Sugar and Spice Page 3

  “Fascinating stuff,” Liam joked, reaching into the popcorn bowl. Tucker got up from his favorite spot on the living room floor and stared at Liam, sniffing hopefully, totally oblivious to the drama he was creating on TV. “No offense, but I’m kind of glad I’m not working on the show anymore.”

  Scarlett punched him on the arm. “What? You don’t miss filming our riveting problems?”

  “Nah. Here you go, Tuck,” Liam added, offering Tucker some popcorn. He wolfed it down.

  Until recently, Liam was one of the camera guys on L.A. Candy. When he and Scarlett started dating, they knew it was against the PopTV rules, which stated unequivocally that the crew could not date the “talent.” Madison (who else?) discovered their relationship and outed them by tipping off someone at Gossip—and Trevor fired Liam as a result. Liam had been looking for a new job since then.

  When the episode ended—with Scarlett telling some school friends about how much she missed Jane, and Jane confiding in Madison about her issues with Jesse—Scarlett got up from the couch and walked over to the fridge. She and Liam had the place to themselves, since Jane was at some new club with their friend Diego Neri. Scarlett scanned the contents: bottled water, a couple of sodas, a carton of sesame noodles, and yogurt. She grabbed the sodas and brought one back to Liam. “Drink?”

  “Thanks. So are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Scarlett frowned.

  “The Inferno premiere. My friend got us passes.”

  Scarlett gasped. “Ohmigod, I’m sorry, I forgot about that. I think I have to cancel. We’re filming.”

  Liam took a sip of his soda and set it down on the coffee table. “You’re always filming these days,” he complained, pulling her into his arms.

  Scarlett leaned against him. “Sorry. I’m just . . . you know, trying to make an effort.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  The truth was, Season 1 had been an abysmal experience for Scarlett. She had hated the invasion of privacy as well as the fact that Trevor had edited her personality down to a bland, boring nothing. In response, she had behaved as uncooperatively as possible: not obeying Dana’s “stage directions” . . . blowing off shoots . . . and in general being the very worst of her usual badass self.

  After much soul-searching, and a frank conversation with Trevor, Scarlett had decided to sign on for Season 2. She had promised him that she would tone down the attitude. In return, he had promised her that he would be more careful with his editing. Her raise had been a factor, too. The money was good—no, great—and Scarlett was going to use it to pay for her own tuition at USC, which would help her become more independent from her super-annoying, super-controlling parents.

  Besides, she saw the whole thing as a game, an intellectual challenge. Trevor wanted her to be Hollywood Scarlett? She would be Hollywood Scarlett. If they started giving out an Emmy for “Best Actress on a Reality TV Show,” she would totally be getting it this year.

  Of course, her relationship with Liam continued to be a problem as far as PopTV was concerned. He couldn’t be on the show because he used to work on the show. Which meant that a huge part of Scarlett’s “reality” couldn’t appear on TV. It was complicated—to say the least—although in some ways, Scarlett was actually glad she couldn’t film with Liam. Filming was work, and she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure any more than she already had to.

  “So how are your classes going?” Liam said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Scarlett shrugged. “You know. The same. My French lit seminar’s okay, though. We just started a new book called Sentimental Education. Have you read it?”

  “Yeah. Flaubert is one of my favorite writers. Have you read Madame Bovary?”

  As Liam described studying Madame Bovary at UCLA—he’d graduated from there last spring—Scarlett’s mind wandered to a subject she should really be bringing up with him: her college transfer applications.

  She had originally chosen to attend USC because she and Jane had dreamed of moving to L.A. together. (They’d taken the year off after high school graduation to travel and figure out what to do with their lives.) And now that she was here . . . well, her new life was great in so many ways, especially now that she was with Liam, and her friendship with Jane was stronger than ever. And she had committed to giving L.A. Candy a second chance, at least for the next few months until Season 2 wrapped.

  Even so, she continued to be haunted by the feeling that she might be missing out on something. Most of her classes at USC were less than challenging, and she wished she didn’t feel like she was smarter than 99 percent of the student population. Had she “settled” for a college that wasn’t the right fit just to be with her best friend? And was she going to continue “settling” now that she had a boyfriend?

  And so several weeks ago, she had sent applications to a dozen different colleges: Stanford, Berkeley, Columbia, NYU, Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Dartmouth, and others. Only the first two were in California, and they were many hours from L.A. by car. The rest were on the East Coast. She would know in the next few months whether she got in or not. And then she could make her decision about her sophomore year. It was good to keep her options open—right?

  In the meantime, Scarlett hadn’t mentioned the applications to Liam, since they’d just started dating in January and things were going so well, or even to Jane, who had been through so much lately and needed her best friend around. She hated keeping a secret from them, but it couldn’t be helped. She would tell them sooner or later.

  “Okay, you’re not listening to a word I’m saying.” Liam put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently.

  Scarlett blinked. “Huh? I’m listening! You were saying something about Flaubert.”

  “Not. I’ve moved on to something way more interesting. Your birthday.”

  “My birthday?”

  “Yeah, your birthday. April twenty-fourth. I know it’s still a month away, but keep that night free, okay? And the next day, too. Because I have major plans for you.”

  Scarlett raised her eyebrows. “Like what kind of plans?”

  “It’s a surprise. Trust me, you’ll like them.” Liam smiled lazily and trailed his fingers across her cheek.

  Scarlett smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. He kissed her back, making her feel dizzy and tingly and deliriously happy at the same time. Liam was so sexy . . . and thoughtful . . . and smart . . . and sexy . . . and, basically, perfect in every way. It was so awesome, having a boyfriend. Why had she held out for so long?

  The truth was, she’d never had a guy like Liam in her life before.

  So why was she even thinking about moving three thousand miles away from him?

  Chapter 4

  Are You Serious?

  Jane speed-walked into the elevator and pressed 5, trying to juggle a latte, a box of Sprinkles cupcakes (it was Naomi the receptionist’s birthday), and her oversize, overflowing bag. “I’m soooo late. Fiona’s going to kill me,” she told Scarlett over the phone, which was precariously balanced between her right ear and shoulder.

  “Just tell her you were having breakfast with Robert Pattinson. She’ll understand,” Scarlett joked.

  “Funny. See you tonight? Or do you have a hot date with your hot boyfriend?”

  “Nope. Tonight it’s just you, me, Tucker, and an everything pizza with extra cheese.”

  “Sounds perfect. Ohhhh . . . my battery’s beeping at me, and I haven’t even checked my messages. Gotta go—bye!”

  “Janie, charge your phone!”

  “I know, I know. See you tonight!”

  Jane dropped the phone into her bag just as the elevator doors slid open . . . to total chaos. The lobby of Fiona Chen Events had been overrun by PopTV equipment and crew—more than for a usual shoot.

  “Jane, there you are!” Matt, the director, yanked off his headset and rushed up to her. “Let’s get you miked right away. We’ve got a busy, busy morning.”

  “I thought we weren’t shooting unt
il this afternoon. And why are there so many—”

  “Change of plans. Didn’t Dana call you?”

  Oops. Maybe Dana had left one of the many messages on Jane’s now-dead phone. “Um. What’s on the schedule?”

  “First, we’re shooting a scene with you and Hannah, in your office. The second scene is you and, uh, Fiona, in Fiona’s office.” Matt looked away.

  Jane frowned. Why did Matt suddenly seem so uncomfortable? “Is Fiona in a bad mood or something?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, well, isn’t she always in a bad mood? I’ve got to go see about the lighting. I’ll be back for you in a sec.” Matt motioned for one of the sound guys to come over and mike her.

  Great, Jane thought with a sigh. Fiona’s going to chew me out for being late . . . again . . . on camera. Can’t wait!

  “Good morning, Jane.” Naomi peeked out from behind a massive bouquet of tulips on her desk. “I like your shoes!”

  “Thanks. Oh, these are for you!” Jane gave her the box of cupcakes. “Happy birthday!”

  “It’s so sweet of you to remember. Thank you!”

  The sound guy, Jack, greeted Jane and handed her a mike pack. Jane set her stuff down on Naomi’s desk and chatted with her about birthday plans, while slipping the pack under her gray silk blouse, wrapping the wire around her torso, and handing the pack back to Jack. She barely noticed as he flipped on the switch and clipped the pack to the back strap of her bra. After six months of being on TV, it had become routine.

  Matt reappeared in the lobby and waved to Jane. “Okay, we’re ready for you now.”

  Jane said bye to Naomi (who wished her “good luck”—why “good luck”?) and joined Matt. As they headed down the hallway, they passed one of Fiona’s beautifully decorated conference rooms—and Jane spotted Trevor sitting at the end of the long glass table, talking on the phone and typing on his laptop. Several anxious-looking assistants hovered around him.

  “What’s Trevor doing here?” Jane whispered to Matt.

  “You know. Trevor likes to be hands-on. Fiona was nice enough to set up a temporary production space for him.” Matt stopped in front of the office Jane shared with Hannah. “Okay, here we are. Stay here for a sec and wait for my signal, then go on in and do your usual thing with Hannah. Good morning, what’s new, blah, blah, blah.”

  “’Kay.”

  Jane waited, wondering if her makeup looked okay (she had applied it in her car, while stopped at various red lights). Then Matt gave her the signal, and she walked through the doorway.

  Hannah was at her desk, reading something on her computer monitor. When she saw Jane, she pushed back her long, honey blond hair and smiled, seemingly oblivious to the two camera guys who were shooting from opposite corners of the room. “Hi, Jane!”

  “Hi, Hannah! Hey, are you feeling better?” Hannah had not only missed the season premiere party on Monday, but she hadn’t been at work yesterday, either.

  “Much better, thanks.”

  Jane set her stuff down on her desk, which was cluttered with piles of unopened mail, files, clippings—and the remains of her Pinkberry smoothie from the day before. Ew. Jane wasn’t always the neatest person, but she needed to get this desk under control ASAP. “Soooo,” she said to Hannah, tossing the smoothie and wondering distractedly where she had left her phone charger. “I’m, uh, supposed to meet with Fiona this morning. Are you sitting in on that meeting, too?”

  Hannah’s brown eyes widened as she glanced at the cameras. “Um . . . no.” She glanced back at Jane. “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “Message? What message?”

  “I called you, like, half an hour ago, and—”

  Isaac, one of the interns, appeared in the doorway. “Jane? Fiona’s ready for you now.”

  “Uh . . . okay.” Jane stared at Hannah, wishing they could talk more. It seemed as though Hannah had wanted to tell her something off camera. If only Jane could text her, but her cell was dead, and she didn’t have time to sign in to her computer and get on IM. What was up? First Matt, then Naomi, then Hannah . . . everyone was acting so weird today.

  Jane followed Isaac to Fiona’s office, wondering what, exactly, was in store for her. Maybe it was more than Fiona’s usual “we don’t tolerate lateness in this office” lectures. Maybe Jane was in serious trouble. But for what? She went through her mental checklist, making sure she hadn’t forgotten to do something important, like booking the DJ for an upcoming sweet sixteen party (for Leda Phillips’s daughter Clementine, who seemed to have inherited her mother’s alcoholism gene—better post extra security guards around the punch bowl and at the restrooms), or pinning down a venue for Miranda Vargas’s (fourth? fifth? sixth?) wedding. She hadn’t.

  Matt was standing outside Fiona’s door, giving instructions to Jack and another sound guy. “Jane! Great. Cameras are already rolling, you can go right on in.”

  “Okay.”

  Inside Fiona’s office, there were three—not two—camera guys in place. Fiona herself was sitting at her desk, leafing through a file. Her sleek black hair and makeup were flawless, as always, thanks to the multiple stylists she always demanded before a shoot. “Jane, there you are. Please sit. How are you today?”

  How are you today? Now Jane was really confused. Fiona Chen was pretty much the scariest, coldest boss in the history of bosses. Why was she making pleasant chitchat?

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Jane sat down.

  “Good! Let’s get down to business, then. I have a new project I’d like to discuss with you. Aja has hired us to do her engagement party.”

  “Aja?” Jane’s jaw dropped. So this was why today’s shoot was such a big deal.

  “Yes. Aja. She wants it to be at one of the Las Vegas hotels. As you can imagine, this is a huge new account for us. Aja is an international pop star, and her fiancé, Miguel Velasquez, is one of the most popular rookies in Major League Baseball.”

  Jane didn’t know a lot about sports, but she did know about the super-hot Miguel Velasquez. She used to have a huge crush on him, as did every other girl on the planet—and probably a few guys, too.

  “I’m putting you in charge of this project. And I want you to meet your new coworker, who’ll be assisting, along with Hannah,” Fiona went on.

  “My new coworker?”

  “Yes. In fact, she’s here now. Why don’t you say hello?”

  Jane heard the door open behind her. She turned around—and practically fell out of her chair as the familiar blonde in a black miniskirt, button-down blouse (with a few too many buttons undone), and sky-high stilettos sauntered in.

  “What the—” Jane gasped.

  Madison sat down next to Jane and slowly crossed her legs. “Hi, Jane! Isn’t this soooo awesome? We’re going to be working together!”

  “No, no, no! There is no way in hell I’m working with her!”

  Jane tried not to scream too loudly at Trevor as she paced back and forth across Trevor’s “temporary production space.” So this is why he was here today. She had suspected that something was up—but not this particular something, which was pretty much the worst something, ever. She rubbed her temples—she had a splitting headache—and she was this close to bursting into tears. Although she refused to give Trevor, or anyone eavesdropping outside the closed door, the satisfaction.

  Trevor leaned back in his plush leather chair, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think—” he began calmly.

  “What? What are you talking about? You promised me, Trevor! You promised me I wouldn’t have to film any more scenes with her. And now you’re making me work with her, like, every single day? What the hell?”

  “Look. I didn’t hire her. Fiona did.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Believe what you want, Jane.”

  “Fine!” Jane stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath. She had no choice; Trevor was forcing her hand. “Then I quit!”

  There. She had said it. It was the right thing to
do—wasn’t it? So why were her hands shaking, and why did she feel like throwing up?

  “Quit . . . what? The show? Do I need to remind you that you have a contract?”

  “No, not the show. I’m quitting this job.”

  Trevor folded his arms across his chest. “Jane. I’m sorry you’re upset. But Madison applied for an opening here and Fiona hired her. We had nothing to do with that, but of course we had to film it. If she had shown up for her first day of work and we had missed it, PopTV would have freaked.” He added, “I don’t blame you for wanting to quit your job. But look—if you do, it’s going to look bad to viewers. They’ll think you’re a spoiled brat who didn’t get her way.”

  Jane started to say something not very PG to him, then clamped her mouth shut. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She knew the truth: Madison was a crazy, lying, manipulative bitch who would run over her own mother with a bus if it would make her rich and famous. But all those L.A. Candy fans out there didn’t know that, and if Jane left Fiona Chen Events, they would basically think that Madison had won. That Jane had skulked away in a huff.

  Jane had worked hard to get this job. Unlike Madison, who obviously only wanted the airtime, Jane actually wanted to be an event planner and maybe even run her own firm someday. She was not about to let Madison push her out of the way now. She would just have to suck it up and beat Madison at her own game somehow.

  On the other hand . . . Madison, every day? Mornings, afternoons, and evenings and weekends, too, working events? How was Jane going to survive that?

  She sank down in one of the conference chairs and twisted a lock of hair around and around her index finger. “I need to discuss this with R.J. and Sam,” she said finally, referring to her agent and publicist.

  “Of course. And if you really feel the need to quit—well, I’ll respect your choice.”

  Jane glared at Trevor. “Respect” was about the last thing she was feeling from him at this moment.

  Madison was waiting outside the conference room when Jane stormed out.