Hollywood Nights (9 page)

I turned around to show off the entire designer ensemble. “You know, I can spend some money when given the chance.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Tanner grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen counter. “Let’s go.”

I’d seen parties like this before, but they always happened with me standing on the outside, watching people prettier and more successful than me living a better life on the inside. More than once, I’d walked out of Twisted and heard music coming from the nightclub across the street, or saw traces of a red carpet and loads of security in front of one of the buildings a few doors down. These kinds of parties wound up with full page spreads in
LA Weekly
and all over various lifestyle Instagram accounts hyper-focused on posting the most gorgeous shots of the life only a few people lived.

But when the Mercedes pulled up to Katsuna’s entrance, I wasn’t on the outside anymore. I was on the inside. Just like that.

“I’ll come around to the passenger door and help you out of the car,” Tanner said when the car stopped. “Wait for me, and whatever you do, no matter what anyone says to you, smile demurely and act shy.”

“Got it.”

“Think of this as one big role. Tonight’s scene one: A new romance blossoms.”

“Sounds like the title of a bad romance novel.”

He winked at me, got out of the car without another word, and made his way to the passenger side while he buttoned his sports jacket. The kind of car exit that could have been in a slick car commercial.

I took a deep breath.
Showtime.

A
fter seven years in Hollywood, I had learned one big lesson: go big. Go big and go bold. It was the only way to make fame stick around. And I didn’t want her to leave. Fame made me rich. Powerful. Fame could also be one alluring, promising, cold-hearted bitch.

I fed her anyway.

I waved at a few of the shouting photographers and opened the passenger side of the town car. Behind me, shutters clicked a dozen times a minute as freelancers and tabloid journalists rushed to get the perfect shot of me, my ass, and the woman who stepped out of the car one red-bottomed Louboutin pump at a time.

I took Brynn’s hand and muttered, “You okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Brynn pasted on a tight smile, and showcased her rows of gleaming white teeth. Together, we walked down a small, plush red carpet to an awaiting step-and-repeat where we’d pose for more official photos. Sponsorship logos for Red Queen Bourbon, Katsuna,
LA Unlimited
, and FaceIt! Makeup decorated the placards. As Brynn and I posed together in the center of the display, photographers shouted questions our way.

“Tanner, who’s the brunette?”

“Is that your new assistant, or the mystery woman you were seen with last week at Haberdash?”

“Have you talked to Lana lately? What do you think about her new girlfriend?”

“Any new roles on the horizon you want to talk about?”

“Did you hear
Variety
voted
The Flash Returns the
worst action movie so far this year?”

We hadn’t discussed it, but somehow Brynn knew what to do. She linked her arm with mine and leaned away in the perfect position, one tailor-made for the party photo spreads in magazines, gossip blog write-ups, and Pinterest boards of Hollywood gossip. After a few clicks, she turned and posed another way, one that put the camera’s attention back on me. She angled her head and looked up at me adoringly, as if she hadn’t met anyone more wonderful in her life. And when we were safely inside the restaurant a few moments later, she clasped my hand in hers.

“Everyone here will get the message,” she said, when I regarded our entwined fingers. “Just go with it.”

“How’d you know what to do?”

“Reading tabloids isn’t all bad.” A smile pulled at her lips. “It’s not always about
who
is in them, but
what
they are doing.”

A tuxedoed server handed us glasses of champagne, and we downed them in a few gulps before another server arrived with samples of the restaurant’s signature craft cocktail. Hollywood’s elite, wealthy, well connected and well preserved moved through the party like small schools of fish, sizing each other up over samples of expensive sushi and appetizers wrapped in flaky dough. Tomorrow, they’d rehash the party over mimosa-soaked lunches and gossip about the attendees during sessions with their personal trainers.

I knew about ninety percent of the people in the room. To my left stood
that supermodel
, to my right,
that director
had his hand on the thigh of
that actress
. Across the room,
those musicians
flirted with
that Playboy bunny
while
that producer
looked on in jealousy. And so on, and so on…

Typical Los Angeles. So many somebodies and no one who wanted to be a nobody. Names, faces, and projects blended together in the room. If I hadn’t been with Brynn, I’d be bored already.

“So I’m thinking here—next scene, right? How
all over you
should I be?” Brynn said under her breath after we finished the second cocktail and moved onto the third. “Do you want me to turn it up a notch?”

Good girl.

“Not too much,” I said, and then looked down again at her hand, still wrapped with mine. Lana had never liked to hold hands. “Too sentimental,” Lana had always said whenever I’d tried. Not that I ever had much of a chance to hold her hand. At parties, Lana had never stuck by my side long enough. She liked to work a crowd, not observe one.

“Let’s find a place to sit down,” I told Brynn. “I think I see some spots over there.” I led her to a large velvet booth on a platform slightly above the other tables. From there, the rest of the restaurant and the people at the party lay in full view. She slid into the seat and I followed, taking off my jacket as I did.

“People are noticing,” she said. “I saw a couple of glances our way when we walked over here.”

“Most of these people know me, but they don’t
know
me. One of those events.” I shrugged and waved a server over to our booth, then ordered another round of cocktails and a few items off Katsuna’s complementary grand opening menu. “Are you having a good time?” I said to Brynn, once we were alone again.

“Haven’t been here long enough to know.”

“I’m not talking about this party. I mean in general.” I glanced at the crowd to see if anyone paid attention to us. No one at that second. “With this—ahem—arrangement.”

“So far. I had fun at Barneys today. Thank you for offering to pay for the outfit.”

She leaned back in the booth and shifted her weight. When she did, I got a better view of her cleavage. She had real breasts; the cleavage line showed them off. Damn, it had been so long since a woman in my life had real breasts.

But Brynn isn’t a woman in my life… is she?

“I’m willing to provide anything you need while you’re my—employee, of sorts,” I said, and forced myself to switch back to business so I wouldn’t focus on the finer points of her body. “And what I mean is, that’s in addition to what we’ll hammer out on Monday in the contract and the prenuptial agreement. You can ask for whatever you want.”

“You sound so confident I’m going to stick around.”

“I hope you do,” I said.

“I have to admit, this whole thing is pretty unconventional.”

“So is my life.” I shrugged. “But I don’t know how to live any other way.”

Brynn’s attention shifted around the room, and I didn’t blame her for it. When you were new to them, good Hollywood parties could seem so glamorous and exciting. It would be interesting to hear what she thought of them after a few, when the sheen had worn off and the harsh, gritty reality of Hollywood showed itself.

“All of these people”—she waved her hand—“are people you want to go out of your way to impress?”

“No. Not these people. The public.” I put my elbows on the table and leaned closer to her. “All of these people are fake, but they love to gossip. And what they say, the American public will hear.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.”

“This is how I make money. Being a celebrity is a business.”

“Don’t you make most of your money in films?”

“It’s more complicated.” I sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not famous.”

She examined her fingernails. “No, I’m not.”

Great. I’d sounded like a bigger asshole than usual.

“But you will be famous,” I said, trying to soften my comments. “After tonight, people are going to wonder who you are. They’re going to talk about you. Things are going to start changing. The buzz about you is going to build, and faster than you think.” Instinctively, I took her hand in mine again, and I liked it when she didn’t recoil. “So you have to be prepared. It’s going to bring a lot of good… but it won’t all be.”

The server arrived with fresh drinks and part of our food order. I barely noticed, but then the moment turned more perfect. A tall man with a camera in one hand and a larger one around his neck walked up to our booth.

“May I get a photo of the happy couple?”

Brynn and I stuck smiles on our faces and scooted together. She angled her body toward me and the camera clicked. Pure gold.

W
ord traveled, and it traveled fast. Faster than Tanner had said it might, and much faster than I ever expected. Dating one of Hollywood’s hottest and most controversial stars
did
come with instant fame. Tanner hadn’t been wrong. By Monday morning, my phone log had fourteen missed calls and thirty-eight text messages. Everyone wanted to discuss Tanner Vance and our night at Katsuna—even my former roommates, who had already been quoted on a couple of tabloid websites, claiming that our romance had been brewing behind the scenes for “a few months.”

Lying sycophants.

I got out of bed, showered, fixed my hair, did my makeup, and pulled on a black skirt, blue top, lightweight jacket, and black velvet flats. I found the sliding glass door unlocked again, and Tanner in the kitchen of the main house with another green smoothie and a grin. Martha stood by the sink; she had a smile for me, too.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Tanner said.