it was a bad place, she loved it. She got food. School was clean, so she didn’t have to worry about what she touched, and no one was mean to her there. She was really smart, too. Her teacher, Mrs. Connelly, told her so, but when she told Mama, Mama ignored her. She hated being ignored so she told her again, but Mama said the teacher was stupid, and Brea was dumb if she believed her.
“Look, Mama is asleep, so we have to go really slowly.” Alex’s solemn blue eyes, wise beyond their years, stared at her. She nodded. This was nothing new. They did this most days Mama was here. Some nights, Mama stayed away and Brea wasn’t required to hide, but those nights were few and far between.
“There is a guy out there, but he’s asleep, too.” Again, nothing new. Brea nodded again before grabbing Alex’s hands, to make their way to the front door. She tried to walk quietly so Mama didn’t wake up, but it was hard because her feet hurt. Her shoes didn’t fit, but Alex told her there were no more shoes. She tried to be a good girl, so she could get some later on. She heard Tanya Marshall say to Amber Green, if Tanya were a good girl, then her mama would get her new shoes. Brea just hoped her mama would do the same thing, but she didn’t think so. Alex was generally the one who surprised her with shoes or clothes when she needed them.
They crept out, passing their mama and the man, careful not to touch the needles on the ground. Sometimes, Mama forgot to pick them up, and Alex told her she couldn’t touch them. She didn’t want to, either. Whenever Mama put the needle in her arm, she started acting funny, and she got really mean and let men come over. Some days, Brea wished for a daddy. He wouldn’t let her mama do bad stuff or let those weird men come here. At least, she thought he wouldn’t; that’s what she read in her books from school. They said daddies protected their little girls.
“Brea.” She looked up from her math sheet when Mrs. Connelly called her. She was standing at the classroom door with a man. Mrs. Connelly waved her over, and Brea put her pencil down before she walked slowly to the door. She didn’t like strange men, but the man looked nice. He stood with the corners of his mouth tipped up in a slight smile, holding a folder, and wearing a tie with turtles on it. Brea liked turtles, and she liked the way he crouched down in front of her to look her in the eyes.
Brea was too young to understand, but she instinctively knew her life was about to change tremendously. She didn’t know it at the time, but Derrick Scott was a godsend. He was a school social worker who plucked Alex and her out of her mother’s home and into his own within months of that first meeting. As improbable as it was, he and his wife wanted children, and they saw something in her and Alex they wanted to keep. Never again would she go hungry or have to worry about strange men and dirty needles. At eight years old, she knew something was off with the way she lived; ten years later and she knew the truth.
Her mother was a prostitute who had sex for money to feed her drug habit. Coke, heroin, or meth — if it could be snorted, smoked, or injected, she did it. Although Brea knew it was a disease, it was hard not to be bitter against a woman who chose drugs over her children. Brea didn’t even know her father, probably one of her mother’s johns who she would never know. She had asked her mom who her father was in the handful of times she had seen her since she had been removed from her home, but her mother just scoffed and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know, brat.”
At eight, she was hungry for food and a warm, safe place to rest her head. At eighteen, she was hungry for stardom. Her Uncle Derrick and Aunt Silvia, as she and her brother called their adopted parents, knew, and blessedly understood, she wanted out. For as long as she could remember, she wanted to be a movie star, to forge her way in an industry known to chew people up and spit them out like they were candy; but Brea knew she could survive. You don’t live as she did for eight years and not come out stronger in the end. She knew her looks would only get her so far. With her haunting, blue eyes and long, black hair, she was one of those classically-beautiful women who men stopped and looked at twice. However, she didn’t just have her looks. She was tenacious as hell, and she would show every damn body who called her poor white trash. She was going to be a celebrity. People everywhere would know her name, and no one would look down on her again.
She had the support of Derrick and Silvia to pursue her dream. She had already told them goodbye this morning; the only person left was Alex. She sighed, thinking of her older brother. Despite living with Derrick and Silvia for over ten years, they never officially adopted Brea and Alex. Their damn mother refused to let them go. She couldn’t care for her own children, but wouldn’t allow someone to officially take over the task. Like a child with her favorite toy, she refused to share but didn’t want to play with it. She didn’t often think of her mother, and no matter how fucking guilty it made Brea feel, sometimes she thought it would be easier if her mother were dead. At least then, the albatross would be gone from her neck. She shook her head; today was supposed to be a happy day. If only she could make her brother see he didn’t owe their mother anything. He continued to take care of her and watch out for her, more of a parent to their mother than she had ever been to either of them.
“Hey, stranger,” she called to her brother, who was behind the counter at the mechanic shop where he had worked since graduating high school two years before.
“Hey, squirt.” He came around and hugged her, ignoring the fact she was dressed nicely while he was covered in grease.
“You all ready?” She had discussed her plans with Alex last month when he came over to Derrick and Silvia’s house. His visits were getting fewer and farther between. She noticed the circles under his eyes, the weak smile he rarely showed anymore, and knew without a doubt he had been hanging around their mother.
“I am.” She grinned, so excited she could hardly stand it. “Sure you don’t want to go with me?” She had begged him. He needed to get out or he would suffocate under the weight of their mother.
“Nah.” He playfully slugged her in the shoulder. “This has always been your dream, not mine.”
“What are you going to do?” Blue eyes which used to comfort her stared at her lifelessly. They both knew she wasn’t talking about moving. He sighed.
“I don’t know. I can’t leave her, though; I never could.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she ruthlessly pushed them back. She refused to cry for her mo
ther, although the thought of leaving her brother here made her want to sit on the floor and wail like a baby.
“You’re not her keeper,” Brea reiterated for what seemed like the millionth time.
“I know,” he said pensively. It was an old argument, one they had repeatedly over the years. She got it—he couldn’t abandon their mother. But at the same time, Brea refused to allow herself to be dragged down in her mother’s shit.
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Do you need anything?” She barely resisted the sigh, knowing he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“Nope, everything’s all packed, and Aunt Silvia fixed some snacks.”
He chuckled, well aware of Silvia’s penchant for making sure all her chicks had plenty of food.
“Good to know some things never change.” She didn’t miss the irony but decided to leave it alone. She shuffled from one foot to the other, not wanting to leave but knowing she couldn’t stay.
“Well, I just wanted to come see your ugly mug and get my hug before I left.” He grabbed her and held her tightly, rubbing her back. She wrapped her arms around him, the tears she held back earlier seeping through the corners.
“Love you,” she whispered, comforted by her best friend. He pulled back, and she was surprised to see the redness in his eyes. He kissed her forehead before he gripped the side of her neck.
“Listen to me, Brea.” Stormy gray eyes stared at her intently. “You were always the better one.” She shook her head violently, hating that this goodbye felt permanent. He nodded, despite her denial.
“You were. I want you to get out and stay the hell out. Don’t come back here; there’s not a damn thing for you here.”
She wiped her eyes. “My family’s here.”
“And we will always be here for you. Always. You can see your family anytime, but you need to follow your dreams, so no matter how difficult it is to make it, don’t give up. Don’t ever forget that. You are the best damn thing in my life, and I want to keep it that way. Take that light which shines in you and be the successful movie star I know you’re going to be. Now, take this money and promise me.” He shook her shoulders, tears streaking down his face. She lost it; this amazing man, who always protected her, was breaking down in front of her. She could only nod as he brushed the tears from her eyes, still taking care of her.
“I promise,” she mumbled, hugging him tightly, refusing to break contact. She didn’t know how long they stood there before he pulled back and handed her an envelope. She peeked inside, counted over three thousand dollars, and tried to hand it back. Alex brushed her hand away, refusing to take the money back.
“You take the money. I’ve been saving it for you. Your destiny, where you’re meant to be, is out in California.” She hugged him again, reluctant to break contact, knowing it was goodbye.
Brea kept her promise. She worked hard as she nickeled and dimed her way to the top. She did whatever odd job she needed to, scrimping and scrapping her money, while she took any small part she could get. It took her three years to get her big break, a spot on a new primetime drama show, Maggie Beach, and the rest was history. Seven years and the top primetime rating six years in a row, and Brea Richards was a household name. She made herself over into an amiable Hollywood starlet with class, while preventing the media from digging too deeply into her past. She refused to think about the family she barely saw, left behind in that small town where she experienced her first salvation in Derrick and Silvia Scott. Brea refused to talk about her prostitute, drug-addled mother, whose addiction gripped her so tightly she traded drugs and johns over her children. In addition, if Brea ever remembered her hometown when she was standing under those bright lights, she smiled brighter, thinking about that long ago promise to her brother.
“Miss Hollywood!”
“Miss Congeniality!”
“Miss Man-eater!”
Brea Richards, Raquel Adams, and Clare Martin smiled for the media, temporarily blinded by all the camera flashes. They didn’t acknowledge the shouts of their names, well-versed on the drill. Just smile pretty, Brea thought, and don’t answer any unauthorized questions. The women waved and joked with those closest to them as they walked to the pressroom. It took the girls over fifteen minutes to make it there. To anyone else, fifteen minutes would seem like a breeze, but to someone who had to continuously wave her hand and keep smiling it felt like a lifetime.
I love this job, Brea repeated in her head like a mantra. And she did, generally. She could do without the press, but it was par for the course. She couldn’t continue to make money and act in the number-one primetime show, Maggie Beach, if she refused to deal with the media; hence, the reason for a press conference today. Big changes were coming to the show, including the addition of a new star, and the producers wanted to generate more buzz before they started shooting in a week. There was no shortage of rumors flashing around about the show, and today a couple of those would be laid to rest.
Mainly the rumor about my character’s love interest, Brea thought, because the viewers all said they wanted her mild-mannered character to get her chance to fall in love after she had been put through her paces last year. A lot of names were being batted around, but they would never guess the role would go to Mr. Lance Holder, Hollywood bad boy. She didn’t know him personally; but from what she heard about him, he was nothing but bad news. A tattooed, motorcycle-riding man-whore, who had a penchant for finding trouble wherever he went.
“Damn, I’m glad that’s done,” Clare said as the women made their way into a small conference room. That’s where they would stay and take a breather while the execs from the show ran the press conference before they called the women on to answer questions.
“Tell me about it. It’s like they never fucking let up.” Raquel lay across the small couch in the room. She was trying to get comfortable by lying on her side. Her head propped on her hand caused her breasts to thrust out, and with her long, blonde hair draped artfully over her shoulder, she looked like she was on a modeling shoot as opposed to resting before a press conference. Brea always envied her height; Raquel was a cool 5’10, and at 5’6, Brea always felt like the shorty of the group. Clare was no better; she stood at 5’9 while her caramel-colored hair and chocolate-brown eyes made her one of the most sought after actresses. All three girls were gorgeous; you had to be to make it in this business. However, Raquel and Brea only wanted to work on the television show. They made a cool million an episode, and a thirteen-episode season meant the girls were well paid each year. Clare was a workaholic, doing movies on her off-season, while Brea and Raquel only focused on the occasional modeling gig and sponsorship deal if it truly interested them.
Maggie Beach, their primetime drama, told the story of three best friends trying to make it in Manhattan. It followed their work and personal lives and told the struggles of modern twenty-somethings everywhere. When it started seven years ago, critics said it would never work, that no one wanted to watch a show about the issues three single women faced, and subsequently gave them horrible reviews. But it wasn’t the premise of the show so much as The Three Misses who made the show successful. Dubbed that by the press, they were seen as individual persons who existed as a cohesive whole.
Brea was Miss Congeniality, the down-home girl, the nice one, America’s sweetheart. The media saw her as the innocent one who every girl wanted to be and every boy wanted to bring home to Mama. Brea always laughed at her classification; they had no fucking clue the naive one used to walk over heroin needles to get to school but that was her secret to keep; nobody’s fucking business but her own. Derrick and Silvia hadn’t raised an idiot; she used her reputation to cultivate deals and make more money, and no one was the wiser. Brea took in Clare and Raquel, as trapped in their respective reputations as Brea was.
Clare was Miss Hollywood, the golden girl who seemed to have it together. Seen as the perfect one who got whatever she wanted, she always landed the hottest movie deal. Everyone wanted her; she was
a dream to work with and seen as everyone’s best friend. People sought her out; to be seen with Clare was to know you had made it. She was the life of the party and Hollywood’s current ‘it’ girl. Brea didn’t know when she had time to sleep. Between working crazy hours year-round and the revolving door of parties, Brea got tired just watching her. Even now, Clare was bopping around to the music playing in the room, her seemingly-nervous energy never abating.
Now Raquel, Miss Man-eater, was another story altogether. You would never know by looking at her that she was viewed as public enemy number one. Women hated her, men just wanted to fuck her, and she cultivated that reputation to its fullest. Nicknamed the Ice Queen, she worked that shit like it was nobody’s business. She knew she was a sex symbol; that’s how she made her money, but it also came at a price. Men wanted to do her, but no one wanted to date her. In addition, the relationships she did try to have usually ended disastrously and very publicly, so she tended to swear off men for long periods of times. She was the one everyone wanted to hate. Bad behavior generally splashed front page, but Raquel acted very nonchalant about her reputation. The really sad part was she really wasn’t as bad as everyone believed she was; she just tended to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“You guys ready for this?” Clare asked after she took a drink of water.
“Hell yeah, I can’t wait to see them shit their pants when they hear Lance is going to be on the show.” Raquel grinned, sitting up on the couch.
Brea chuckled. “I know, and not a damn rumor about it either. That never happens.” Generally, someone blabs, but this deal was kept so under wraps the girls themselves didn’t know until that morning, and they were the show’s bread and butter.
“Have you ever worked with him?” Raquel directed her question at Clare for obvious reasons. Clare ran a hand through her bob, tucking a piece behind her ear while she thought about the question.