Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“Yes, I’m looking for Hartley Warren.”

“This is she.”

“Ms. Warren, this is Holy Ryan from Netflix. We’re calling to let you know you’ve earned a spot on the Secret Heiress contest.”

My heart pounds. “A-Are you serious?”

“Yes. Are you accepting our offer?”

“Yes.” The people in front of me turn to stare.

“Excellent. I’m emailing you the terms to you. I’ll need it returned to me tonight. Filming will start in two weeks. We’ll shoot it all at once and then air it weekly leading up to Christmas. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure contract, of course, agreeing to keep the information about the show under wraps until it airs.”

“Of course.”

“Give it a look over and get back to me. We want to get the editing finished soon.”

“I understand. You’ll have it tonight.” This was the good news I needed to salvage my day. Coffee forgotten, I call Fiona and Ava in a three-way conversation and walk outside so I can jump up and down and squeal. They celebrate with me, and I start to make plans. I need to ask for time off and figure out what to do with Fiona while I’m gone. I don’t trust her alone in the house with Dad. If he goes on a bender, and she sees it, her heart will be broken. Maybe a visit with her honorary sister, Ava, is past due.

Scanning the PDF the moment I get it, I make a note of the dates. I return to work, walking on cloud nine.

“Chet.”

“Yes?”

“I need to request time off.”

“For what?”

“To film a show in LA.”

His eyes widen. “One of our employees is going to work on an industry gig? This will be great for business. Who will you be working for?”

I swallow. “I’ll actually be in front of the screen for once.”

“What? I didn’t realize you were interested in acting.”

“I’m not. It’s a contest for Netflix.” I explain everything, and he looks thoughtful.

“I’ll give you all the time you need as long as you agree to push the store.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a major selling point. In this small town, this is huge news. I want everyone to know the woman competing is one of our own.”

“I have to sign a non-disclosure, so I can’t give you any information.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “No, you’re going to be our golden girl.”

Why do I feel like I’m signing my soul over to the devil?

THIS IS NEW. I WAS hired this weekend for a slumber party. It’s a sweet sixteen, and I’ll be instructing a group of five girls who need to learn the basics. I like the concept. This is something every girl should know how to do, whether they choose to wear make-up often or not. Knowing what works best for you gives you confidence and skills you’ll use later in life. I’ve crammed everything I can into this week to make up for the one I’ll be spending in Los Angeles.

Pulling up in front of the massive, two-story mansion, I whistle. Their electricity bill must be through the roof. After parking, I gather my kit and hike up the long walk. I knock on the door, and a petite blonde in a sky-blue velour jogging suit answers.

“Hello, you must be Hart.”

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