Writing A Wrong (Write Stuff 2)

"He is, but doesn't all of this seem like a little too much? It makes me nervous to think about all the dough they're sinking into this. What if the new book comes out next week and totally bombs?"

Olivia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why would you even say that? That's like jinxing it or something. The book is going to be amazing. Everyone thinks so. Own it, slutbag." She reached into the basket and pulled out the package of chocolate-covered pretzels.

"Hey, those are mine!" I reached out to grab them.

"Ha, I knew you were a diva," she said, holding them out of my reach.

"Just kidding. I'll share," I said, unwrapping another chocolate. "I want real food though, so get your ass in gear."

"Yes, your highness."

I stuck out my tongue immaturely. "Bite me."

A small moan of pleasure left her lips as she popped one of the pretzels into her mouth. "These are amazing." She turned the box over to check out the price. "Holy monkey nuts. Twenty-two bucks for these? Maybe you're right. You don't deserve twenty-two-dollar pretzels."

"You're such a brat," I said, tossing a small throw pillow at her. "Come on, I'll buy you a twenty-two-dollar steak."

"Oh no. You're not getting off that cheap. You'll be buying me steak and lobster, sweet lips."

"Sheesh, you're an expensive date for someone who doesn't plan to put out."

She smirked, blowing me a kiss. "Don't you know it, ho bear. Maybe I'll let you spoon me later when we're in bed."

"Whatever. You'll be the one spooning me."

She burst out laughing. "You know you love me," she said, slinging an arm across my shoulder.

"Like a mother is forced to love her ugly child." I went to the bathroom to freshen up before we headed out to dinner.

We continued to trade insults in our typical endearing fashion throughout dinner. The hotel housed a popular five-star restaurant and we were able to get a table without much of a wait. True to her threat, Olivia ordered steak and lobster and a bottle of their finest wine. We drank our way through two bottles, having a blast the entire time. It was the kind of evening I needed to forget, or at least attempt to forget, my interview in the morning. Olivia knew me well, and getting me drunk had likely been her ploy from the beginning. At least she had the good sense to stop me as I waved over the waiter to order a third bottle.

"A relaxed Nicole is good, but hungover we don't want."

Olivia helped me from our booth and walked me toward the bank of elevators with her arm around my waist to hold me up. The trip was a bit hazy, and I'm fairly certain I told her I loved her and would have her babies if she got me a luggage cart to sit on so I wouldn't have to walk. "That's our diva," she said, helping me into the elevator. Then I mentioned something about needing a tiara if I was going to be a true diva. The last thing I remembered was Olivia promising to buy me one if I climbed into bed like a good girl.

The alarm went off the next morning before the sun was even up. I fumbled for my cell phone that seemed to be just out of reach, cringing at the dull thudding in my head. Two bottles of wine suddenly didn't seem like the smartest idea. I was able to scoot my body closer to the nightstand and reach my phone to stop the insistent dinging.

Olivia stretched next to me before pulling the comforter up over her head. "Hey, thanks for setting the alarm on my phone," I said sarcastically.

"Chill. I set mine too." Sure enough, just as she said the words her phone began chirping on the table next to her. She reached out from under the comforter and picked up the phone, holding out for my benefit. "See," she said, wagging it back and forth.

"Got it. Now turn it off before I throw it into the toilet."

"Yeah, yeah. Get yourself into the shower. We need to get you all nice and pretty for your big GMA day." Olivia reached over and yanked the cover from my side of the bed.

"I changed my mind. Call and tell them."

"Ah, sobriety. It's a bitch," she teased, standing up.

I groaned. She was no longer my friend. "You're supposed to be looking out for me."

She walked to my side of the bed and placed her hands on her hips. "How am I not, Miss Overdramatic?"

"You're about to let me go on live TV and make a fool of myself."

Olivia exhaled and sat on the bed next to me. "Look, Nic. I realize this is scary for you. Hell, I'm not

even sure I could do it if I were in your shoes. I do know this though: No one put a gun to the producers' heads and forced them to have N.S. Blake on the show. They want you because you're successful and have a great story. Don't stress and overanalyze it any more than that. Just be yourself and you'll do great."