Damage Control (The Hollywood Series Book 2)

by Jae

  “Again, sorry for disturbing you. Have a nice Sunday.”

  “You too.”

  When they ended the call, Lauren stared at her closed laptop. She knew she wouldn’t get any more writing done today. Might as well get some fresh air. She reached for her cell phone again and scrolled through her contact list on the way to the bedroom to get dressed.

  A shiver of dread skittered down Grace’s spine when her mother waltzed into her living room—again without an invitation or a warning—and threw a glossy magazine onto the coffee table.

  The last two days had been wonderfully quiet on the media front, with no new headlines about her, and Grace had just gotten used to the new feeling of peace. I should have known it wouldn’t last long. Nothing good in her life really seemed to. What had the damn hacks written now? She reached for the magazine.

  Her mother plopped down on the couch next to her. “Your friend,” she said, giving the word a derisive emphasis, “really shouldn’t make such a spectacle out of herself.”

  So this wasn’t about her and Nick. But Grace couldn’t relax just yet. Had Jill somehow gotten herself in trouble? She flicked through the magazine until she got to a headline saying, Out and proud—Jill Corrigan living it up at the LA Gay Pride parade.

  Grace glanced at the first picture and rolled her eyes. In jeans and a T-shirt with a rainbow-colored peace sign on the front, Jill looked downright tame compared to the guy in drag next to her and a half-naked man behind her. “She’s hardly living it up, Mom. I think she’s just celebrating that she doesn’t have to hide anymore.”

  “Volunteering for an MS fundraiser would have been a better way to do that,” her mother said.

  “You know what? That’s actually a good idea.” The pride parade was a little too wild for Grace’s taste too, but if it was Jill’s idea of fun, she had still wanted to support her. “Maybe Jill and I should look into that. We could—”

  The ringing of her cell phone interrupted.

  Grace smiled when she saw who was calling her. Speak of the devil… She swiped her finger across the display to accept the call. “Hi, Jill.”

  Her mother let out a huff and stalked to the kitchen.

  “I hear you were living it up at the parade,” Grace said into the phone.

  Jill snorted. “Who said that?”

  Grace looked up to make sure her mother was out of hearing range. “A little bird brought over the newest gossip rag.”

  “Oh, I think I know that mockingbird.”

  “Jill…”

  “I don’t know why you keep defending her,” Jill said.

  Grace lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “She’s my mother.”

  “And that gives her the right to control everything you do, including who you make friends with?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just…” Grace didn’t want to get into this topic now. “Tell me about the parade. How was it?”

  “Crazy,” Jill said with a laugh. “But it was really cool to see all the people out on the street, supporting gay rights. Must have been a few hundred thousand. It was such an empowering feeling. I wish you could have been there.”

  Grace rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. “I’m really sorry you had to go alone.”

  “Who says I was alone?” Jill said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

  “Oh.” Grace had never known her friend to date, but maybe Jill just hadn’t told her because she’d dated women and hadn’t wanted Grace to know. Or had she attended the parade with an acquaintance? “You weren’t?”

  “No. Guess who called me and offered to go with me?”

  “I have no idea. Angelina Jolie?”

  Jill laughed. “I wish. No. Lauren.”

  “Lauren who?” Grace’s eyes widened. “You mean our Lauren? Our publicist?”

  “Yes.”

  A warm feeling flowed through Grace, and she smiled into the empty living room. Lauren had gone with Jill because Grace had mentioned that she hated for her friend to go alone—and she hadn’t said one word about it. Their publicist was one classy lady. Amazing. Few people in Grace’s world would do something so selfless, giving up her own weekend plans and maybe even risking her boss’s disapproval for ending up in a gossip rag instead of creating PR.

  “Guess your little bird didn’t tell you that, did she?” Jill said.

  “No, she didn’t. Let’s see…” Grace reached for the magazine on the coffee table and took a closer look at the pictures of the parade.

  There she was. In one of the photos, Lauren was marching next to Jill, laughing about something that Jill must have said. Instead of the tailored business suits that Grace was used to seeing her in, she was wearing jeans and a simple white T-shirt. A pair of sunglasses dangled from the T-shirt’s V-neck.

  “She looks good in her lesbian uniform, doesn’t she?” Jill said as if she knew what Grace was looking at.

  Yes, she does. Grace glanced at the picture again before closing the magazine and throwing it back onto the coffee table. “I guess.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re straight, not blind. Even you can acknowledge when another woman looks good, can’t you?”

  “All right, she does look good. Happy now?”

  “Yes,” Jill said, sounding as if she was grinning broadly.

  “By the way, I thought the lesbian uniform was a plaid flannel shirt?”

  “Not in LA,” Jill said.

  “Right.” Grace sat up. “So, no regrets?”

  “About the way Lauren dressed for the parade?” Jill laughed. “Heck, no.”

  “About coming out.”

  Jill hesitated for a moment. “None so far, but it’s too soon to tell if or how it’ll affect my career.”

  “Do you have anything lined up for the rest of the year?”

  “Just some voice-acting for an animated movie, lending my voice to a little piglet.” Jill let out a series of loud oinks.

  Not exactly a dream role. And on bad days, the MS made it hard for Jill to speak clearly, so voice-acting wasn’t the ideal job for her. “Do you want me to ask around and see if—?”

  “No,” Jill said and then added more softly, “Thank you. I know you mean well, but this is something I have to do on my own.”

  Grace could respect that, even if she worried about her friend.

  Banging and clanging sounds came from the kitchen.

  “I’d better go before my mother destroys my smoothie maker,” Grace said. “They have an ongoing feud.”

  “Who’s winning?”

  A loud cracking noise drifted over. Grace grimaced. “My mother.”

  “All right. Talk to you soon.”

  “Take care.” Grace ended the call and hurried to the kitchen.

  Elbow-deep in Grace Durand posters, Lauren realized she’d again skipped lunch when her stomach made itself heard.

  “I like that one.” Zachary, their newest intern, pointed at one of the posters spread across the large table in the conference room.

  I just bet you do. Not that Lauren could blame him.

  In the movie poster he’d pointed at, Grace was standing in the middle of a cornfield with rain pouring down on her, her off-white sundress clinging to her curves.

  “It’s good,” Lauren said. “But don’t think about what you like or don’t like. Think about what our target audience—”

  “Lauren?” Carmen, their receptionist, called from the doorway.

  Lauren turned.

  “This was just delivered for you.” Carmen held out a big, white box with a red bow and a little envelope.

  Frowning, Lauren rounded the conference table. She wasn’t expecting anything. It didn’t look like a PR-related delivery. Who else could possibly be sending
her something here? Even when she’d been dating, her girlfriends had always known better than to send gifts to the office. “Who is it from?”

  “I have no idea. The security guard brought it up. All I know is that it smells heavenly.”

  It smelled heavenly? Had someone sent her flowers?

  One of the interns giggled. “How sweet. You have a secret admirer.”

  Lauren ignored the girl’s comment and took the box from Carmen. “Thanks.”

  Instead of returning to her desk, Carmen lingered in the doorway, clearly waiting for Lauren to open the box or at least the envelope.

  Oh, no. Lauren had no intention of letting her co-workers see whatever was in the box. “Why don’t you take your lunch break now, and we’ll meet back here in an hour?” she said to the interns. With the box in her hands, she squeezed past Carmen and went to her office.

  Once she had settled in her desk chair, she removed the envelope that was taped to the box. Lauren’s name was scripted across the front in black ink. When she opened the envelope, a small card slid out.

  Thank you.

  G.

  That was all the card said. Lauren mentally leafed through the women in her address book. If she left out business contacts, it was a rather thin book, and no woman whose name started with G came to mind.

  Maybe the contents of the box would give her a clue. She removed the red ribbon. Carmen was right. Whatever was in the box smelled heavenly, but not like flowers. More like some kind of baked goods. She opened the lid of the box.

  Muffins?

  There had to be at least half a dozen different kinds: blueberry, chocolate, banana, lemon/poppy seed, corn, and one that Lauren couldn’t identify by sight alone.

  Her stomach loudly growled its approval.

  She glanced at the card again. A vague idea began to form in her mind. Had Grace sent the box? It couldn’t be, could it?

  As if on cue, the phone rang and the display revealed that it was Grace calling.

  Laughing, Lauren lifted the phone to her ear. “Muffins? You’re sending me muffins?”

  “I thought everyone liked muffins. Don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” As if to prove it, she picked up one of the muffins she hadn’t yet identified and bit into it. The taste of cinnamon, apple, and a subtle coffee flavor exploded on her tongue. “Oh my God.” She moaned into the phone.

  Grace cleared her throat.

  “Sorry,” Lauren said and quickly swallowed. “I just discovered the cinnamon/coffee ones.”

  Grace chuckled. “I thought you’d like those.”

  Lauren popped another little piece into her mouth. “I do. But I thought you wanted us to stop eating junk food?”

  “I said that I shouldn’t eat it, but you’re not on the Hollywood diet. Besides, I thought sending flowers to another woman might not be the best way to follow your order and lay low, so…”

  “So you sent me muffins,” Lauren said, still a little puzzled.

  “I wanted to say thank you.” Grace’s voice had gone serious now.

  Lauren dusted a little cinnamon off her blouse and shook her head, even though Grace couldn’t see it. “You don’t need to thank me. I get paid to do my job.”

  “I’m not thanking you for getting me out of the hot water with the media, although I’m grateful for that too. This is for what you did on Sunday.”

  “Oh.” Lauren rubbed her cheek with her free hand. So Grace had heard that she had accompanied Jill to the LA Gay Pride. A little uncomfortable with Grace’s gratefulness, she said, “Well, I got paid for that too. I’m Jill’s publicist, remember?”

  “I’d bet my salary from Ava’s Heart that the time you spent marching in the parade won’t show up on the bill your company will send Jill,” Grace said.

  Damn. She’s beautiful and perceptive. A dangerous combination. “I have a confidentiality clause in my contract, so I can’t discuss what I might or might not bill another client for,” Lauren said, trying for a dignified, businesslike tone.

  Grace laughed. “That’s a ‘no comment,’ right?”

  Lauren just chuckled and said nothing.

  “Seriously, though, thank you,” Grace said. “It meant a lot to Jill—and to me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lauren eyed the muffins and picked a banana one.

  Before she could take a bite, a knock sounded at the door and Carmen poked her head around the doorjamb. “Sorry for the interruption. Sheryl Blackstone-Wade is here.”

  Lauren frowned and covered the receiver with one hand. “She doesn’t have an appointment, does she?”

  “No, but she’s wondering if you have a minute.”

  So much for her lunch break. Lauren suppressed a sigh. “All right. Give me a minute, then send her in.”

  “Will do.” Carmen turned away.

  “Carmen?”

  The receptionist showed up in the doorframe again.

  “Catch.” Lauren threw her the banana muffin.

  “Ooh, thank you.” Beaming, Carmen caught it and hurried back to her desk.

  Lauren took her hand off the phone’s receiver. “Grace? I’m sorry, but I have to go. Duty is calling. I’ll contact you later this week to go over movie posters, okay?”

  “Okay,” Grace said. “Enjoy the muffins.”

  “I will.” Lauren ended the call, closed the box of muffins after one last, regretful glance, and put them in her bottom desk drawer, hoping there would be time to indulge her sweet tooth later.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lauren was in the conference room, showing two of the interns how to put together EPKs—electronic press kits—when Carmen burst into the room. With a sense of déjà vu, Lauren hoped there wasn’t another box of muffins waiting for her or her team would start to think that she had a new girlfriend.

  “Mrs. Duvenbeck just called,” Carmen said. “She wants you to call her back right away.”

  Lauren frowned. In the three weeks that she’d been Grace’s publicist, Mrs. Duvenbeck had never called her before. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “Just that she has an assignment for you.”

  An assignment? Lauren didn’t like the sound of that. She enjoyed working with Grace, but her mother was another story. “I’ll call her back when we’re finished here.”

  Once they had chosen the music clips, bios, and interviews for the press kits and she’d sent the interns off to work on other things, Lauren went back to her office and reached for the phone. “Mrs. Duvenbeck. This is Lauren Pearce. Our receptionist said you were trying to reach me?”

  “Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  Lauren was used to exaggerations from the Hollywood divas she worked with, so instead of reacting to the implied complaint, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “My daughter’s birthday is July 3. It’s her thirtieth,” Mrs. Duvenbeck added in a whisper, as if giving away a national secret, “so I’d like to do something special and surprise her with a party.”

  Lauren relaxed a little. “That’s a great idea. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

  “Yes, but the thing is, I can’t plan the party without her finding out about it ahead of time.”

  It couldn’t be that hard, could it? They didn’t even live in the same house. The tiny hairs on the back of Lauren’s neck stood on end as she started to suspect where this was going. “So you’re calling me because…?”

  “Because you’re her publicist, of course. You could put together a wonderful party, invite all the guests, and—”

  “I’m a publicist, not a party planner.”

  “For three hundred dollars an hour, I’d think you’d do whatever I wanted.”

  Lauren bit back a sharp reply at the last second and abst
ained from telling her that it was Grace’s money, not hers. “Mrs. Duvenbeck,” she said, trying for a patient, calm tone. “Grace is my client, and I doubt she’d want me to waste my billable time on—”

  “Ms. Chandler already okayed it,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said, stopping her midsentence.

  Dammit! That manipulative witch had gone straight to Marlene, who had okayed it, of course. If Lauren took over the party planning, it meant more billable hours for the firm. “With all due respect, but maybe my boss wasn’t the right person to ask. If Grace is going to have to pay for it, she should be the one to okay it.”

  “You want Grace to okay the surprise party we’re planning for her? That would defeat the purpose.”

  For once, Mrs. Duvenbeck was right. It still irked Lauren that she was spending her daughter’s money as if it were going out of fashion, but if Grace didn’t rein her in, it certainly wasn’t Lauren’s place to do so.

  “So,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said, “are you going to take over the party planning?”

  There was no way she could refuse. Not while she was still on thin ice with Marlene. But she didn’t want to give in without at least trying to appeal to Mrs. Duvenbeck’s sense of reason—if she had any. “Do you really think this is the best use of my time, just eight weeks before the release of your daughter’s new movie? I should be focused on promotion right now.”

  “Who says you can’t do both? You haven’t given me a chance to explain what kind of party I want.”

  That you want? Shouldn’t it be about what Grace wants? “I’m listening,” Lauren said, even though she wanted to hang up.

  “I’ll send you a list of producers, filmmakers, directors, and actors I want you to invite,” Mrs. Duvenbeck said. “That includes my son-in-law, of course. And I want you to invite selected members of the press—the ones that’ll give us the best exposure.”