“Who?”
“You just got to trust me. Now come on, girl. It’s time to go primp! Of course, after we eat this wonderful meal I got us.”
I laughed. “We’re not eating on paper plates, so that’s five star dining to me.”
“Not to mention, we’re not using plastic forks.”
Chapter 4
“You know, I can’t begin to tell you the hypocrisy of what’s happening right now,” I said.
Amanda and I were sitting in a hair salon in Beverly Hills, getting prodded and fussed over by an army of gay men and one heavily primped woman. The acrid smell of nail polish remover was enough to make me almost light-headed. But I stayed carefully on guard as Paulo came at me with a dozen different aerosols and one or two lethal-looking instruments I believed were modeled after something used in the Spanish Inquisition.
I momentarily vanished into a sticky fog as he let loose with one of the bottles, and emerged a second later, stiff and sad, feeling like an unfortunate Botox survivor.
“There go the Wetlands,” I muttered, wondering how many pounds of toxins we’d just released into the atmosphere.
Amanda twisted awkwardly to look at me, her head trapped beneath something that looked like it was attempting to harvest her brain. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.” My chair tilted back of its own accord, and suddenly I was looking at the ceiling. “Was that supposed to happen?” I asked nervously.
“Silencio!” Paulo commanded, rushing forward with another comb. I closed my eyes with a grimace as he pulled and twisted and corralled whatever was left of my hair into a tight knot on top of my head. When he was finished, he shot me upright again and disappeared into the back to get more supplies.
I sighed. “So tell me a little more about this party. But first let me tell you, I’m having a great time already—just with the prep.”
Amanda snorted, waving her nails to dry their thick, gold-dusted polish. “I heard about it at that casting—you know—the one where my entire life changed for the better?”
“The dystopian Western?” I guessed. I’d been hearing about it quite a lot, actually.
“Yeah, well, Billy asked me to go. Said that the agency needed some representation at this playboy trillionaire’s house party.”
“Right. The trillionaire. Is that even a word?”
“Of course it is.”
“You made it up!”
“I so didn’t. I heard his name is Marcus Taylor, and he’s fucking gorgeous! I wish I could land him. But from what I hear, no woman can. He’s untamable.”
“Hmm. Untamable? Is that a challenge?” I asked. “I mean, I did tame our mean cat.”
She laughed. “I bet you could lasso in the wild buck.”
“I’m just kidding. I’m not in the mood to tame some wild billionaire.”
“Why not? Still hung up on the cute coffee guy you told me about?”
“Hung up? I just met the guy this morning.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, Marcus Taylor might not be as gorgeous as the guy you keep going on about. But I’m sure he’s a hunk. I at least want to say hello to him before the end of the party. I bet he’s a great host and will greet every single one of his guests.”
“I haven’t been going on about coffee guy.”
“Yes, you have.”
“C’mon! He was hot!”
“Then you should have bought him the damn coffee too.”